Mostly, though, the barely 30-minute album is a non-stop rager.

Virgins is not a particularly pleasant listening experience, but it is undeniably emotionally powerful, and a worthy addition to his impressively unique catalogue.

Except for the dissonant pep of Heaven, Rose’s careful vocals float among bittersweet synths for 37 minutes of dreamy Cure- and Bangles-evoking pop.

They can still rage, summoning plenty of singalong anger on Donny Of The Decks and Things To Say To Friendly Policemen. But their targets feel more academic.

Black Radio 2 falls a note short of its Grammy-winning predecessor, but just shy of spectacular is still damn good.

It’s not a perfect record, but nothing this ambitious was ever going to be.

The five-piece Montreal/Toronto noise-pop band keep things compositionally complex throughout, and each song rolls seamlessly into the next.

Whether effervescent (the poppy Promise Not To Think About Love zips along on handclaps and a jaunty bass line) or solemn (elegiac closing track From Now On), her modern take on folk music often delves into the darkness, but always looks toward the light.

A far cry from the piano-tinkling heard in formulaic modern pop, Krug’s ivories are often filmic (Barbarian), or musical-theatre enough to evoke Hugh Jackman or Julie Andrews singing amidst a mountainscape (November 2011).

Mike McCready’s guitar solos mostly take a backseat to the band’s meaty rhythm section, and, sure, some of the 12 tracks are victims of awkward construction. But Lightning Bolt resonates, especially the band’s jarring (if kind of clichéd) conclusions.

Perry’s ballads are so unadventurous and heavy-handed (chiming U2 guitars and slow-building, reverbed drums), they start to feel like caricature anyway. Her approach works better on the feel-good half of the album made up of top-notch roller-disco anthems.

Fans of his ambient hip-hop and blissed-out impressionist R&B will be more pleased with Guilt Trips than those who prefer his clubby side.

The album is as focused as its predecessor (both are 45 minutes), but it is emotionally more expansive.

McCombs’s songwriting has become less opaque and more direct, without losing any of his signature poetry, mystery and dark humour.

There are a few too many “Get off my lawn, kids” moments, and the interludes are entirely unnecessary (hi, the Lonely Island), but as far as comebacks go, this album is anything but a non-event.

The capital-P pop star backs up her I-just-don’t-give-a persona with killer singing and decent songwriting, but keeps us waiting for a banger that never comes.

Plenty of boldface names are assisting here, but with the exception of Kendrick Lamar, who continues his streak of scenery-chewing guest verses on Nosetalgia, they stay out of the way.

It all adds up to an energizing, smile-inducing debut.

Overall, Feel Good nails the delicate balance between experimentation and restraint, making the listener feel... great.

Much of his old work still sounds more vital.

As far as comeback albums go, Seasons Of Your Day doesn’t disappoint, but few songs truly stand out.

Throughout, his rhymes hit the mark, whether he’s painting a bleak picture of the Detroit streets, battling his own demons (loneliness, molly, more molly) or rapping at length about drug-dealing without glorifying it Rick Ross-style.

Although it’s not as immediately catchy as their debut (but, hey, we’re almost saturated when it comes to revivalist bands), Glow & Behold proves they’ve got chops for a lengthy career.

Cabaret with Drake has a catchy hook and gorgeously cheesy lyrics only Timberlake can pull off. The countrified Drink You Away almost works. The rest is forgettable.

It’s a taut, punchy album full of winning charm, and blessedly free of cynicism and ego.

The closer, We Are Circling (featuring Buffy Sainte-Marie), acts as a coda, binding the whole concept together, underlining the sacredness of family, community, music-making and the passage of time.

It’s rare to hate one half of an album so much while genuinely enjoying the other.

While moments on Vapor City might have sounded completely at home at a 1996 rave, the mood and sound overall are more wistfully nostalgic than retro.