It all informs this feel-bad album of the year, which sounds fantastic thanks to Sanford Parker's no-frills yet full production.

Most of the tracks sound pretty familiar, though, with just enough new tricks to avoid feeling like a complete rerun.

Plant's voice is noticeably lower than his salad-days falsetto, and Jimmy Page's guitar sounds slicker than before, but for the most part this is the Zeppelin of yore.

Despite Keys's proficiency (she co-wrote Where's The Fun In Forever, one of the best songs on Miguel's new album), she's always seemed a little boring. On that front, she delivers.

If you can't stand top-40 contemporary dance pop, don't bother (and consider not leaving your house for the next couple of years). Listen to Contrast with an open mind, though, and you hear a kid with real talent.

[An] utterly vacuous, unlistenable album.

If you're not paying close attention, it's the kind of music that seems pretty but a little too straightforward. But delve into it and the layers open up, making you realize how rich it actually is.

Although the new direction isn't revolutionary, it's natural enough and distracts from some of the filler.

Kid Koala might be known for his light-hearted approach, but nothing here feels inappropriately kooky.

Add in some politicking and dissociative trilling and Wild Water Kingdom is revisionist rap meant for fans who believe in Heems's neurotic, post-post-colonial, lapsed-academic POV.

Despite all of its references, Reservation is original, cohesive, absorbing and Haze's most polished release to date.

Rare Chandeliers is both soft-lensed yacht rap and roughneck hip-hop that's as New York as pastrami and Waldorf salads.

Lux sounds a lot like the kinds of slowly evolving patterns you can generate with those apps, but they come across as disappointingly ordinary when divorced from that participatory element.

Dos!, the aptly named second part of the trilogy, is relieved of the weight of expectation and, though it was recorded at the same time as the first, sounds less strained.

Sonically, the first half of Unapologetic picks up on the syrupy Southern hip-hop minimalism popular last summer, while much of the latter half is a grab bag of unwieldy balladry.

Nihilism doesn't even begin to describe the mood created by the skittering electronic drums, uneasy atmospheric noises and MC Ride's manic scream-rapping.

It's wildly diverse, but there's a lightness and unobtrusiveness to each song that mirrors her airy delivery while hinting at even more untapped potential.

They still show no interest in doing things the easy way, and we couldn't be happier about that.

On first listen, Matricidal sounds like an hour of Friedberger playing with all the buttons on his keyboards, taking no care to connect sounds or smooth the edits. Yet taken as a whole and with time, it evokes something melancholy, strange and nostalgic--equally beautiful and eerie.

The production is much bigger, and his songwriting more assertive and hook-heavy. Unfortunately, the awkward charm and intimacy of his early efforts are missed.

Many of Morby's tunes sacrifice his twangy, down-home warmth. Luckily, both still write simple, timeless hooks.

King Animal doesn't sound like a nostalgia-fed cash grab, nor is it poisoned by the desperate commercialism of Cornell's post-Soundgarden projects.

It took me a few listens to accept the trance synth riffs that dominate, not to mention Alice Glass's increasingly melodic screeching, but the apocalyptic undertones are surprisingly effective with some sugar on top.

Themes of isolation and solipsism unfold musically as much as lyrically. Produced with help from Flaming Lips go-to guy Dave Fridmann, Lonerism surprises with layers of detail.

Listen to House Of Balloons, Thursday and Echoes Of Silence in one go and you'll find that the music remains impressive. If there's one quibble, it's that as Trilogy enters its second hour, Tesfaye's lyrical ambivalence begins to sound a bit one-note.

The band's heavy, high-octane assault gets an extra kick of power from MacNeil's throaty growl, making their third LP their most direct and pummelling yet.

Palmer seems intent on cramming as many ideas and textures into every song as she can, which is exciting at first but exhausting by the halfway point of an excessively long album.

Countless acts have shamelessly imitated the Velvet Underground, but DeMarco has come up with a new tweak to that formula, coming closer to a lighthearted Modern Lovers feel without sacrificing the edginess and darkness of the VU.