Perhaps one of the most macabre albums of the year, Okovi shines in its ability to beautifully illustrate a disturbing but ultimately shared human experience.

No, TMLT is not as precise as The Monitor, nor as pleasurable. It does, however, surpass it in imagination and aim. This alone cements The Most Lamentable Tragedy as one of this year’s greatest rock records.

Gore ferociously asserts that Deftones haven’t lost any of their creative spark. If anything, their fire is blazing higher than ever.

With their latest album SJDK give the people what they want, even if they didn’t know how much they wanted it.

Paak’s got the musicianship down to a science. Now it’s clear he’s working on what his music feels like.

Sometimes I Sit and Think is in conversation with the likes of Marvin the Album and “Supernova,” Brighten the Corners and “Malibu,” Mellow Gold and “About a Girl.” The dream of the 90s is alive in Courtney Barnett. And with Sometimes I Sit and Think, it’s just been fully realized.

A truly progressive, existential, emotionally saturated hip-hop album that establishes the value of dance-centric collaboration by reminding us that it’s exactly that. And it will win this way, every single time.

Impressively condensed to under an hour, Cashmere’s thrilling tale of two MCs stands as a worthy achievement indeed. Musically, it holds up in the same way actual cashmere holds heat: better than most.

Production has never been cleaner. Progressions have never been tighter. The adhesive has never been stronger. And Jim James has never been finer.

On the 2018 remake (full title: Twin Fantasy (Face to Face)), Toledo maintains his vulnerability but hides behind layers of noise and production value. ... But if Toledo’s production sensibilities are still a work in progress, his sense of humor and wit continue to shine through.

The Ooz is an Archy Marshall hash, the strange scraps of his brain stewed into something unrecognizable and delicious.

These tracks don’t feel futuristic, but they shine with a blinding light, capping one of the most impressive arcs of any album so far this year.

They Want My Soul is the sort of mid-career album promising young bands should aspire to, and long-established acts will come to resent.

It takes him--and the listener--way out of the comfort zone, a shift that suits his tendencies wonderfully.

Open Mike Eagle is one of the few artists that seems to improve with every release, and just when you thought he couldn’t get better than a full collaboration with Paul White on yesteryear’s Hella Personal Film Festival, he does just that. It helps that the various producers manage to make unique beats that still fit in with the album’s general aesthetic.

Its arc is more satisfying than those of Narkopop or Konigsförst, though it lacks either of those albums’ sense of vastness. It certainly pales next to Pop and the underloved Zauberberg, which I’ve always felt were tied for the title of Voigt’s masterpiece.

Each spin offers a chance for escape, but what endows Berglund’s sophomore effort with the glow of a masterpiece is its accessibility.

Though it never quite comes through crystal-clear, the intensity and sincerity of the underlying emotion manages to bleed through a confusing swirl of altered sounds.

Ghettoville’s return to some of the musical qualities of its 2008 predecessor gives new richness and power to Actress’s work.

Is Wildflower the best album of the year? Probably not. But it was made by one of the most influential artists of our generation. Take note.

It’s the duo’s most sinister and fascinating collection of songs, enrapturing the listener with dystopian soundscapes and frustrating arrangements.

Emotion is so good, it’s formed sky-high expectations out of thin air.

Untitled Unmastered provides a spectacular contrast of sounds gallivanting under the same roof.

This is an excellent and refreshingly tense album.

Sonically, his oeuvre has bridged the divide between barren and lush. Lyrically, he has perfected the motif of narcotized horror.... This is the real deal.

The album is monumental in every sense of the word, a visceral testament to the abilities of an incredible group of musicians, each member contributing equally to its breathtaking chiaroscuro.

[A] strange, frequently beautiful, and unabashedly indulgent album.

It might take you a couple of spins to fully appreciate Boo Boo. At times, it’s very slow-moving, and some of Bear’s experiments don’t land. ... Don’t let the more experimental qualities keep you from listening to the record, though.

The Magic Whip continues along the weird and winding path first trod by Blur’s two previous, and most complex, LPs. More often than not, the album meanders, usually for the better.

Ratchet isn’t an unqualified triumph. But the album doesn’t have to be perfect to be a success. Its highs are high enough that its lows can be forgiven, or forgotten entirely.

They may be a conflicted bunch, but boy, do they ever make a magnificent racket.

It feels like a natural evolution of what Coltrane was doing, anyway.

Deep in the Iris is more concentrated than anything Braids have released to date. If its runtime is more approachable, the songs themselves are also more intense.

By Death Grips’ standards, the first disc is significantly less dynamic than the second.... Jenny Death represents another step forward for Death Grips, a group that seems to have walked over the horizon and out of sight albums ago.

Fanned by an intelligent approach to production, Disclosure’s fire has started to burn, and is destined to whip itself into an inferno this year.

Sure, there may be a shorter classic buried somewhere within the project’s 145+ minutes. Alas, this mythical album merely exists in my mind. 2 of 2, however, comes tantalizingly close to that ideal on its own.

If a person asks how to get into Slowdive, the correct answer is still to start with Souvlaki but Slowdive wouldn’t be a bad second choice.

Stuff Like That There is Yo La Tengo’s gentlest album by far. It’s also their least eclectic, which is to say their most samey-sounding. Summer Sun wasn’t dynamically varied either, but it had color and texture--pools of it! Stuff Like That There is just as consistent, but not nearly as rich.

Food is consistently satisfying and often fabulous.

Olympia inhabits a strange realm of saturnine electronica meant for cathartic swaying rather than choreographed movement.

For Sigur Rós, Kveikur is their most gloves-off release to date and they land the punch.

Bronson still creates a respectable hip-hop trilogy (not many of those), and gives us his most worthwhile long-player since 2012’s Rare Chandeliers.

What makes Cerulean Salt so enjoyable and so endlessly relistenable is that some of her snapshots likely resemble ones from your own lost photo albums.

Flawless transitions are endemic to the record, and necessary in order to cram this many ideas into an attention-deficit 32 minutes.

Too little is far better than too much as dozens of overstuffed double albums have taught fans of each decade. Every song here is a hit and Antisocialites is brilliant.

Marshall’s lyrics are desolate and vehement, but McDonald does a solid job of ensuring that the instrumentation acts as a foil to the bleakness when necessary, providing a counter-redeeming edge to the desolation.

Make no mistake--this is an album that’s challenging and demands attention, but if you can stay focused, you’ll be richly rewarded.

The result is a record that’s concerned about faith, death, and the metaphysical. It’s heady stuff but grounded with vignettes of everyday activities--a beautiful, comforting second work from the singer.

It’s a heartfelt, narcotic odyssey through the seductive pleasures of lava lamps and black light posters, a kind of escapism that comes in the same strange, silk-screened colors as the novelty lighters and t-shirts one might find at a backwoods southwestern gas station.

“Suck” is a fun funk-inspired dance reminiscent of early Blondie, but doesn’t match the overall mood of the record, leading it to sound out of place. Nonetheless, Nothing Feels Natural is a great debut from an exciting band; arguably the best debut of the year.

Each song works on its own terms, but many of the songs don’t seem to share terms.

Catchy as anything choruses, short track times, tight and sparse rhythms make this a record I wish came out when I was in high school. If the record does have a fault, is that it colors inside the lines.

It’s a record that boasts glaring maturity without diminishing the iconic immaturity.

Favorite records tend to draw us back in again and again because they offer a specific, familiar feeling, yet it remains difficult to rate, categorize or even define an album as restlessly mutable as ­Mr Twin Sister.

When packaged together, the album’s 41 minutes of clatter, jazz, and incantation coalesce into something otherworldly and almost marvelous.

Her complete dominance over the sonic space of her debut reinforces Broke With Expensive Taste as a product singularly of her vision.

Plowing Into the Field of Love is a great record which only has one song on it that really sounds like the Gun Club, or like anything you would want to play over the trailer of The Hateful Eight.

Ørsted’s debut LP wears its history heavily, composed of equal parts previously released and new material. It is a risk for an artist as dependent on earworm shock value as Ørsted, but a deliberate one that yield dividends at the end of the day.

Turn Out the Lights is an exciting sophomore effort from an even more exciting artist. While the album isn’t a tremendous leap forward from Sprained Ankle, Baker emerges with her vision and voice more fully formed. Wherever she goes from here, the world will be waiting to meet her.

For the most part, Silver Gymnasium makes for an uplifting and triumphant listen, with a positive energy running through the music and the melodies.

It’s frequently arrestingly beautiful (“Selfish Gene”) or driven nearly wild with joy (raucous party-starter “Mr Noah”), but always with a visceral, off-kilter kick where Panda Bear’s last pair of full-lengths opted for heavenly effervescence or communal transcendence.

In the show’s context, this soundtrack is a solid A. Evocative, thrilling, and dynamic, it’s everything you could possibly want from a TV score. On its own, it’s one of the most refreshingly forward-thinking electronic releases of the year, even if the tracklist could use some cleaning up.

Not quite the panacea that will usher in world peace, Days Are Gone is still a remarkable effort.

Generally speaking, where Black Panther succeeds most is in these moments where Kendrick blends South African and American sounds together.

Ryan Adams unearths new emotional riches, mostly sad ones, from his source material. And his 1989 transcends mere tribute.

With Cilvia Demo, Rashad proves his place in the Californian crew’s lauded lineup, and TDE show their own versatility on the cusp of hip hop takeover.

CHVRCHES have constructed a debut record that will not lose its luster with each successive spin, and proven that they have the substance to remain aloft as their cosmic kin come crashing down to Earth.

Foals daub from a palette of varied hues on What Went Down, occasionally with spectacular results. But as an album it’s revisionary as opposed to revolutionary, refining and weaving its DNA from the albums that preceded it.

Because it deviates from what fans expected, Sweetener takes a couple rotations to sink in, but if you give it time, you’ll see Ariana Grande really threw it down when she took down her ponytail.

Joanne still represents a striking course correction for Lady Gaga. By abandoning the dance club for the dive bar, she may have tossed aside her status as a pop star once and for all. But Gaga has emerged as something better and truer.

Jeffery isn’t the best rap album of the year, but it comes on strong enough to convince you--even for a few fleeting minutes of “Wyclef Jean”--that it just might be.

I’m hearing summer thunderstorms that threaten to wash the world away for two minutes then quit and get another beer. Dupuis’s bittersweet, teasing vocals feel like the gorgeous, blue, and brutally cold day after it snows three feet.

Throughout, Showalter comes over like a visionary risk-taker with nothing to lose, not to mention like a consummate frontman.

The more you listen, the more you’re likely to find, and the more you find, the more you’re likely to like Beautiful Thugger Girls. It’s not quite as endlessly explorable as Jeffery and doesn’t quite project the same confidence and swagger.

The production here is all skeletal beats but heavy-hitting drums, letting Thought do most of the heavy-lifting on his own. ... Ultimately, Thought’s first solo release does what’s expected of him; I just wish it did a little more.

Marissa Nadler’s limnetic new album, July, is both eerie and soothing, a lullaby written to induce nightmares.

Varmints displays both extremely well crafted instrumentation, and an overwhelming creative freedom.

Emily’s D+Evolution is a tight package that should appeal to fans of Janelle Monáe and Joni Mitchell’s more jazzy endeavors, or anyone who is looking for some well crafted, ambiguous music, with elements of jazz, rock, and folk accompanied with some stellar singing.

Though this cache of innovations is often depleted, when utilized correctly they wield enough ingenuity to distinguish Nilsson from the rest of the pack.

The Range’s new album Potential overflows with humanity, and that fact is what elevates it from just a quality electronic record to a universally important piece of work.

Now we have Little Dark Age. The true follow up to Congratulations, the record that is doomed to enjoy the benefit of the regret of the music writers who panned Congratulations and also to enjoy the inevitable backlash against the backlash. The record is more than good enough to earn these accolades. The highs are very high.

It’s a little too steeped in irony, not without tenderness, flippant but consternated, self-satisfied yet hungry for more, eager to expose the world’s duplicities alongside its own and then do nothing about it.

Beat the Champ, while it ain’t Songs in the Key of Life, keeps up the move toward eclectic instrumental color.

How Big How Blue How Beautiful may just be a better record than the one it follows. It chisels at Ceremonials’ baroque marble sculpture to reveal something smaller and more appealing.

For anyone who was ever remotely interested in Mount Eerie or the Microphones, A Crow Looked at Me is a must-listen. But it feels made for a very specific time and place, and the subject matter is tough to stomach and tougher to shake.

Hats off to this fantastic singer-songwriter for not only emerging from the fog so quickly, but also for crafting a dynamic album that is bigger than its size and very deserving of the praise it will undoubtedly receive.

A great way to approach I’m All Ears is by thinking of it as a jam session, where both Walton and Hollingworth experiment news ways of making music and detailing experience. It allows for a mishmash of elements and influences to come together in a bizarre and ultimately rewarding experience.

Need to Feel Your Love is an excellent debut, and if this record is any indication, Sheer Mag is set to continue their trend of making great music.

Next Thing truly is beautiful, if a little too slight to be counted among the greats in its genre. It doesn’t seem to strive for that type of greatness, though. It’s content to revel in purely being, basking in its own breathless embodiment of grace and lightness.

It’s nerves are uneasy, but Lost in the Dream stands as Granduciel’s most open-armed record yet, filled to the gills with selfdom and sprawling musicality.

Soft vocals percolate through the record, lending it a remarkable emotional profundity. Though at times the record feels a little repetitive, Zauner’s lyrical skill keeps it from being boring.

In the end, What a Time reminds us that music is best when it’s enjoyed when in the company of others. It’s a project that demands that the listener live vicariously through it and looks to give hope through music to those willing to listen. Nothing more, nothing less.

Frankly, it’s a bit of a corker.

The songs are intricately built but they also feel distinctly impermanent; little snippets of soft static open and close a number of tracks, like the songs are coming in and out focus.

Throughout In Conflict, Pallett opens up his compositions even more than his lyrics, but the songwriting is no less brainy, and themes no less tangled, than on his earlier work.

El Camino was the sound of The Black Keys flexing their muscles as they reached for that sword, but Turn Blue is the sound of The Black Keys baring their soul and testing the parameters.

The fuse has been lit. London is just a prologue, but it’s an exceedingly promising one.

AMOK is a surprisingly unassuming album in that way; each song has worthwhile hooks and accessibility is favored over abstract experiments.