Killing Time is no breakthrough, but it does pack actual hard-rock crunch, not just sure-shot emo punch.

WWW stretches Whack’s stylistic range, reintroducing an artist who seems more deeply in tune with her emotions.

Throughout, the musicians seem to be cooking in their own worlds, but their parts fortuitously interlock and tasty grooves frequently arise. There’s so much going on in How You Been, and it’s all interesting.

Gathered from scraps of the You Want It Darker sessions and cobbled together with contributions from Beck, Feist, Bryce Dessner of the National, and more, it’s a worthy postscript to Cohen’s farewell, another clear-eyed look at the inevitability of death.

A bruisingly great collection of demented 1988-style boom-bap. [May 2004, p.107]

Hynes impeccably orchestrates his jazzy art-funk, resulting in the best sounding music of his solo career.

With Don’t Forget Me, Rogers sounds fully confident abandoning the glossiness of her earliest work—she doesn’t need studio flourishes to bolster her transcendent songwriting.

Flashes of fun appear--dig the glam-Sabbath stomp of 'Inconvenience'--but most of Dark could use more color.

Of course, the main attraction remains his bristling, zigzag guitar licks, which still astound nearly 40 years on. [Jun 2007, p.96]

Though less dynamic in delivery, and less diverse in production, than prior releases, Vince Staples contains all the ingredients that make him such a unique talent.

[Franz Ferdinand's] Alex Kapranos... owes JK crooner Paul Haig a pint. [Dec 2006, p.103]

The real magic of Currents, though, is in how Parker so effectively (and genuinely, for the most part) manipulates the listener’s emotions without necessarily revealing any himself.

While writing some of the most accessible music of her career, she makes fun of the assignment a bit while completing it. The maturity of her songwriting voice on Rebound is staggering, and makes her enterprise feel like an emotionally embodied exercise as well as a technical, aesthetic one.

She continues that trend on Sling, where she explores musical terrain that’s completely new to her. Though Antonoff’s production sometimes feels like it’s holding Clairo back a bit too much, that doesn’t impede Clairo from writing excellent songs. Sling is further proof of that.

The real orchestration is in Beam's voice, a sigh so angelic it masks the religious turmoil within. [Oct 2007, p.106]

Kelela proudly stands within the genre’s tradition. For the most part, she avoids making any grandstanding romantic or political statements, but Take Me Apart finds its purpose within the subdued complexities.

Guest producers give Frank its greatest highlights. ... Though much of the album is well within Anakin’s comfort zone, it also sees him trying more melodic approaches.

[Death Cab] have never made the truly great album that their best songs promised. Until now. [Nov 2003, p.112]

Sound[s] like Prince cutting the ass out of Squarepusher's pants. [Aug 2005, p.103]

It's hard to think of another post-hardcore lifer whose return to active duty is so high-five worthy.

Second Hand Heart is a whisker less awesome, but in the last month only Earl Sweatshirt’s album could match its acerbic brevity.

Tennant and Lowe's rueful melodies and vocals dilute the euphoria. Classic Pet Shop Boys, in other words.

Like art, Vampires is dense; like pop, it seems to float in effortlessly from some place you're sure you've been, but by some trick of déjà vu eludes your conscious brain.

Philippe Zdar handles most vocals, sneering through the propulsive dance-punk single 'Toop Toop' but failing to sustain the drones that dominate this overlong disc's second half.

With her remarkable voice—slippery, shadowy, haunted by the ghost of itself—and dolorous melodic sensibility, Gendron renders whatever she’s feeling (grief, awe, bittersweet joy) as a complex continuum. .... Utilizing a proper studio for the first time, with Dirty Three drummer Jim White and improvisational guitarist Marisa Anderson joining on several tracks, Gendron adds new layers of intuitive fluidity to her songs, while also carving out time just for herself and her fermented sorrow.

Preposterous and sensational, We Love Life grapples with nothing less than how best to prove you're alive. [Oct 2002, p.116]

Finds these thoughtful Brits exploring even more emotional territory. [Mar 2004, p.96]

If Oneida are feeling hunted or hemmed in, they haven’t gone to ground: Expensive Air is, above all else, a barreling rush over the barricades and a frenzied, defiant dash toward whatever remains of freedom on the other side. Here it comes, indeed.

Exchanging their volatile tendencies for restraint and focus, Godspeed You! Black Emperor have created another incredible work and one that finds them again evading the confines of formula--even if it happens to be their own.

Gone are the prior albums' "tasteful" (i.e., boring) slow-burners; El Camino's 38 minutes are pure thrust.

Sexistential (Young) arrives not as a nostalgia exercise or victory lap, but as proof that Robyn’s particular synthesis of pleasure, vulnerability and pop rigor remains maddeningly hard to replicate.

Dream River flows from one track to the next, with a similarity of tempo that makes it play like eight movements of one 40-minute song. But a few moments stand out.

Pompadoured George Taylor Jr. has more than enough melodic grace and pretty-boy swag to nail the sound.

There's still something small and handmade about the Thermals' music. [Sep 2006, p.112]

The aptly titled Wake Up the Nation hardly feels like a nostalgia trip; in the taut, two-minute boogie-punk number "Fast Car/Slow Traffic," Weller could be describing himself in relation to his heritage-rock peers.

ESG's DIY tracks have a raw, unfinished feel--echo-drenched vocals buried deep in the mix, jagged hen-scratch guitar, taut bass lines as infectious as mononucleosis, and reverberating layers of percussion... The group's 1981 debut single, "Moody"... is one of the funkiest songs ever recorded. [Sep 2000, p.181]

A near-masterpiece of magical sounds that are both familiar and wildly new, a stunning blend of classic Americana and classical orchestration.

Inches compiles them all, from the high-voltage shriekathon "Blackouts on Thursday" to "Hold on to Your Genre," where a churning bass line meets shimmery guitar worthy of a new-wave Edge. [Jun 2004, p.108]

The songs on The Letting Go that flirt with familiar forms... feel completely devoid of his pretentious tendencies. [Oct 2006, p.94]

UGK 4 Life is a fitting capper to this Texas duo's storied career--nothing groundbreaking, just funky, rough-hewn, celebratory tracks.

Marion's approach varies, but his surprisingly soulful songs consistently connect, a significant feat considering we only hear his voice through a Fender.

The self-production here is a bit murky, maybe, and the drums and vocals have seen sharper days. But these dudes still turn sharp corners.

They're still wildly unpredictable--and still committed to not singing in English--but the dichotomy between the adrenaline rushes and chill-out moments seems a bit more purposeful.

Thanks to its introspective depth, it's equally well suited to solitary listening, the rare mix that connects dance music's public sphere--joyous, communal, kinetic, chaotic--with a more private kind of rapture.

Far from a run-of-the-mill concert LP, Live provides a much-needed reminder of Pylon’s understated genius--not just as a live act, but as unparalleled, influential alt-rock progenitors.

Albini, drummer Todd Trainer, and bassist Bob Weston lock in together one last time—a wiry whirlwind of concision, all jokes and referents (including a wink to the late Mark E. Smith of the Fall) and honed dynamics on their leanest LP, at 28 minutes.

Like Robert Earl Keen, he has a way with a punch line and the frat-boy fans to prove it--they're gonna love 'America's Favorite Pastime,' which recounts the 1970 no-hitter Dock Ellis pitched on LSD. The rest of us will admire 'Bring 'Em Home,' a spirited call to get our troops the hell out of harm's way.

It’s a seamless, flawless mix that in Moodymann’s hands becomes a timeless capsule spinning across the galaxy to rally any generation that finds it.

Kvelertak reach further back on their epic third album Nattesferd, which sounds more like 2016 metal rode a time machine back to the ‘70s and ‘80s to see what blood-curdling shrieks could do for the likes of bar-band glam and proggy power-metal.

The album is curated like a museum, preserving the best of their sound while polishing the crucial details. Spaceman continues to fine-tune his astral pop sound with shocking consistency throughout the familiar but delightfully hypnotic space rock album.

They channel experimental noise, acid-drenched riffs, and live-show spontaneity into a record of brilliantly crafted nuggets of lysergic rock that is easily their most consistent effort to date.

FLOTUS chases a particular spark of inspiration across its hour-plus runtime, as if attempting to prolong an ephemeral moment when anything felt possible.

This is not the sound of settling.

Awesome the riffs may be, one might only want to hear them in small bursts lest they risk being worn out. Still, there’s enough variation to stave off sameness, and the band is smart enough to switch it up from track-to-track.

Somehow they've upped their jubilation game without making too many sonic changes since 2005's self-titled debut.

Buoyant voices erupt in urgent chants, while xylophones, thumb pianos, and percussion create a swirling, hallucinatory web of sound equal to the freakiest psychedelia. [Oct 2008, p.114]

The final result is a balm to soothe well-trodden emotional frequencies.

It's a set of torch songs to do Nico proud--some folkie, some neo-soul, all darker than your closet at midnight. [Oct 2003, p.113]

HEAVN is musically spry and spiritually hefty at 41 minutes, the questioning half of a nationally fraught Q&A that’s long deserved the answers, none of whom are currently running for president.

Happiness hasn’t blunted his keen social insight, though, as he empathizes with latchkey teens (“Tight Rope”), reflects on friends trapped in the street life (“Slippin’ Away”), and rues slavery’s consequences (“The Travelers”).

Recognizable shapes of jazz and post-rock often accompany Gira's baritone croon, but they're always delivered between passages of fastidiously crafted clamor that's as cauterizing as ever.

When any of Hinterland‘s nine disco-punk tracks gets in the pocket, the bass, guitar, and drums could run out for a half-hour, remaining insistent in their funk without breaking stride or sagging in momentum.

The results are even more immersive than the stuttering microhouse rhythms on which he built his reputation originally.

For maybe the first time, the Evens actually make you miss Fugazi a little bit less.

Harry’s House reinforces Styles’ signature sensitivity in an authentic way and shows he’s more than earned his place as one of music’s most innovative artists. More importantly, he reminds us that he’s a pop star playing by his own rules—and he’s here for the long haul.

The enthralling Real Animal presents a concise overview of the man's art and life, encompassing the punk fury of the Nuns, the country-rock twang of Rank and File, the rootsy guitar assault of True Believers, and the late-era tortured, string-quintet balladry that showcases his unbearably sad voice.

Even though it’s a brisk seven songs, it lingers as the best pieces of writing tend to do.

Dose attempts to go everywhere and do everything. Opener “None of Your Business Man” is classic Abraham ascendancy (and the perfect anthem to quit your job to). “Torch to Light” introduces the double LP’s first moment of psychedelia, a new-ish venture for the band that’s sprinkled throughout. Mascis’s contribution on “Came Down Wrong” is, unsurprisingly, fuzzy, lackadaisical indie rock. “Dose Your Dreams” is disco. “Two I’s Closed” is a Beatles ballad. “The One I Want Will Come for Me” recalls shoegaze-y Cure.

It isn't traditionally enjoyable, and it isn't supposed to be.... It's the most daring record he could've made.

Superchunk clearly trust their music to hold up under all the heaviness of life's big questions, and trust us to hold up, too.

Hospice is packed with lofty choruses and extended instrumental passages (the alternately elegiac and tedious 'Atrophy'). But with emotional drama in abundance (mostly from vocalist Peter Silberman’s fiery, tormented shouts), sonic indulgences like the astral guitar blasts on “Thirteen” offer genuine catharsis.

Game Theory is the Roots at their heaviest. [Sep 2006, p.114]

As important as the production is, though, it’s still the songwriting that makes Pawn Shop stand out.

The album is another leap forward for the producer, refining his sense of songcraft and expanding his instrumental palette without sanding down his rough edges in the slightest. Faith doubles down on the industrial brutality of Problems, while also balancing that with a sense of hope and comfort rarely heard from Stott previously.

Isolation Drills' anthems are shamelessly charming, even bashfully moving. [June 2001, p.153]

As a sonic experience, Tempest kicks most Dylan albums in the cojones.

When Sheer Mag is on, they’re turned up to 11. Playing Favorites proves that joy can show up defiantly, wearing a sleeveless denim vest, and sometimes, a rollicking good time is the glue holding our hearts together.

Apart from its near-voyeuristic intimacy, Piano & A Microphone is most interesting when one imagines what this session meant to Prince at the time.

Nominal solo debut notwithstanding, Blunderbuss is the sound of a mid-career stride.

Fully formed songs suggest themselves, but too often prematurely dissolve, with vagaries always favored over the tangible.

Amygdala is the most fearless and most accomplished thing he's ever made: a smorgasbord of sonic possibility, a new idea around every corner, each vibrantly alive in a wide sound field.

Winging away from Major Arcana‘s dark, tense pockets--the jagged, crackling riffs and the jarring way Dupuis’ voice faltered at the end of her desperately insightful verses, as if she were about to fall off a cliff--stretches Speedy Ortiz thin at times on Foil Deer.

Open Your Heart improves the band's focus even as it widens its range, ditching the harrowing, hacking-death-cough stuff and reaching for something more.

What once was a one-man basement project becomes a full band to be reckoned with.

He does have a sharp facility for steely Bakersfield guitar licks and cinematic countrypolitan strings and clever honkytonk wordplay and so many other elements that defined country in the ‘60s and early ‘70s. But he never feels out of time on $10 Cowboy.

All Hell throws up no barriers to access--if you have an abiding interest in great stories told by a great new storyteller, it'll welcome you in.

With their fourth album Värähtelijä they’ve finally made a record that fully follows through on the paradoxical promise of their component parts.

It’s not at all certain that this lovely, gentle record will ever get a follow-up--fortunately, it already sounds damn-near timeless.

That it reads like it came from NAO’s diary points to her greatest achievement on Saturn: every song can shine as a standalone track, but they sound even better together.

YG has gone and done himself one better, creating a record that stands tall alongside the full-lengths he once mined.

Wildflower is a shaggy document, to be sure. Not everything’s a stunner like “Because I’m Me” or “Harmony”--sometimes there’s moldering AM Gold like “Light Up.” But now it’s not about the journey into paradise, more like a rush to the finish line. They’re out of time, but they still made it.

Idlewild are compelling when they put Woomble's sad-sack lyrics front and center, but on aggressively average rockers like "You Held The World In Your Arms" and "Century After Century," the band's turgid squall swamps his words. [Jun 2003, p.103]

Obviously, hip-hop loves its thugs, too, especially if they're the antiheroes of a relatively nuanced piece like this one.

The LP is the group’s most enjoyable, but also their most potent, all the more menacing for its unlikely grinning.

The album’s production also settles into more coherent beats, a more richly-textured take on the sparse, sample-based sounds favored by underground artists like Navy Blue, MIKE, and featured artist Pink Siifu, who flows hectically over the creeping funk of “Obsidian.” ... Though one of her most conventional projects to date, Black Encyclopedia of the Air adheres to the radical tenets which defined Ayewa’s prior genre-defying work.

Lightest Ono album ever? Probably. Heaviest avant-pop from a 76-year-old mainstream pariah/underground innovator? Hell, yeah!

The pop ingenue’s impassioned, sassy and highly satisfying debut album.

Skying lacks the urgency of their raucous goth-punk debut Strange House, but the broadly hooky single "Still Life" could fill an arena nicely, and the band actually sound interested enough to entertain the possibility.