Far and away Deftones' most daring and impassioned work to date.

Darnielle's signature frantic strum is all but absent, replaced by languid tempos and quiet full-band arrangements. [Sep 2006, p.108]

It's his so-twee-it-hurts delivery that'll make you feel you're at a roadside bingo hall in rural Scandinavia, waiting for someone to holler, "B8!" [Nov 2007,p.121]

This is some serious whimsy. [Feb 2008, p.92]

Lee's take on the feminine id is like the music itself: smooth on the outside, savage within.

On their second album, this Aussie duo's buzzy guitar pop is more hyper and gripping than ever, as she breathlessly spews dramatic tales that have the immediacy of crazed Twitter posts.

R.I.P. rewards background play just as much as concentrated listening, if not more so.

Each song is immaculately crafted and sequenced, yet with this many ballads, they blur: a play continually in its eleventh hour.

This is the birth of Will Butler, solo artist, whose career seems just as woozily unpredictable and captivating as that of his "day job."

The ex–Drive-By Truckers guitarist shares his former band's lyrical penchant for the dark end of the street.

LaVere sounds like a gifted kidnap victim--scared, angry, resourceful. You just know she's going to set herself free.

Rarely has whimsical weirdness been done with such finesse.

Represents a major upgrade in Dashboard's sound. [Jul 2006, p.83]

By balancing on the tightrope between meme and icon, between relatable and aspirational, Ephorize emerges sounding remarkably human.

Time to Go Home breaks new personal and political ground for contemporary goth-influenced music as Chastity Belt trades cliche nihilism for proactively feminist post-punk.

This strange, fascinating EP dramatizes the desperate fumbling for order amid chaos.

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

The new tracks feel particularly crisp and cohesive, easily her most captivating and keenly focused record yet.

The emotional arcs are just as fresh and just as gripping [as Barter 6], but here they’re confined to songs, and sometimes to single verses.

[His] most consistently entertaining album since 1999's 69 Love Songs. [Dec 2006, p.96]

Made sounds dirtier (i.e., more Southern) than its polished predecessor, though it still relies on a bevy of soul samples. The best is the Hall & Oates bite on 'Never.'

That sense of newfound freedom and exaltation surges through Potential, a rich matrix of the Range’s knack for digging up strangers’ stories and assimilating breakbeat, grime, U.K. garage, and late ’90s R&B.

The result is her finest record since "Car Wheels on a Gravel Road," the decade-old masterpiece by which her career will always be judged.

This loud and proud psych-folk trio want some old-fashioned joy on their fifth album -- and they want it now.

What makes this music special is what Smith does with all that stylized sparseness, transforming it into something alive and dynamic instead of merely sleepy.

This one is lithe and liquid, shy of a masterwork but still a fucking great record, top to bottom.

Graves' earnest lyrics are purposely mixed far beneath the caustic instrumentals here, but when a few words do surface, we're treated to thoughtful (if only partial) confessions.

Ivy Tripp cements that Crutchfield is better able to hone in on her fears and articulate emotional realities.

Such an over-the-top approach could end in solemn self-parody. But Broken Records' refreshing playfulness and surprisingly light touch indicate they're really enjoying themselves.

With subtle sonic shifts (such as chanting on the almost-poppy "Trembling Hands"), the songs are reliably dynamic, turning hushed beats and lightly scratched guitar into overwhelming drama.

[A] beautiful if vague fourth studio album.

This Philly-born belter sounds like a direct reaction against the Auto-Tune era, with Sullivan turning her pain into a performance worthy of a vintage Apollo headlining gig.

A melodic improvement on their 2007 debut, Return of the Century could pass for breezy escapism, thanks to mellow vocalists Edward Anderson, Caroline Donovan, and Jeanine O'Toole; but the songs' unreliable narrators invariably exhibit dismissive, selfish attitudes toward friends and lovers.

One of the best albums from a restless artist who understands the ridiculousness of being a Restless Artist, but trusts that a consistent voice will make sense of his cross-genre meanderings.

[Wet Leg] is witty, self-referential and danceable, loaded with anthems for the extroverted introvert.

Ross's greatest tool is still his presence, which vouches for the strength of his persona when his lyrics can't.

Feral intensity abounds. [Apr 2008, p.98]

This guy has written 40-plus albums of material, so it's saying something that Benji is one of his more challenging listens.

With Heartbeat Radio, Lerche aligns all his identities: Gentlemanly melodies glide across elegant guitars and High Llama Sean O’Hagan’s swelling string arrangements.

This four-CD live box is so raw that you can almost see the twisting, sinewy torso and smell the sweat and peanut butter, as the sonic levels constantly push into the red.

With this new album, they finally sever those last few ties, and forge ahead into the retro future.

While We Wait has more features than the nearly all-Kehlani SweetSexySavage, but the guests acquit themselves best when they’re subsumed into the mood, like neo-soul throwback Musiq Soulchild and a relatively chill Ty Dolla $ign. Where the ballads on SweetSexySavage were very period-accurate--in that they were often filler--on While We Wait they’re the standouts.

In timbre and voice alike, the new LP is startlingly, richly fulsome, commingling the mysticism of Smithsonian Folkways LPs, IDM’s furrowed futurism, and the free-fall questing of Laurie Spiegel’s 1980 landmark, The Expanding Universe.

Is the entire thing about 20 minutes too long? Probably. But the obvious lack of outside meddling proves that Tyler's auteur status remains intact. He is, in the parlance of our times, still swaggin'. Now maybe he can get to work on winning that Grammy.

The most impressive thing about Moth is the way it manages to wrap a more compact frame around Chairlift’s spiraling colors without dulling the final product.

Sophisticated dance-floor mischief rarely gets this sexy.

Across 14 tracks, there is no obvious hit to match the enduring success of 2014’s “Archie, Marry Me” or 2017’s “Dreams Tonite,” each touting a cool 70 million listens on Spotify — massive numbers for a band that began in the outlands of Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island. But each song has its place and raison d’etre amid this fully realized batch of tunes detailing heartache, lonesome fury and wistful wonderment.

Given Alison Mosshart's recent adventures with the Dead Weather (and Jamie Hince's escapades with fiancée Kate Moss), it's no shock that the new Kills record presents a more expansive sound from the London-based blues-punk duo.

Blade isn't quite that esoteric or ambitious, just an adept, hour-long reminder of how 14 years ago these guys turned your average boom bap into elaborate fantasies of iron galaxies and screamed phoenixes.

Expansive yet intimate, ornate yet seductive, this is capital-A Art rock without pretense, but with tremendous heart.

Producer Left Brain breaks ground on bangers that stitch ambient electronica to cracked G-funk, while Hodgy sports the casual swag of Wiz Khalifa or Lil Wayne, with 
a less cringe-worthy sense of humor than his peers.

CHVRCHES' debut is at its best on its revenge tunes.

As Shepherd’s confidence grows in his compositions, he gives each element of the song enough time to stand on its own, without the bells and whistles of the Ensemble’s (slightly more) enormous orchestra.

A generous, pacifistic record about the dynamics of friendship and the grace of listening--both, however coincidentally, apt palliatives for a tense, hostile global moment.

Airtight's Revenge has its soul affectations, but even standard fare like "Little One" bears Bilal's impressively reedy, insistent voice. He sounds like a man unburdening himself.

For an artist never exactly afraid of taking risks, Dust still finds new forms of experimentation, moving beyond dance toward something softer and more reflective. Halo juggles new elements with gorgeous sparseness that gives weight to each sonic addition.

Late Nights: Europe is a dirty, delectable paean to the mischief that takes place after three in the morning.

High-energy electro eccentricity. [Jun 2006, p.80]

While the band still lack a truly distinctive vocalist, it's become clear that with their mastery of water, earth, and skye, Mastodon's music now feels as powerfully elemental as its subject matter.

The sound may be five years old, but Essence's insistence that jungle left something valuable behind back in '95 is a major part of its appeal. [Sept. 2000]

All those disparate styles and references should logically clash, yet here they flow seamlessly. By Franz standards, it's relaxed. Believe it or not, it's also compact and concise.

The cool sound of hot days, fragrant smoke, and FM radio at ear-splitting volume. [Jun 2006, p.77]

Despite the absence of percussion, it moves as steadily as a mountain stream, a reminder of the pulse connecting club music with a much vaster world beyond. Now, more than ever, we need the long view glimpsed through Pink's rose-tinted rave goggles.

Thw Quin twins' new-wave pop hooks are stroonger than ever. [Aug 2007, p.109]

The pleasure they provide is difficult to dismiss; there’s so much life in these new songs, formula or not.

What first makes the record baffling is also what makes it fascinating, as the band toes the line between experimentation and self-sabotage. They wring maximum potential from bizarre ideas.

After 2006's acclaimed debut, Hello Master, this Montreal metal foursome had to cut through a mass of red tape before Fire, their long-gestating follow-up, could get a U.S. release date. Someone should be fired for the delay, because this baby burns.

Forty years down the line, Maiden has proven that they’re still the best metal band in the world; we never had any doubt, but The Book of Souls is one hell of a reminder.

As the overwhelming bulk of Luxury Problems demonstrates, the producer might've learned how to marshal all the dark, weird stuff boiling inside him, but he's not about to relinquish it any time soon.

The result is spare and somber--just that windy Americana tenor against a squeaky acoustic guitar.

On Body Talk Pt. 1, Robyn confidently chronicles the heartbreak ("Dancing on My Own") and pleasure ("Dancehall Queen") of epic disco nights like she's ready to rule.

The only time the almost 80-minute Take Care doesn't work is when it indulges something resembling conventional hip-hop.

Rock that's both fist-pumping and forward-looking. [Jun 2007, p.90]

DJ/Producer Andrew Butler mixes the poetic Apollonian aspects of queer culture with the Dionysian party represented by left-field disco and hypnotic early house, and crafts an unsettlung masterpiece that yearns and churns and ultimately pulls the rug from under your dancing feet. [June 2008, p.116]

[The tracks are] thoughtful enough to help make this one of the year's best rap albums. [June 2008, p.104]

Her pop hits remain enjoyable, but what makes Feist’s albums hold up is the unexpected. Pleasure perhaps asks more of the listener than her first two records did, but really, the best pleasures do.

On Angles, the Strokes' trick isn't fooling us into thinking these tunes fell to Stanton Street fully formed (though that occasionally happens, as with the goofy fake-reggae lark "Machu Picchu"). It's that a group of reunited rock stars somehow come on like wide-eyed kids.

Stapleton is looser, bolder and surer of himself, a recipe making this his best project yet.

The real act of provocation here comes in the streamlining of what had been cacophonous material into a solid bag of actual tunes.

Selmasongs becomes a deeper listen after you've seen Dancer In The Dark.... But even without its proper context, the album is evidence of Bjork's unstoppable growth. [Nov. 2000, p.197]

Rougher than Belle and Sebastian and lovelier than Mogwai, the Delgados craft orchestral maneuvers in the dark that leave bruises. [Feb 2003, p.98]

Terje can make an aging gigolo's commentary on the folly of his misspent youth the centerpiece of his otherwise invigorating dance album because he's the rare crowd-pleasing DJ whose musical skills trump his proven ability to move butts.

Price lives up to the hype by marrying hardscrabble traditionalism with modern narratives on her debut album, Midwest Farmer’s Daughter.

Produced by Sigur Ros' Kjartan Sveinsson, Arnalds embellishes her debut's spare guitar-voice template with discreet overdubs, including brass and strings, enhancing breathtaking tunes like "Surrender" (which features Bjork adding a swirling countermelody). For those who consider Joanna Newsom too mainstream.

Le Noise, produced by Daniel Lanois and recorded solo with a reverb-swathed electric guitar, is all about doubt and desperation, and Young is never better than when he's unsure of himself.

Although the daughter of Little Feat's late leader Lowell George charms with a crisp, vibrato-less chirp that suits her airy tunes, the star here is Parks, Brian Wilson's SMiLE collaborator, who surrounds George in a florid orchestral fantasia that flickers like a luscious, precisely gardened flower bed teeming with hidden fauna.

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.

The album feels unprecedented within his catalog because it strikes a balance Thug has never quite pulled off on a single project: mixing a unified, album-wide sound with moments of aggressive experimentation and nagging hooks.

That [the "Heaven Sent" track's] parent album is as fun to listen to--with its soaring harmonies, left-of-center biblical influences, and total abandonment of traditional genre restriction--as it is insightful is a credit to its author.

It's an album of scorching, scene-defining hits.

Gundred's richer-than-you-expect voice is the key to these jagged little pillows.

Those who wanted another full flamenco affair like El Mal Querer might be disappointed, but MOTOMAMI is an exciting detour where Rosalía flexes her seemingly limitless artistry across 16 tracks.

It's a savage, heartfelt, at times hilarious goth-mosh emopera. [Nov 2006, p.95]

Root for Ruin's dreamy ferocity is familiar, but the feeling of camaraderie keeps growing.

These songs have strong, familiar features, but they build off of one another; every one of them is full of hyperactive, bats**t detail that makes it immediately attributable to this band alone.

Twenty years later, he returns with Upland Stories, and the prolific singer-songwriter has never sounded better.

Alpha Games is a reconfiguration of sorts. It’s not imitating the earlier works in Bloc Party’s catalog so much as it is building from them. Produced by Adam Greenspan and Nick Launay (IDLES, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Nick Cave), their latest creation is an exceptional addition to their arsenal.

Greenwood’s previous PTA scores provided feral atmosphere first and foremost, or in Inherent Vice’s case, a convex take on classic Hollywood film noir incidental music. Phantom Thread’s score, on the other hand, feels like another main character or storytelling voice in the film. Greenwood’s abilities have never served one of Anderson’s films better, or proved so integral to its power.