That’s the trick of Middle of Nowhere: it never rushes to define what comes next. Instead, Musgraves lingers in the in-between, finding humor, heartbreak and a surprising amount of peace along the way.

From beginning to end, LP4 is remarkably expansive. Not louder, necessarily – just deeper, messier and quite willing to tolerate discomfort. Middle age has never felt, or sounded, like a more beautiful bummer.

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.

Ellison has created one of his most concentrated and fascinating releases.

At any given moment, Gordon’s sing-speak Sprechgesang of catchphrases, commands, Post-It note poetry and cultural keywords (“Bye Bye 25!”) comes off clipped, desperate, laconic, near-death, dominating, erotic, craven, jaded, resigned, empowered. Captivating.

The swathe of great moments here is impressive. .... Indeed, Trixies might be the duo’s personal masterpiece.

Whenever the party gets too polite, Gorillaz drop an unruly banger like the kaleidoscopic “Damascus” featuring frequent running mates Omar Souleyman and Yasiin Bey (fka Mos Def), reminding us that everyone’s always welcome on the dance floor.

The 10 tracks on Love Is Not Enough are more than just a physical workout: they’re cardio for the brain.

Even if your knowledge of Turkish is zilch, you can’t help feeling these 10 songs deeply. Verily, Garip is sonic alchemy.

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.

This is a deceptively pretty album in which all of the experiments succeed.

A curious collab from some unlikely bedfellows, these nine songs carry the propensity to become a gateway drug to discover legendary works from Lee Hazlewood to Scott Walker to Ennio Morricone to such modern askew prairie- and desert-dwellers as Jim White and Giant Sand’s Howe Gelb.

Tortoise are still on a creative roll, even if it’s a very slow, drawn-out one.

Viewfinder might not have any hard answers, but it does find a kind of ambiguous truth that lies beyond the perceptible.

While nothing here feels as urgent or frenetic as his 2002 debut, Memoryhouse, selections such as “And Some Will Fall” and “Late and Soon” rank among the most beautiful in Richter’s catalog. However, In a Landscape doesn’t always work. Richter staggers a series of nine “Life Studies” throughout the 19 tracks—comprised in part of tape delays, reverb, and vocoder, these short ambient sections break the natural flow of beauty.

Compassion is more mature but also more daring than any of his previous work—wiser but more innocent, weirder but more focused.

From the vulnerability in Berdan’s scream to the elegant (no, really) arrangements, American Standard is never corny or contrived. It’s the year’s most intimate, most savage feel-bad music.

On Amelia, Anderson resurrects this courageous woman and gives her breath, heart, and soul. It is impossible to hear this aerial ballet and walk away unaffected.

In their third decade, Melt-Banana have, indisputably, made their most insane record and, arguably, their masterpiece.

Though not every experiment lands—the ethereal “Sundowner” comes across like Slowdive-lite—Romance is thrilling in its willingness to subvert what you thought you knew about Fontaines D.C.

She keeps an eye on trends without succumbing to them. Add Quantum Baby to the winning streak.

Another Day isn’t quite as good as the best Fucked Up records; that bar is just a little too high. But it’s still a Fucked Up record.

You won’t hear much new on Vertigo, but what’s there is lovingly, potently rendered.

Dr. Dog can capture the irreverence and fun of their influences, but the Dylan-esque rambling and McCartney-indebted harmonies ultimately click too briefly, only inducing nostalgia for the moments when Dr. Dog shines.

Red Mile is thus far Crack Cloud’s ultimate rock odyssey—a combination of epic poem-leaning lyrics with spacious, anthemic compositions that recall everyone from Gary Numan and early ‘80s David Bowie to Broken Social Scene. .... A disarmingly earnest exercise in philosophizing, its dense meta-ness more outlined with every listen.

Em is largely in defense mode; it’s a self-consciousness that leans closer to stagnation than catharsis.

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.

At its best, Big Ideas jostles with brilliant songcraft that signifies her rapid growth as an artist—if the essential aesthetic is little changed, the execution is often warmer, more mature and expansive.