The overwhelming sense Everything’s Fine leaves you with is that at some point a deep engagement with your artistic craft starts to look a lot like love--love between artists, between artist and audience, and finally a radical love for the world itself, even and especially because we know things will never be fine.

For now their debut release shows great promise, deftly combining the ferocity of punk with soul-baring lyricism.

It's a remarkably restless and hungry 40 minutes of music, maybe bordering on scattershot, if not for one thing holding it all together. That would be De Souza's own vocals. Put simply, she gives the best performance of the year on this album, her powerhouse voice bursting out of the seams of every song like it simply can't be contained.

Excessive, sexual, and catchy, UGK has crafted the most definitive template for the southern rap record. Sadly, it'll be their last.

A very, very impressive album all around.

Ghosts, at surface level, appears to be cut from the same futuristic mold with its uninviting and foreboding artwork and premise, but closer inspection finds album no. 8 to be the artist's most approachable album to date.

Target Earth is the speed, technicality and thrashy weirdness of the band's earliest album enveloped in a modern package that is also able to retain its own vibe and personality.

On Meir, Kvelertak prove that it's actually okay to play happy metal without appearing saccharine or contrived.

It's not only a testament to her sheer persistence as an artist, but also a powerful soul record that showcases her remarkable vocal talent with a concise collection of expertly performed songs.

It makes for a surprisingly fun and varied record. Yet, that's not to say that the record is without its foibles. The biggest problem is Die Knowing never comes into its own.

Alpha is easily the band's most accessible album to date.

In its best moments, Day to Day basks in routine humdrum, making it a bit more magical.

Hours upon hours of material is present for listeners, the hardcore and the uninitiated alike, to indulge in; the five-pound box provides listeners with a potentially new outlook on this underappreciated era of King Crimson, and is guaranteed to be worth the price of entry just for the fleeting mellotron strains of “Lizard” alone.

Yolk in the Fur is a statement album. It’s an experience that flows effortlessly, combining a glistening, guitar-driven atmosphere with romantically-charged lyrics that make the whole thing nearly impossible to resist.

Maybe this album is the fire; the guitar melodies on songs like Strong References and Avoidarama certainly blaze a scorching trail through the middle of rhythm section. But on a record where those blistering tones are juxtaposed against lines like ”Find an oven, stick my head in”, I’m assuming that tenacity isn’t a by-product of optimism so much as it is a spiteful response to expectation and convention. That, my guys, is more punk than vandalizing GG Allin’s gravestone.

This can be a polarizing LP, especially for fans who are turned on by their poppier side (myself included) or ‘90s works. In spite of that, I believe this musical vertigo is actually a minutely crafted conceptual piece that represents a peak in their career.

He appears to have trusted his instincts and let his wildest artistic ambitions loose and breathe on their own. The mood of Fear in a Handful of Dust conjures all sorts of imagery, especially of the mysterious. Amon Tobin’s evolution as a writer and producer is felt, having some of the most engaging and depthful moments of his career.

We may need more time to determine where Jaye Jayle falls on the spectrum dark and depressing 80s-tinged rock, but Prisyn will immediately step in as one of the best – and most befitting – post-apocalyptic records of 2020.

If you’re a fan of Static-X, this is a candid labour of love that moves away from the stigma these releases are known for. It might not be reinventing the wheel, and it may sound like a time capsule dug up from the nu-metal burial ground, but for fans of that time period or fans of the band, there’s no denying its charm.

Mieke has undoubtedly struck gold with her sophomore album, notching a significant improvement from her already-respectable debut.

Variables is not only much more ambitious than its predecessor (sorry Bring Backs), but also the most forward-thinking album Alfa Mist has put to wax thus far, and an experience far more suited to ruminative cigarettes by candlelight than vape-assisted marathon study sessions.

While the music doesn’t go above and beyond what we’ve heard from them already, the quality remains steadfast, making To All Trains one of the sharpest entries in their discography.

Post Human: Nex Gen is genuinely impressive. How does one band manage to rip off Deaf Havana, Deftones, Boston Manor, Enter Shikari, Porter Robinsonbithfimtaylorswift, Green Day, Radiohead, MGK, Iggy Pop and DreamWeaver, feature Underoath, Aurora, Lil Uzi Vert, Daryl Palumbo and Glassjaw… and be this goddamn boring?

Tyla's 35-minute runtime does feel a bit like a brief spin on an exercycle that refuses to leave low gear, and net dopamine levels are limited. .... Nevertheless, there is plenty of playlist fodder to be plucked from Tyla's trim confines.

in spite of this record’s formlessness, i keep coming back to choke enough. there’s something intriguing about a pop album committed to never, ever popping, while presenting enough cute little bits that are just memorable enough to be able to describe oklou’s music.

In the end, if The Foel Tower reads as revivalist, it’s at least creative enough to stand apart from the bulk of contemporary acts in the scene, and the results speak loudly, resonating as one hell of a lonesome, dreary mood piece.

Ultimately, Ascension is guaranteed to rub fans the right way, and it’s adventurous enough to open up new avenues for the future, and at the end of the day, what more can you ask for?

Never Enough's tepid reheats demand some form of urgent rethink.

Sinephro builds on the cosmic shrapnel of her debut Space 1.8, reprising that record's chamber jazz arrangements and buzzing analogue synthlines, its New Age mystique (at the time packaged as ECM overtones) and its knack for gorgeous ambient expanse, all while furnishing the continuity that album's episodic tracklist so patently lacked — but Endlessness does not demand that context, or any, to stand as a great record. This album's draw is as simple and effortless as hearing each and every one of your intuitions for the possibilities of its palette spool out in real time.

viagr aboys is a remarkably consistent affair that invites attention and dance-steps, but not by swinging for the fences. Instead, the band commits to a steady churn of tightly written songs, each one grounded in better hooks, tighter grooves, and a more coherent sense of pacing.

The shockingly honest debut is more comparable to the work of Sharon Van Etten than any of Williams' contemporaries in the pop-punk scene; not in the music itself, but the way both women use music as an outlet, in the aftermath of years-long relationships where they were demeaned and made to feel worthless.

There are plenty of loveable moments, sure, but they tend to congeal like sand passing through your fingers.

Seed of a Seed doesn’t quite reach the heights of I Need to Start a Garden (and let’s be honest, that’s a HIGH bar to clear as it is), but it’s still quite an impressive offering. Instead of lazily rehashing what made her debut so special, Heynderickx decided to expand on it and give her songs a more panoramic space to roam in. Most importantly, the core characteristics of her style weren’t lost in the process.

All of the songs here have excellent qualities to them but have their momentum jarred by some by-the-numbers moments. ... These flaws are not new though, and they don’t stop Senjutsu from being another solid album in the new-millennium Iron Maiden catalogue.

Patient, attentive listeners that take the time to find Magus’s secrets will be justly rewarded, as there’s a lot to be dissected here.

It remains to be seen whether Down Below will have significant replay value but everything sounds so meticulously crafted that each listen results in a different highlight. Everything that Tribulation seem to have lost in aggression, they have gained in haunting atmosphere and hooks.

Overall, the journey Everything Was Beautiful creates is definitely more entrancing and vivid than And Nothing Hurt.

Angels and Devils is a triumph of anguish, needles and monsters and evil in aural form. Be warned.

Celebration Rock is near-perfect in what it sets out to do: making people happy, bringing them together.

Overall, Strawberry Hotel manages to create a very dynamic experience, especially by introducing shorter tracks. Only during its latter half it starts meandering, a thing that could have been avoided had a couple of intense numbers been introduced at the right moments. Nevertheless, the album is another successful entry in Underworld’s catalogue, one that seems to be a grower this time around.

If you’ve enjoyed Holter to this point, it is worth investing the necessary time. Aviary touches every corner of her sound, resulting in an enchanting, if slightly dizzying, fifth album.

All in all, TNGHT is a tremendous and kaleidoscopic introduction to a dream production duo that has already turned heads (HudMo has spent the last few months keeping Kanye on point), and it shows that TNGHT has only just begun.

If there’s any grievance worth mentioning, it’s that they’re probably capable of going even deeper with this sound, but for now, they’ve tapped into something special here, revealing themselves as masters of balancing unconventional songwriting with accessibility.

Where Circles succeeds, where it becomes a graceful and elegant piece of art rather than an experimental excursion, is in finding the perfect subject matter for its laidback meanderings. Quite simply, these songs are dispatches from a day in the life of Mac Miller.

Kris Esfandiari and her team have created something truly special with this album, a musical piece where the divine is given voice and flesh to envision what is Kris' most honest and enrapturing work of her prolific career, and be sure it won't be the last one.

Brown still raps like he's from the future, it's just a timeline less removed from ours where Tribe Called Quest nostalgia and retro instrumentation is fully in vogue. Of course, this being Danny Brown we're never getting an easy meal, and some of the best moments see him shaking it up once again.

As it stands, Us lies at a precarious crossroads of self-help preaching and black history compendium, succeeding at neither and exposing a serious disconnect between lyricist and producer.

Hebrews is a wholly new kind of album for the band. Is it cheesy, over the top and a little too saccharine? Yeah, but the first two of those apply in spades to the first couple Say anything records anyways, and honestly I’d rather have someone singing sweet nothings to me when they’re in their 30’s than try and continue spewing venomous bile that they haven't believed in since their early 20's.

Titans of Creation Testament have released another excellent thrasher that proves they’re still the most reliable band of the original thrash era.

The resultant journey is a jittery, joyous, glorious, gleaming mess: substantially less coherent than their previous outings, but no less endearing.

Cruel Country might get a little sleepy at times, but it’s a rather impressively compelling listen, given its intimidating length. There’s a lot of beauty and feeling to be unearthed here, and the album greatly rewards further listening.

It's certainly an all-encompassing, monolithic piece of work, an album that'll make a bunch of people suddenly relieved that there's another Swans album, in a we've missed you kind of way.

Ultimately, Harry's House doesn’t really go anywhere or do much of anything at all. It breezes by with songs that seemed designed for the festival circuit and that are interesting and experimental enough that they’ll fit with Harry’s aesthetic without being too alienating for radio, almost as if he and his team couldn’t decide which was more important to them, so they went with neither.

There's not much new in the way of substance, but the execution is nonetheless pleasing enough that you can shrug off flat or dull offerings (see, e.g., "Brighter" or "Wasteland"). It's a nice record filled with nice moments.

While each song has a solid musical backbone, it’s Brown’s narratives that make the most profound impact, and move the album forward.

El Mirador is definitely on the right path, becoming Calexico’s strongest effort since Algiers. These cheerful tunes make for an immediate, fun affair.

It’s obvious Hospice is an album Silberman made for himself, one that we’re just privileged to listen to and enjoy. So sit back, listen, and consider yourself lucky, punk.

If 03.15.20 is a full stop to one of the most dynamic, inventive, frustratingly inconsistent discographies of the last decade. I'm not convinced Glover's multi-hyphenate brain could ever stop working away, creating shows and songs and short films and botching album rollouts to a ridiculous degree.

They've rarely sounded this in-tune with each other or this certain of their purpose. It's gorgeously arranged, amazingly textured, and evocative in ways that only patient music can be.

Ab-Soul performs well in this complementary role and shows how versatile he really is, almost a west-coast amalgam of Brown and Kanye West, yet still a slightly weaker and more inconsistent sum than the parts.

It's his freest record, musically speaking, and in its bloodstained lyrics, which run the gamut from cautionary to vindictive to self-loathing, it opens up a side of White that previously has been impenetrable, wrapped up in his own self-mythologizing persona as he was.

There's a clear aesthetic touchstone for pretty much everything this album does. If you're the kind of person easily frustrated by such influence-heavy music you'll be turned away, but I admire the consistency of songcraft needed to hold together an album pulling from so many places.

Overall, The Nothing is a huge step back for the band. The Paradigm Shift and The Serenity of Suffering were far from perfect, but they rode a line that balanced a contemporary vision with their stapled characteristics. This tries dearly to be nostalgic yet fresh, but the finished product just comes across forced and derivative.

A phenomenal record by a band at a creative peak that's as fully realized and as utterly terrific as the myriad other peaks they've hit during their brief but already illustrious career.

Thus when taking in Attack on Memory as a whole, it sounds as if Cloud Nothings are, despite their best efforts, a pop band at heart.

With their eighth studio album, Yellowcard anything but disappoints.

While the instrumental mastery still impresses as always, the end result remains enjoyable but ultimately missing a key aspect of what made the driving, mechanical sound of Meshuggah so worthwhile in the first place.

Far from the sort of thrown-together collaboration that is generally de rigueur, case/lang/veirs stands out because it remains an accurate representation of the sum of its parts, a catalog of what makes its three artists great.

Gargoyle marks another solid addition to an extensive catalog.

Disambiguation clearly shows that Underoath are still very much the same well oiled machine that brought us Define the Great Line back in 2006 when they firmly established themselves as the kings of the scene, even if that title is somewhat constricting and misleading as their music transcends its given tags and connects with their fanbase at a deeper level, regardless of belief structure.

The album won't win many new fans, but for those already clued in it supplies a fresh batch of engaging, abstract production and, especially in the meat of "Old Rock n Roll", a few meals' worth of food for thought.

An Evening With Silk Sonic lives up to its billing as a true experience: it’s sexy, ever-so-smooth, and radiates confidence and charisma. ... An Evening With Silk Sonic marks the pinnacle of Bruno Mars’ and Anderson .Paak’s respective musical careers.

Fennesz' ear for striking textures takes the spotlight precisely once here: through the latter minutes of the opener "Heliconia", he plucks and rakes his guitar as though putting it on life support, the stark tone of the instrument a fragile contrast to the densely processed sound that otherwise dominates the album. It produces a genuinely compelling tension and sets the bar modestly high, this but proves to be an early peak: the remaining five tracks lay down one languorous chord pattern after another, their digital modulations and cavernous reverb settings spread too thin to patch the threadbare cast-offs.

If Primary Colours still left any doubt, Skying makes it certain that The Horrors have moved on from the shadow of the (unfortunate) title of being NME darlings and into a realm where their future releases become something to mark on the calendar.

Overall, As the Love Continues ends up as one solid album that does a great job blending the Mogwai we are accustomed to into a friendlier direction. I wouldn’t place it up there with the best though.

Lisbon is an album from a band finally using the full palette of their talents to adapt and come out the better for it, and that's a pretty picture to behold indeed.

Talk of pretension aside, Rival Dealer is an important piece of work, a genuinely astounding and jaw-dropping release that deserves every pair of ears it can find.

Indeed, Grinderman 2 is actually a far more listen-able record, with far more replay value, and this is what I'll remember when I find myself nostalgic for the dumb simplicity of the first album.

New Amerykah reveals its considerable depths and strengths, and invites the listener to invest the time needed to explore them.

Pulls its weight at the points that count, fumbles mainly at those that don't, feels less successful holistically than it does as the sum of its parts, leaves me with anything but satisfaction by the time it's done, and does very little to address the question of when Shepherd will finally show the chutzpah and scope of vision to make a truly great work on solely his own terms.

The thing is, despite their participation in the bustling, creative and innovative 90's scene, Majesty Shredding might just be their best album yet.

As Willoughby Tucker, I'll Always Love You winds to a close, it feels like reading the final part of a novel that kept you hanging on its every word. No matter what Anhedonia does next, this will always be a classic chapter in her book.

In all its ethereal beauty, Ceremony is an ideal companion, whatever you’re going through right now. It’s a perfectly suited album to fill your earbuds while going on a walk, or for the next time you’re lounging on a chair in your backyard as the sun shines down.

The quintet still perform pop-punk better than many of their contemporaries, and it should be noted that this LP sounds significantly more effective when played out loud, rather than through head or earphones... But it’s difficult to ignore the feeling that they are capable of better.

A lyrically potent, melodic, and danceable piece, make sure to cop one of the best records the year has to offer.

Earl Sweatshirt and The Alchemist along with Mike and Vince Staples (on occasion) make an album that is like sap. it leaks, percolates into gaps: the gap between consciousness and subconscious, night/day, joie de vive/joie de ***-it-all (i don't know the french term for this feeling).

The Hunter is the album that shows that as long as Mastodon stay true to their selves, they have the creative wherewithal to not only endure but keep themselves in the spotlight for years and years to come.

The record showcases their most cohesive and potentially most versatile stylistic palette to date. Returning fans will find the likes of “softscars”, “ghosts” and “bloodbunny” full of familiar glitchy flourishes, and “inferno” within a stone’s throw of Serotonin II’s understated reveries, but there’s a much more ‘physical’ presence to the music here.

Swim is quite dark; this is definitely pop of the bedroom sort, and despite Snaith's vocals usually being indecipherable, buried underneath hissing drum machines and meretricious synths, there's a pervading sense of intimacy to the whole thing.

Harlem River Blues is Justin Townes Earle's crowning moment. It's relaxed without being tiresome, vintage without being gimmicky. Most importantly, it's great. The songs are great, the lyrics are great and there's not a weak song on it.

While it has highlights aplenty, they seem the kind of highlights that would fare better outside of the context of Listening To A Whole Album In 2022. ... As a start-to-finish experience, there’s a tendency for things to melt together as momentum flags, the sequencing grates, or you find yourself paying less than your most devout attention to the swiftly passing milieu.

It's like the debut, but slightly different, definitely better.

The listener might not quite know what they’re getting, song by song, but the whole tracklist remains high-quality guitar-driven pop. There are notable highlights - among them the utterly infectious opener “Never Be Lonely”, the immaculate title track, and the drugged-out and strangely hypnotic “Screensaver” - but every tune has its own merits.

The strength of the opening trio of tracks on Expert In A Dying Field is a potent reminder of their best attributes.

Black Noise is something worth delving into. It is something intensely personal and emotionally gray, but it’s also grounded, accessible enough to welcome you inside.

Visiter is an impressive sophomore album, a wonderful growth for the Dodos, and one of the year’s subtlest surprises, even if it took thirty listens to get there.

They delivered neither a classic nor an embarrassing flop that revealed them as a flavour-of-the-week fancy, but just a pretty good album with room to improve.

All in all, Forever Howlong feels like a missed opportunity. There are enough good bits to show that the band are as capable as ever of crafting a spellbinding moment, but there’s a frustrating lack of direction or commitment that prevents these moments from ever coalescing.