In the end, what you’re left with is a generic rock album with a couple of noteworthy moments and an aftertaste that will probably alienate a few long-time fans of the band.

The rambling nature of Finn’s delivery adds to the immersive storytelling, where listeners are focused on Finn’s lyrics--and what’s going to happen next to the characters in these stories--rather than worrying about hooks, riffs, or even the music at all. That isn’t to say that the album offers nothing in that area, but when Finn decides to figuratively dot his i’s, it feels like you’ve arrived at a momentous occasion.

ARIZONA BABY is Kevin's most diverse album yet in production, veering from Southern-tinged slappers to euphoric rushes of R&B to more Blond(e)-inspired meanderings, but an emotional vulnerability that follows on from "MARCH" and the like pulls these disparate songs together into something more.

What a gorgeous, powerful album of self-discovery this is.

It’s a very digestible and fun debut LP.

It's easy to imagine a superior album being made from sequencing it with the best of its predecessor. But there's a simple, unassuming quality that would be lost if you did.

A standalone masterpiece. It’s the kind of album capable of captivating a new audience; an evolution from traditional Irish troubadour folk that is both dark and masterful.

Sulphur English is both a career spanning bow on an admirable decade and a determined look toward the future.

Morbid Stuff is a worthy follow up to The Dream Is Over in all the right ways--giving fans everything they asked for with some amusing curveballs. It’s a complete thrill from front to back that manages to retain the band’s whacky nature while making some inspiring progressions forward. You can't get much closer to a modern punk classic than this.

Interview Music is a record as dense and conflicted as the frontman’s gobbledygook would have us believe he is as a writer. Whereas before his depictions were flavorful and bolstered by solid REM-like rock songs from his surrounding team, here highlight pickings for intelligent insights are slim, and Idlewild as a whole sound lost and in the process of aging horribly.

It is difficult to even listen to individual songs because they flow into each other so well that it feels wrong to skip around. That said, this is her strongest collection of songs yet.

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.

On the Line as a whole never feels manufactured, or, really, like anything less than Lewis telling it to you straight.

When We Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go is a volatile launching pad. This is anything but a safe debut, which could make Eilish a star In her own right--in the realm of dark pop--or alternatively could see her collapse under the weight of her enormous aspirations. It’ll be a wild ride either way, with plenty of dissention along the way.

It may not garner the same kind of fond appreciation that fans have for The Mysterious Production of Eggs, or Break It Yourself, but this album is less a niche corner of the folk genre and more an illustrious banner for all to appreciate. In Bird’s vast canon of genre experimentation, there’s room for at least one big time indie-rock record--and this fills those shoes quite well.

LP3 is a house built brick by brick with patient songwriting--lush arrangements that blossom over a lengthy period of time, cultivating in fully fleshed out songs. Where’s LP1’s charm largely came from its high energy and juvenile tone, LP3 is the labor of seasoned musicians.

On Panorama, they show themselves to be one of the tightest units in music, writing groove after memorable groove. Guitars, bass, and drums meld seamlessly, with no component vying for attention above the others. What stands out is how rarely the guitarists resort to palm mutes, heavy distortion, or even fast strumming. There is an almost improvisational aspect to the music in a lot of these songs.

This is an album that might be best digested in smaller doses, in order to avoid the feeling that all these songs sort of just wash each other out--but there’s no denying that Blaqk Audio have stumbled onto something really entertaining here.

In the end, The Brian Jonestown Massacre isn’t among the band’s top 3, most accomplished efforts, however, it represents very well the gist of their sound. Moreover, it is one of their most consistent and cohesive LPs, offering something for most fans out there.

What we have here is an album crafted by two high-profile artists that manages to live up to the names involved. It’s somewhat unexpected just how well they mesh, though, crafting songs that don’t sound the part of a first-time collaboration.

Czarface Meets Ghostface won't shake up any lives, and if we're being perfectly honest not too many of us will be spinning it when the year is out. That's alright, though--it's not designed as some timeless classic statement. Sounding free from the burden of expectation from their storied careers, for the first time in a long time, this is the sound of legends cutting loose a little bit.

Flowers at the Scene features influences from various decades of pop, classic/art rock, jazz and successfully experiments to offer an eclectic and rewarding collection of stand-alone tracks.

Her delicate fingerpicking and shimmering vibrato carried her across state lines, oceans, into record deals and mixing rooms. The juxtaposition is apt: Beware of the Dogs is Stella adjusting the scales, shifting seamlessly between intimate and all-encompassing.

Black is fully replete with every sound Weezer could think to chuck on it, from "Too Many Thoughts in My Head"'s crazy funk guitar to Pat's double-tracked kits and looping beats to the labyrinthine, breathtaking basslines.

Good at Falling makes little headway into its own unique musical space, that’s something fans can hopefully expect in the future as Bain continues to distance herself from this vigilantly-traced launching pad. For now, here’s to another round of synth-laden pop balladry.

Phoenix is much more than what floats to its surface, and far greater than the sum of its parts. It's an album of stories.

In essence, this album sounds like Death Magic if Trent Reznor had gotten a hold of it. They’ve subverted the congenial elements associated with their last record to make some of the band’s darkest incarnations yet.

Few albums can make such bold statements without seeming heavy-handed, but Jacklin’s sophomore effort feels as natural as the words rolling off her tongue.