Now, equipped with the stylish, but too-often substance-less Tha Carter III, Lil Wayne seems poised to flip the script on the “rapper racists” (radio stations, MTV) by evolving into the “biggest” rapper alive.

At its best center, Infinite Worlds gives the song back to the person.

For an album so complex--one that’s simultaneously funny and fearless--it has an uncanny way of simplifying things

The only drawback is Hutch Harris' vocals.

Goblin is simultaneously a patchwork project and a genealogy of Segall’s influences, operating on a confidence that’s as emphatic as it is earned.

A mandatory release for all Les Savy Fans, both serious and casual.

This record is full of the illogical, instinctive, incomprehensible poetry that the BEST Rock & Roll lyrics are made of, and contains some of the most distinctive and indeed brilliant music of the last ten years/twenty five years/ever/let's get more carried away.

Like the guileless ballers on the screen, Delicate Steve's got surprisingly smooth moves, and the album lets you see the wonder of each one. It goes for the layup every time, sinks it, and you'll have no problem cheering along.

This is complex, life-affirming music that's both serious and playful, steeped in tradition yet as highly original and forward-thinking as anything you're likely to hear this year.

It might be "teenage" in its orientation, but it is an adult album in its serious and mature rumination--and affirmation.

What falls from the mouth is indeed valuable, in the case of Fear of Men.

Drawing from the rock pantheon as well as personal experience and fascination, Chris Forsyth presents a guitarist’s record that is decidedly group music, and Solar Motel should whet appetites and blow minds of shredders and weirdos alike.

Oftentimes she’s content to let one spidery riff circle the drain endlessly (“Quicksand”) and more than once she goes completely a cappella, an effect that would normally lend an album a sense of intimacy, but I Abused Animal seems resistant to emotional refuge.

This is, after all, a rock album, so don’t expect anything too innovative, but do expect moments of beauty and lots of writerly oversharing.

Ultimately, Soft Sounds is an uneven experience, stylistically and in terms of (this listener’s) engagement. But still, in the shimmering hooky synthpop of “Machinist,” the Morrissey-esque lilt of “Boyish,” there are bright stars hanging in the firmament.

Like blues, the disco formula works--it’s both beautiful and timeless (well, timeless since the late 70s). But it doesn’t always feel as fresh as it once did--paradoxically, given the heavy-lidded sensibility the music embodies.

There’s little sense of genre in an record-industry sense here. The pieces Moodymann mixes together, like the downtempo house of Daniel Bortz’s “Cuz You’re The One” and Swedish folksinger José González’s mournful “Remain,” shouldn’t work, but they keep the calm atmosphere going.

Portastatic is exactly as advertised: catchy, sometimes dumb, occasionally rockin', but always at least competent pop.

These are eight rip-roaring, drag racing anthems mashed together with blood cakes and shards of bone.

Lambchop’s albums often come off as minor masterpieces--not quietly stunning but aesthetically proclamatory, carrying material enough for a listener to stay with and dwell on. FLOTUS is no exception.

He reins in some of his rougher edges, offering listeners a more streamlined sound.

Ekstasis is a lovely record. Bedroom pop that floats and swoons, it has a lightness to it at the same time as a real sense of seriousness and ambition.

Badu has refined her authorial vision on Return of the Ankh, creating one of her most vital records to date. Despite her frequent afronautic impulses, Badu succeeds in simultaneously keeping her head in the firmament and both feet planted firmly on the ground.

Need to Feel Your Love is musically propulsive and provides evidence to the talk that a guitar band in 2017 can be a source of ingenuity without pulling excessive tricks and mutations upon the craft.

Harmonicraft is a short, sweet collection of pop-metal confectionery, irresistible if not unforgettable.

It represents an astounding step forward in its scope and ambition. The claustrophobia of Loud City Song and the self-imposed aesthetic limitations of Have You in My Wilderness have given way to wide-screen, exploratory, celebratory triumph.

A tightly-controlled, affectively capacious accumulation of sound that communicates beyond speech. In its collection of styles, histories, and genres, it weaves a mesh for the listener to inhabit.

In the end, it’s the vague, shapeless, and undefined nature of the fancies her protagonists chase that partly undermines the album’s substance, since without any clear delimitation of their supposedly particular aspirations it’s a little hard to sympathize with her characters and see in them anything more than cowardly, flighty children who ought to grow up.