Recasting not only prolongs a song’s life, but renews it – reinvents it, revitalizes it. Airing out lifetimes locked in a closet of emotional gravity, Echo Dancing rechannels these selections’ romantic existentialism and magical realism into a techno meditation.

The album's whole second side rises to a bar set mile-high by the band's national breakout.

End still brims with hope and promise, no more so than on "Moving On," with its beaming synths and stadium drums, and "Loved Ones," which builds atop an extended piano interlude. End might not be a breakthrough, but it doesn't have to be.

Not in the same league as, say, 2009's Willie and the Wheel, Bluegrass lacks the magic of either a great Willie Nelson record or a great bluegrass record.

Nelson swings looser and more comfortably here, more barroom stage than backroad sage. Self-produced, Nelson noted that he wanted songs that could move a crowd, which Sticks and Stones delivers in sound and ethos.

Known for their self-mythologizing irreverence, Being Dead uses fairy tales as a heartfelt escape on When Horses Would Run.

May to December, Waylon & Willie ride again.

Swirling strings and thudding guitars compare more than they contrast, brilliantly revealing that the band's "normal" music – a prowling, rhythmic churn that moves like sludge metal but strikes with blackened ferocity – is actually pretty avant. ... You'll marvel at how scrubbed of obvious influences they've become.

Epic, over-the-top, enormous in scale.

Through it all, The Great Awakening feels like a far-off summer lightning storm: all low rumbles punctuated by occasional flashes of grandeur that tease something major awaiting without delivering a single drop of anything with impact.

"Lucifer on the Sofa" has enough endearing moments to sit comfortably in the meaty middle of the band's catalog.

Boland's great concept album endeavor may strike as too convoluted to top his catalog, but it also sets the songwriter free to launch into new creative paths and continue expanding what country music can be.

A marvel of tone and production, the Austin trio's third half-hour aneurysm mutates root metallurgies into a future missing link of punk extremity.

Especially refreshing in this city, the player lets his modern blues simmer and smoke, avoiding pyrotechnic blister. Somber and guarded, opener "Lost & Lonesome" pins the simple tools behind most of the album – evocative acoustic guitar, barely there percussion, and Nichols' wisely pleading voice.

Although certainly not the capstone to Wennerstrom's extraordinary personal and artistic journey, A Beautiful Life reaches a new pinnacle for the songwriter, and signals a remarkable turning point on a new path forward.

Perfect in vision, voice, harmony – not to mention timing – Treasure of Love delivers quintessential Flatlanders.

As much Tom Waits as Roy Orbison, both Amigo the Devil and Born Against expertly navigate the twisted path between a metaphorical heart on a sleeve and real live beating one bloodying up his flannel.

As thoroughly self-possessed as Portrayal of Guilt's celebrated bow resounded in punk and metal pits, follow-up We Are Always Alone now standardizes the locals' splatter into a trademark sound. Success breeds fearlessness, focus, certainty; No. 2 harnesses No. 1's tempest.

Unexpectedly, one of the most beautiful and hopeful albums of the year comes from Black Angels singer Alex Maas. Luca capstones 2020 with a reminder of what's truly important and wondrous in the world.

For certain, the low-voiced local occupies artistic territory with Leonard, but Gold Record also spins reminiscent of Bob Dylan's summer surprise Rough and Rowdy Ways in its zoomed-out lyrical portraiture and employment of pop culture references.

My Love Is A Hurricane ransacks David Ramirez to emerge bloody but unbowed.

All together, a mischievous lyricist captures the new West.

Summation of their best recorded moments, X echoes the pulverizing claustrophobia of Source Tags & Codes (2002) and sheer aggression of bone-crushing 1999 debut Madonna, erecting walls of drill-bit noise and floating ennui codas.

Lifting both blast beats and thrash dynamics from metal, the Belgian indie rock trio galvanizes enough sheer fury to knock the needle off your turntable.

Arising from largely improvised performances that accompanied a cosmic expedition at San Antonio's Scobee Planetarium, The Spiral Arm ranks not as the Austin ambient trio's spaciest effort – that's 2016 debut Original Soundtrack – but as their most beautiful.

A legendary liquor-soaked session with Tom Waits, two discs containing a ragged-but-right contemporary concert, and a booklet that takes an in-depth look at the making of DTAS crackle and pop, but in revisiting its creators' original intent, a formerly sneered at LP becomes essential.

Sadly, familiar streams – "Matchbox," "That's All Right, Mama," "Big River" – don't yield any gems. Constant studio chatter and fumbled lyrics frustrate rather than charm, and even when duetting, Dylan and Cash's aw-shucks mutual admiration smothers artistic collaboration. Disc three's bonus content with banjo legend Earl Scruggs fares better.

Unsurprisingly, the true treasure for devotees occurs in long-vaulted studio moments.

The salsa-imbued "Green" celebrates heritage and familial commitment as the LP culminates in a dreamy slow-burn.

Brighter compositions match the lyrical demands of more specified storytelling, most vividly on piano-led "Mr. Lee."

Still relaxed, LAHS clouds over with less reverb, punchier drums, and – at long last – vocals at the front of the mix.

Welcome to the desolate wasteland of Destroyer.

Central to Birth of Violence, the Northern Californian's stunning voice and insular lyrics tie everything into one clear, bewitching vision.

Clocking in at just half an hour, their third LP streamlines sonically, but the bulldozing remains.

The dark synth pulse of opener "Roseate," driving mad as Gika trills into an effervescent falsetto, sets a tension that flows throughout

The Devil You Know: smart, joyous rage for our times.

An eerie, whimsical sheen coats jaunty guitars, arty baroque keys, and choral intonations, with delicate lyrics skewing surprisingly funny at times as they warp the burdens of addiction and the lovelorn.

This solo debut makes all the right moves to sail past retro on its way to timeless.

Fever hinges on bouncing beats and an inspired brand of feminism.

Armed with a gorgeous warble that sounds like a gothic Chris Isaak, Peck soars over the sparse arrangements, which prove a natural complement to all the reverb, tremolo, and twang.

Steeped in vivid details of a queer romance, Forevher partners jubilant pop with its ideal mate: physically charged songs of electric devotion.

Galvanizing at heart, Fender's bow burns with sharp conviction and intimacy.

The only misstep comes from spoken interludes about WWAY Health, an unnecessary framing device for a smart, textured zigzag of songwriting.

Produced by Grammy-winning producer Ricky Reed (Twenty One Pilots), the troupe also trades in the lo-fi blades of Too for a polished maturity without sacrificing any edge.

The 17-year-old sensation takes pop iconography and musical status quo and lacerates it, opting out of femme fatale for tomboy cargos and goth macabre, and sleek soundscapes for creepy eccentrics.

Buoyed by intimacy and sincerity, Assume Form channels Blake at his happiest as each song plays out like a sentimental billet-doux.

The 31-year-old bares herself and parlays stereotypical insecurities into liberating strengths, hurling bombs of empowerment.

Childers walks the line of down-home idiosyncrasies and smooth popular jams with a star-making perfection.

Each track is full of Laurel Canyon vibes – vulnerability, grief, acceptance – and melodies you'll never get out of your head.

The Alabama Shakes mainspring's first solo release showcases R&B borne of a dark, introspective place, grooving like a 35-minute scream into a pillow.

Help Us Stranger moves garage-punk polymath Jack White from the Sixties to the Seventies. And from the sounds of things, he, Brendan Benson, Jack Lawrence, and Patrick Keeler did it in Z/28 with an 8-track player and a hash pipe.

Co-crafted with Steve Earle lieutenant Ray Kennedy, and eight of 11 tracks guesting a Crowell crony, not all the material connects ("Deep in the Heart of Uncertain Texas"), but the pairings prove pure.

The album brims with delicate moments like the title track and standout "Victor Roberts." In the former, plumes of electronics caress empathetic lines with genuine emotion, while the latter introduces new associate Victor Roberts with crystallized observations of childhood trauma and grimy electricity. Exhibition of vulnerability and invincibility, Ginger blood-lets an emotional palette where wounds are finally left to heal.

Despite easy-listening atrocity "Lost in the Night," Let It Roll sparkles with more gems than the locals' custom suits.

No need to reinvent the wheel when it rides so smooth.

Daniel recently told the Chronicle he intended the band's new compilation for folks with a "passing familiarity" of the band, and that's where it hits its mark. Here's your gateway LP to Spoon, not a comprehensive overview.

The scion sounds most at ease on the album's back half, which burns with guitar solos.

Picking up both pace and vigor after Prick of the Litter, McClinton finds a Second Wind going all the way back to 1978, his voice still ragged but right and, here, full of piss and vinegar.

Although his hard drawl torques easier melodies like Elton John's "Country Comfort" less effectively, Dayton's growling makeover of Jackson Browne's "Redneck Friend" and the laid-back dance hall turn of the Cars' "Just What I Needed" crackle as smart and surprising interpretations.

The family rollick of Mac Davis' "It's Hard to Be Humble" injects some fun, but the piano-tinkled "Stay Away From Lonely Places" shines with classic Nelson songwriting magic.

From the opening drum breaks of "Black Moon Rising," a sinister slice of psychedelic R&B, the LP ignites as one long, slow burn.

If it feels like throwing styles against the wall, it's a testament to Privott, guitarist John Courtney, drummer Damien Llanes, bassist Megan Hartman, and keyboardist Natalie Wright that almost all of it sticks.

Shepherd in a Sheepskin Vest's entirely acoustic arrangement harks to a catalog defined by stillness and moments of quiet revelation.

George Strait, 66, continues to churn out reliably mediocre albums guaranteed to top the country charts.

A few latter-half tracks become saccharine, at times bordering on the generic, but reverb-imbued closer "Bothering" redeems the album with simplicity and ends Drastic Measures on a retrospective, reaching note.

Far from A Far Cry From Dead, that polished product of posthumous overkill from the tail end of the millennium, Sky Blue allows the songs of Townes Van Zandt (1944-1997) to sit and breathe free from distraction or "Squash." Nothing ventured, plenty gained.

Wrapping in just under an hour, this ultra tight-knit collection telegraphs timelessness in story and song, a lasting chronicle rooted in folk tradition that sits among Griffin's best work.

Across 16 tracks, the 64-year-old Virginia native and his ace band largely play it straight, and the album leaps with energy and celebration.

Back to basics, Side Effects draws a dynamic through line to White Denim's jittery origins.

Ellis remains brilliantly elusive, torquing songs in unexpected directions.

Hayes Carll may forever swing between his impulses, but he's come to fully embrace What It Is.

This Land runs as a philosophical course correction, as a truer start on his path forward.

From quirky ("Needle Click") and Zen ("Chamber Lightness") to dystopian ("Kites III"), Music for Installations surveys Eno's myriad musical personalities, but what rationalizes the hefty price tag is an oversized art book. Packed with rare photos and a new essay, the book captures its subject's most ephemeral work in images that will be new to even the biggest fans. It's basically coffeetable porn for ambient music nerds.

More Blood, More Tracks: The Bootleg Series Vol. 14 also validates Bob's brother's urging to scrap and drastically rerecord five songs last minute. It's all especially enlightening if you have the blood and guts to listen to the collection in one sitting.

Original remixes are collected as Dance, though non-album singles, edits, B-sides, and soundtrack inclusions collected as Re:Call 4 deliver a stronger curio, including the gloomy "This Is Not America" with the Pat Metheny Group and a soft rock remix of "Loving the Alien."

Sample and/or revisit the blitzkrieg roots rock of his first band, the 101'ers; the world music fusion of his final band, the Mescaleros; the Johnny Cash duet of Bob Marley's "Redemption Song," one of Strummer's final recordings; and some of the blues and country pastiches pseudonymously written for Alex Cox's Sid and Nancy soundtrack. Most interesting is the unreleased track "London Is Burning," a Mescaleros attempt at chronicling a UK--through pronounced Clashness--that eerily resembles 2018 America.

The Black Velvet LP features a collection of unreleased gems ("Can't Fight the Feeling," "Fly Little Girl"), covers (Nirvana's "Stay Away," Neil Young's "Heart of Gold"), choice rarities ("Luv Jones"), and alternate takes ("Victim of Love").

The music remained classic rock with the "& roll" restored. Comparatively, the surrounding tunes on the radio were pandering nonsense. An American Treasure demonstrates everything we're missing with Tom Petty's absence. The loss is profound.

Though repetition of "Losing My Religion" and "Man on the Moon" exhaust, there's a mighty pop to R.E.M. at the BBC.

Combative and hostile even 30 years later, ... And Justice For All delivers exactly what its title promises.

The percussive snap and enhanced reverb on "Yer Blues" and "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" make the songs all the more blistering, but overall, any flourishes are carefully considered. Better still, the true revelations occur after the familiar first 94 minutes are up.

The country sovereign's immaculate phrasing, sincere handling of the songbook, and experienced vocal feel on the material find enough spectacular moments worth revisiting.

Dying Star fills with gems, even as Kelly remains somewhat elusive.

If the midpoint between The Future and the Past is modernity, Natalie Prass nails it.

The entire production is clever and suave, with effervescent female backing vox, even as the backside ranges more adventurous with the low-down "Bad Boys Need Love Too" and tinkering "Everything to Everyone."

The album's trap-psych spaciousness blends so that most of Astroworld plays out like a single long, spectacularly mixed track.

All 11 tracks hold tight musically through a lackadaisical charisma, capturing the sonic telepathy of six longtime buds in their early 20s.

The Monkeys' most anti-rock album, Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino proves their most adventurous, pop accessibility be damned.

Living between two cultures can be alienating, but Camila Cabello packages her experience as a Cuban-American seamlessly into pure pop perfection.

Sadly, forced lyrics and too-on-the-nose productions (bedsprings in "Ooh La La") are a killjoy.

Hints of Michael Jackson's melodic moonwalking lace in the type of hip-hop ennui that will appeal to fans of Solange's A Seat at the Table, plus a sexy swagger of feminist liberation that screams 2018.

On Wide Awake!, Parquet Courts uses punk mood swings and Gang of Four-style vocal barking to camouflage some of the prettiest songwriting of their career.

If the post-punk revival needs a poster child, Shame is a good choice.

Boldest album to date, Freedom highlights "Miki Dora" and "Skipping School" grapple with masculinity and its illusions. "Satudarah" offers stoned-eye hallucinogens.

Empathetic and hopeful, By the Way rivals breakout The Story as Carlile's best.

While the title track's big-hearted buildup channels the crew's establishing alt-pop buoyancy, new ideas stagger the 11 tracks. Monolithic "MetaGoth" and smoky ballad "Walking With a Killer" work through internal frustrations, eloquently tracking out a new era for the Breeders.

While still supremely self-important, he probes his emotions like a narcissist at the mirror. The difficulty/trick comes in wondering whether Tillman goes out of his way to trip himself up.

While not expressly political, American Utopia can't help playing as a reaction piece.