In full, nine tracks strike a balance between pop-structured stoicism and Holy Wave's foundation in lush, active instrumentals. It's tactile enough to run your fingers through while evading a tight grip.

The trio's self-titled debut of experimental nightmare folk throbs with a supernatural presence, even if the sounds of commonplace nature--rain, chirping birds, the landscape of Dripping Springs--serve as bedrock for the sound

50 years on still doesn't obscure its frivolity. Paul McCartney dominates vocally and compositionally, and a mind-bending stereo remaster redefines the psychedelic summit while making the mono mix on disc 4 superfluous, but a pair of demo discs single out John Lennon's backbone contributions in multiple takes of pre-LP single "Strawberry Fields," plus "Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds" and "A Day in the Life."

It's a sharp look at how a major artist sees his own work, set to a soundtrack that's held up incredibly well.

Master of Puppets realized the band's greatest strengths, coalescing hardcore punk with progressive metal.

Savage Young Dü aches breadth and depth.

The era may have confounded fans, but Trouble No More harvests some of Dylan's most remarkable performances.

Production given over for the first time (to Sam Kassirer), the sound rises to meet the heft of Ramirez's writing, though surprisingly, through melancholic, Eighties-pitched synth and guitar. The author finds focus as well, his deeply personal laments attuned with political purpose.

Consistently cheeky, head-throbbing rock ("Judy French," "Party Next Door") meets shimmering melodies ("Little Silver Cross," "Daisies") that alleviate without losing momentum.

Green Twins realizes a sound that's truly Hakim's own.

Do Hollywood offers a lesson in embracing both the origins and originality of modern rock & roll.

Rocket is nuanced and shifting.

The title track won't drag big rock forward, but How Did We Get So Dark? will definitely scratch a riff-loving itch.

Where previously Americana-tinged alt-rock teetered precariously on the bandleader's reedy whine, here that country DNA seals a seamless blend of Farm Aid authenticity.

Arguably the most accessible album of his 16-year career, Migration finds British ambient electronic maven Bonobo (Simon Green) sounding completely at home on his sixth studio release.

Prisoner, his 16th release and most obvious homage to Springsteen's early-Eighties output, doesn't stray, though it does find Adams at his most heavy-handed lyrically.

All of it builds up to quiet closer "In Times of Cold," a beautiful and crushing duet with Patty Griffin made even more poignant by the guiding hand of George Reiff in one of the local producer and bassist's final efforts.

Toy doesn't dog-Pile its predecessor, and in eschewing a straight-ahead continuation of the same-ol', A Giant Dog continues marking distinctly new territory.

The final third of the disc hits a tempo rut, though some such selections are ripe for rearrangement and reinterpretation.

As San Fermin's best outing, Belong winds wildly through styles, but ultimately ties together its own unique intoxication.

Whether Combs is telling stories ("Dirty Rain," "Rose Colored Blues") or waxing political ("Bourgeois King," "Blood Hunters"), he makes every track feel like a visit from an old and dear friend.

It's a kick in the teeth from start to finish.

Converts of the group's mainstream exploits needn't fear: "Show Yourself" grooves on an indelible vocal hook, and grunge stomper "Steambreather" recalls another O'Brien collaborator, Stone Temple Pilots.

Johnny Flynn's fourth LP pivots on the English songwriter/actor's distinctive voice, which echoes older UK folk even while wrapping itself in modern indie roots.

By dialing back the intentional obfuscation of 2009's The Real Feel, the Northern Californians' sophomore release doubles its predecessor's skewed-pop pleasures.

Raw and melodic, standing at the crossroads between the Ramones and Shangri-Las, singer/guitarist Lydia Night demonstrates a remarkable grip on youth and vulnerability in 2017.

Often delivered in an off-key falsetto, the vocal stylings of Bardo Martinez aren't technically sound, but like the band itself they overflow with warmth and infinite charm.

Ha Ha Tonka's vehicles climb new heights with dazzling harmonies and impressive instrumental interplay on the revved-up "Race to the Bottom" and glimmering "Height of My Fears."