Jackie feels like a missed opportunity for a talented artist to connect with fans in a new way.

Not only does Wilder Mind reintroduce the band members as rock gods worthy of the title, it does so ­without changing what fans cherished most about them in the first place: their songwriting, their sentiment, their gusto.

Globetrotting frontman Damon Albarn then returned to Hong Kong to write lyrics, hoping to recapture the spirit. He has largely succeeded, as The Magic Whip is a fascinating snapshot of a group coming to personal and professional crossroads in a strange city where modern living leads to bewilderment and alienation.

The album is a good-faith effort to match or even outstrip the band's onstage eclecticism, and the musical personality shifts help relieve the group's tendency to blandness, providing cover for Brown's dutifully generic, if personable voice.

Half [of] this EP is a weak gesture in the direction of current radio trends.... But on the other half of this EP, Dream shows an impressive new dimension to his romantic games.

Barter 6 does not have a comparable entry point. Instead, this album offers cohesion and unity, though maybe at the expense of the exciting, what-will-happen next feel of past mixtapes.

It's a promising teen's first album, and it will satisfy the ­longings of the keepers of fan Tumblrs. So far, though, Mendes' music is not nearly as inventive as his strategies to publicize it.

What Sound & Color does best is hard to describe any other way: The music chugs, boogies, churns and rolls. Among rock music of its kind, it's one of the most ­muscular collections in some time, yet it accomplishes this by hardly even flexing.

The Album About Nothing is his most personal piece of work to date, and also his best. That hair-trigger sensitivity can be off-putting, but it's also what makes him good at what he does.

The bum-outs outnumber the bangers by a decisive ratio on Ludaversal, but that speaks to the rapper's comfort in straddling dissimilar topics.

It all sounds amazing on the first couple of listens, but the wheat (songs like the title track and “Did You Know?”) separates quickly from the chaff. Regardless, The Scene Between opens up a whole new lane for an artist that would have been easy to write off.

It’s the rare major-label debut that trusts the artist’s aesthetic enough to not tamper with it.

A hazy, seductive blend of trap and techno, it feels like the soundtrack to a strip club in Paris' grittiest arrondissement.

Run is more of a technical accomplishment than an artistic one. Bruno the pop star is not nearly as appealing as Bruno the juggler.

It's true that Eclipse unveils itself less coyly than previous Twin Shadow albums, and sounds more brashly contemporary. But it hazards turning generic in the process.

To Pimp a Butterfly defies easy listening, but it's deeply rewarding.

There are times you hope for a little more dumb fun--enter Diplo, who turns up on five tracks with his air horn and Caribbean beats and would be welcome on more--and there's at least one moody ballad too many. But then an aqueous bassline bubbles up and a surge of trance-y pulses sweeps you along to Madonnaland, where introspection and abandon engage in erotic acts of self-actualization.

[2012 album, Shrines] was a fun record, like listening to Madonna at half speed with your face in a strobe light. Follow-up Another Eternity does little to expand this aesthetic, but for those who enjoy hearing top 40 pop sounds refracted through a funhouse mirror, that's probably not bad news.

When Clarkson forges a real emotional connection--like on the raw, personal title track, another standout vocal showcase--the album transcends the hammier, more hackneyed moments in between.

With sterling wordplay and a consistent melancholy vibe, the Detroit native took all the tension, the highs and lows, and laid it out on wax, compiling the strongest project of his career.

On the impressive Sour Soul, the Canadian trio that built its profile through Odd Future and Gucci Mane covers bangs out rich blaxploitation-invoking live instrumentals, providing a perfect canvas for the Wu-Tang Clan vet's vivid rhymes about dodging police, jewelry and, oddly enough, yoga.

Whereas 2010's Born Free's presentation of a gentler, more ripened Rock occasionally came across as calculated, here the singer--who also produced most of this album--fits comfortably into a modern country-rock landscape that seems practically tailor-made for him: a God-fearing good old boy with a hard-rock heart and an outlaw-country spirit.

It's big, bold and still stands out next to anything coming from Nashville.

An album that works better as a musical koan than it does a hip new collection of indie folk.

Smoke + Mirrors may seem too recycled and belabored to entice the unconverted, but the hints of hidden depths are a pleasant surprise.

Much like its forebear, the album's 12 tunes are tight, tidy pop-rockers, presented in her characteristic straightforward-yet-slightly-skewed manner.

Of the book, the flick, and the soundtrack, only the music really hits hard enough to leave a lasting mark.

If there's a funnier, stranger and more touchingly bizarre album released this year, it will be a very good year indeed.

Ink has clearly studied his success, and it feels strategic that Full Speed is sardine-packed with star collaborators.

Reflection represents a promising first step for a girl group that has long been awaiting stardom and has quickly established itself as a wrecking crew of positive role models.

Making the most of Capitol's Studio B--a Los Angeles landmark where Sinatra recorded--Dylan captures his band live, with stirring intimacy. As curator, he gets credit for avoiding obvious hits like "Stardust" and "Fly Me to the Moon," instead picking "Why Try to Change Me Now?" and the show-stopping closer, "That Lucky Old Sun," an old sufferer's plea for relief

American Middle Class is a focused collection of songs.

Her lyrics feel like they're whispered directly into the ear; her guitar playing (the only accompaniment aside from the occasional flute) is even more meticulous. But the true leap is in the set's many quietly arresting moments.

Part of the fun of The Lone Bellow is playing spot the influence: James Gang here, Staples Sisters there, Warren Zevon, Faces, lots of Crosby Stills Nash & Young. But to its credit, the band channels these icons with a commensurate amount of tact and respect.

For 2012's The Connection, the steroid-heavy production was somewhat tempered so emotional catharsis could propel the album, and the same holds true for new collection F.E.A.R. (Face Everything and Rise).

On Dahlia's debut, My Garden, she transcends the sum of her seemingly disparate influences, proving herself to be a relatively distinct artist, even if her risks don't always pay off.

The stripped-down songs on Terrible World--guitar-driven variations on God-fearing gospel ("Carolina Low") and Laurel Canyon country ("Lake Song")--are its best. After years of extravagance, dressing down turns out to be The Decemberists' strong suit.

On this adventurous LP, the critically lauded Scottish sextet waits until track nine, "Ever Had a Little Faith?," to offer one of its patented gently strummed character studies.

Panda Bear Meets the Grim Reaper, Lennox's fifth studio LP, is his most direct and accessible statement yet.

Aside from an understandable naivete, Trainor's weaknesses are her stylistic cherry-picking and her compulsion to appear adorably relatable and socially correct all at once.

What results is a new-ish, but not necessarily improved, Nickelback.

While it's too early to tell if The Pinkprint is a classic, it's safe to say it's her best album to date. Minaj was finally able to out-rap herself and purge issues she's struggled with in private in her most exposed fashion yet.

Perhaps more than any other young hitmaker, Charli has a sound that is distinctively her own, despite the murderers' row of producer-songwriters onboard.

The overall sound might be slighter and less sprawling, but it's also more sharply focused.

While it's not the Clan in full, you'd be hard-pressed to find a better supporting cast. If Tomorrow is, in fact, the group's swan song, 36 Seasons proves that Wu's members can do just fine--and maybe even better--on their own.

Lyrics like "You don’t have to be big and tall/To stand up and hold your own" (from "Miracles") play like inspirational memes. Still, their hearts are in such the right place that it's hard to totally root against them.

Hood Billionaire lands in a dull gray area between feel-good retro rap (its first two singles are the Memphis homage "Elvis Presley Blvd" and the pleasant but forgettable jazz jangle of "Keep Doin' That [Rich Bitch]") and Rozay greatest-hits karaoke that tries and fails to recapture the impact of his bulletproof Teflon Don bombast.

The recipe might be different, but the ingredients are largely the same.

Its fifth album is another successful step toward the mainstream.

Thanks to [Lorde's] vision, and her grip on the series' most important thematic elements, the 50 minutes of music behind Mockingjay Part 1 ably function as both a glance at 2014's finest purveyors of complex, downcast pop and a complement to the start of the series' chaotic, brutal conclusion.

None of these tracks can match the best cuts on the act's first two albums for sheer catchiness.

Brooks doesn't do half measures, as evident on the title track, screeching guitar-rock in which he rails against technology by referencing folklore hero John Henry, who died in a steam drill competition against a machine. But it's the dramatic tunes about love gone bad that stand out.

About half of them work, though which half might depend on your love or tolerance for the players involved.

The album builds on the pair's impressive collaborative EP with Robyn, Do It Again, reinforcing that project's themes of legacy, repetition and dedication.

["Louder Than Words" is] a riveting and beautiful piece of music, yes, but not quite a definitive statement. The same might be said of The Endless River as a whole.

The diversity and focus has paid off, as Cadillactica is K.R.I.T.'s best and most cohesive work to date.

The missteps are few, but grave: on "Gimme a Chance," she transitions from bouncy rap to full-blown salsa, complete with Spanish singing, while the retro surf-pop of the Ariel Pink-produced "Nude Beach a Go-Go" confounds. And yet, both merely amplify how creatively combative Banks can be--especially when she focuses that energy into her music.

The album's most arresting moments are stuck in the shadows, mere teasers for an artist the listener knows exists, but is intentionally sidelined.

Young's scratchy vocal fails to complement its exquisitely cinematic orchestration until the final two lines show a fleshed-out poignancy. It's the same, too, with his blues performances.... At times, though, Young and his many collaborators do gel.

It's a more consistent album than its predecessor. And perhaps more importantly, it shores up the duo's country flanks, and demonstrates that FGL intends to aggressively protect its progressive place in the genre, one that the act essentially designed on its own.

Pain Killer is an in-your-face album with rock bombast, though there's enough occasional twang here to keep the country traditionalists happy.

Coyne doesn't actually sing on the majority of these covers, but regardless, the album is decidedly refracted through a Flaming Lips light.

With 1989, she expertly sets up the next chapter of what is now even more likely to be a very long career.

The uptempo songs are entertaining, but it's the ballad performances that set this disc apart.

One that makes us hope the Queen takes a stab at even bolder covers in the future.

While it does have a couple of moments, much of the album sounds like he is just, filling out paperwork.

Clearly, Lambert has talent, but on Heart she's merely scratching the surface.

Jason Aldean's Old Boots, New Dirt, the singer's sixth studio album is a mixture of the party songs he has become known for--but also shows a little bit more of an emotional and sensual side than listeners might be accustomed to.

The result is a lustful listen that often centers on either coming together or breaking apart.

The music is more subdued than My Chemical Romance's, but Way's still not as understated as the influencers he's channeling. His storied themes of love and pain pop up throughout Hesitant Alien like embarrassing Facebook statuses. It's a largely smooth transition out of the dark and into the bright world of pop.

Lady A has always demonstrated the potential to deliver a little something more. On 747, we finally get a glimpse of it.

The formidable 3rdEye ladies want badly to be a raw, stripped-down rock band, but despite their chops and the analog production, the performances are slightly anodyne, scrubbed of menace.

Art Official Age isn't just the stronger of the two--it's among his most imaginative albums since the '90s.

A handful of tracks strewn with cheesy metaphors shows the impersonality that mars Cuomo's post-Pinkerton songwriting, despite some redeeming musical qualities that reaffirm Weezer as a purveyor of feedback and fuzz (particularly "Cleopatra," a great rock single if you ignore the lyrics).

Lady Gaga promised her fans (perhaps a tad prematurely) that her new album would be the greatest of the decade. But even if the next nine years bring something better, we're unlikely to hear anything bigger than Born This Way.

The Texas native reclaims her spot as one of country's most expressive and distinctive vocalists.

Hudson links with a long tradition of powerful female vocalists making highly danceable music. And the spare templates she uses here, which are heavy on rhythm and relatively empty otherwise, give her plenty of space to flex her powerful voice.

On Cheek to Cheek, Gaga justifies his [Tony Bennett's] faith--sometimes a bit too forcibly. Whereas Bennett is a master of restraint--a guy whose best performances play like melodic chat sessions--Gaga thrives on spectacle.

On the disc, co-produced by McGraw and longtime collaborator Byron Gallimore, the singer stretches a little more than usual--and takes a few musical chances.

Once gratuitous fillers are skipped, gems appear, especially on the closing half, where Brown is lucid about his tabloid love life.

Songs of Innocence is a colossal-sounding record from rock's ultimate stadium wreckers, and a quick listen reveals why no other marketing strategy would have worked.

It's 'party of one' music to overthink with and lines to quote when angry at a significant other--the soundtrack for hard times.

Along with some quiet surprises, there are also potential hits, including the first single/title track, where Lovato almost sounds like Kelly Clarkson's kid sister.

El Pintor succeeds in besting 2010’s Interpol, whose reception was so deflating, it could have killed the band’s career. But against even 2007’s ho-hum Capitol Records excursion Our Love to Admire (let alone Turn On the Bright Lights or even Antics), El Pintor fails to do much more than tread water.

Levine's hummingbird vocals and passionate delivery are as earnest as they were on their 2002 debut Songs About Jane.

As a result, My Everything is a less cohesive project than Yours Truly, although its best moments eclipse the highs of Grande's 2013 debut.

A tight, spirited follow-up to 2010’s bluesier, less essential Mojo.

A welcome, long-awaited return after a troubled hiatus, but it hums along comfortably without striking any innovative poses.

Overall, 5 Seconds of Summer is a delightful debut from a group that cannot be easily pigeonholed, and is worth paying attention to.

The Weird One delivers the reprocessed goods, though it's his original tunes — done in the idiosyncratic styles of his favorite artists--that truly warrant repeat listening.

What he's got, now, is an invigorating change-up record that shines in an already impressive discography.

It’s essential listening not so much for its quality--uneven, if generally high--but for the strange place it occupies in Morrissey’s discography. Not since 1991’s “Kill Uncle” has he given us anything quite so puzzling.

After the devil-may-care disco of "Blurred Lines," Thicke's career peak, Paula's introspection seems half-baked. It is Thicke's personal love letter for Patton--and comes off as relevant mostly just to the two of them.

x finds a hungry artist doing everything possible to elevate to another level, simply by abiding by his instincts.

It's not high art, and it won't land them on any year-end best-of lists, but it will sell a load of copies, and it's just the thing for your next lousy day.

Sprawling, ambitious and mostly well-executed, While (1<2) may confuse his fan base’s Ultra-attending electro house contingent, but deadmau5’s double album undoubtedly marks his most mature and forward-thinking release to date.

Smith bares more than his vocal cords on this record. Every story of unrequited love that's been put to song is powerful in its own right.

Auerbach offers a more sedate take on the "Born to Die" template, lightening the orchestrations, ditching the hip-hop beats, and presenting Lana as a perpetually scorned pop-noir fugitive--part Neko Case, part Katy Perry. It's a delicious contrast that makes for a surprisingly great album.