Her new album builds on that idea [multi-hyphenate] in a thrilling way, taking the experimental ideals that she learned as a student of jazz into new directions--heady funk, tongue-twisting soul, sparsely arranged confessional --that consistently surprise.

Like her heroes before her, B.B. King included, Raitt is clearly in it for the long haul, and not content to rely on past glory. Instead, she wisely digs Deep and her listeners are the better for it.

Her third album blends styles in a way that thrillingly recalls the kitchen-sink endeavors of the early new wave era.

The group’s sound has progressed to include ethereal synths, suited to the spiritual subject matter. Deheza’s soothing, breathy voice sits atop this sound as if she’s trying to comfort Curtis about their relationship in songs like “Open Your Eyes” and “On My Heart,” and about his cancer diagnosis in “Confusion.” This album highlights a connection between the two that goes beyond death.

Well intentioned but frequently clumsy (“I want to be Hugh Jackman/ you know jacked, man”), the record demonstrates that the duo’s skills haven’t yet caught up to their ambition.

Mostly, though, Victorious simply colors within the lines drawn by others, scratching the itch of those already inclined to seek it out.

Side Pony is a confident, expertly played statement from a band that’s been honing its approach for more than a decade, and it clearly shows that Lake Street Dive is ready to make itself known to whatever audiences have yet to succumb to its many charms.

The album feels stunningly fresh and cutting edge; expect to see it on some Top Ten lists later this year.

Simple and understated, Pinegrove grafts unassuming banjo and pedal-steel textures to classic slacker indie rock, making each moment as engaging as the next.

As a songwriter, she continues to have a feel for big, hooky choruses (“Don’t You Give Up on Me”), as well as a tendency to go too broad (“Daughters”). The most sharply etched songs, like “Go for a Walk” (“I want to feel my life”), reveal a singer finding herself.

It’s a hard album to dislike, and an equally hard one to love.

It’s a pleasure to report that country music’s ultimate good guy has once again crafted an excellent collection of new music with his 18th album.

Tracks like “Death Came,” “Dust,” and “Bitter Memory” have great lyrics, yet the clear conclusion is that Williams should’ve condensed her second self-released double-disc set since 2014 into one record--two is just too much.

The buoyancy at the center of the open-road-ready “Dopamine,” subtly urgent “Yr Not Far,” and chiming “Loose Ends” makes the 17 tracks drift by like a breeze on a particularly carefree spring day.

“When You Are Young,” “Pale Snow,” and “Learning to Be” sound transitional even at full length, struggling for traction and momentum. “I Don’t Know How to Reach You” is grand and gloriously dramatic, propulsive, and vaguely off in the best Suede tradition, guitarist Richard Oakes pinging in sad ecstasy in tandem with singer Brett Anderson’s preening, come-hither mope.

John and Taupin have long passed the point of having anything to prove, and if Wonderful Crazy Night doesn’t offer much in the way of instantly gratifying pop hit-making, it’s got craft and joie de vivre to spare--which for artists of their vintage is admirable in its own right.

Hunter keeps on doing what he does, and on Hold On! he’s doing it as well as he ever has.

The album doesn’t shy from its broad ambitions, offering a glossy club jam (“Kno One”) and an after-hours groove (“One Thing”), tracks that require Gates to ease back his flow and craft a knockout hook to carry the song, something he also does on the anthemic “2 Phones.” But as a lyricist, Gates is closer to Ghostface Killah or Beanie Sigel.

This delightful album revisits artists that Miller recorded during cruises in 2014 and 2015.

Gumption exhibits a mastery of texture and tension that’s surely a harbinger for the exciting career Miller has ahead.

While Sia has declared her awareness of the cheese factor in her hired-gun material, with its broad themes of self-empowerment and survival, she has a real gift for making it palatable.

The often elliptical lyrics are both penetrating and hypnotic--the sounds of words are as vital as their meaning.

With its sense of unease, quiet, and longing, much of Anti is unlikely to grab ears on first listen or play well to Rihanna’s broadest base of fans. But it is an interesting artistic curveball in her heretofore hits-driven career.

The 11 tracks, all co-written by the Osbornes, expertly capture TJ’s beguiling baritone and John’s nimble fretwork, with fewer concessions to pop-country trends than might be expected from a major-label act.

A sudden turn to classic rock feels like one of the weirdest moves of Tortoise’s career--but it also feels so right.

Adhering to basic rock formalism, the all-women quartet captures a raw primitivism that’s undeniably appealing in an era when most mainstream rock acts are as manicured as Bravo housewives. Unfortunately, too many songs like “I’ll Be Your Man,” a sleepy (hungover?) stab at hooky, sunshine rock, seem like first drafts.

The band is brawny yet nimble, wriggling and writhing in a groove one moment, pivoting into pummel mode the next.

At the heart of the mood is something that only comes naturally: the plaintive croon of hand-in-glove brotherly harmonies.

His latest release, Fortune, weds his marvelous lyrical economy to music that ranges from spare acoustic guitar to a clanging junkyard sound, and proves once again that he’s a ringmaster at turning misery into art.

Subtle hints at emotional undercurrents enhance the potency of Friedberger’s lyrics.

Bachelor doesn’t always hit.... But Urie’s charm and willingness to maximize his songs’ pop-spectacle quotient make Bachelor an often-delightful accompaniment to 2016’s earliest, chilliest weeks.

The wounded “Better Place” and soothing “Superman” stand out, showing how Platten’s songwriting skills can be used to tease out emotional subtleties. But too often here she’s battling stuffed-to-the-gills arrangements.

Tthese renditions make this whole more than the sum of its estimable parts.

The album is dense and intriguing, neither a straightforward rock record nor so wildly experimental as to be inaccessible.

A sublime, succinct overview of the composer’s sprawling catalog.

Thorn’s ability to craft a full character portrait from just a few lines is starkest on the tracks from her 2010 album, “Love and Its Opposite.”

Few of the new tracks reach that level of greatness [of his classic hits], and flimsy lyrics mar a couple. But several worm their way into the ear endearingly.

A singular listening experience, Kannon is best consumed at extreme volume and with an open mind.

Clearly, the members of Coldplay haven’t completely shaken off their ghosts. But just as clearly, they’ve found joy again in “Dreams.”

A satisfying mix of adult pop-soul love songs that evoke his early work. These amiable, adroitly produced and arranged songs confirm his inimitable knack for graceful melodies and effortless hooks.

Less visceral than Beach House and more rhythmic than Trespassers William, GEMS creates its own distinct shade of contemporary dream-pop. Usher’s angular guitar work and layers of synths provide a luxuriously designed sonic backdrop for Pitts’s doomed romanticism.

Every song here features cascades of syllables, careful integration of repetition, and narrative momentum.

If there are no uptempo blazers on the order of "Rolling in the Deep" or "Rumor Has It," the album doesn’t suffer in quality for the lack.

With the creative confidence to go with his considerable skills and heart, Logic crafts some polished and appealing material.... Overall, a step up for the sophomore.

No one does heartbreak and yearning quite like this veteran singer-songwriter, who sounds renewed here with a streamlined sound in these 12 carefully observed, beautifully sung songs.

Church had already set the bar high for himself with his watershed 2011 release, “Chief,” and more disparate 2014 album, “The Outsiders.” He vaults over that bar with “Mr. Misunderstood,” in some ways a love letter to music itself and to the ways it can save a soul, a heart, a sense of self.

It’s fascinating to hear how some songs started in one direction and darted into another one entirely.

Adams starts promisingly with the rockabilly-etched “You Belong to Me” and mission statement “Go Down Rockin’ ” (”I ain’t gonna slow down/ I’m gonna go down rockin’ ”). But things flatten out with the repetitive “Do What You Gotta Do” and the embarrassing “Thunderbolt.”

On Return to the Moon, their debut for 4AD, the duo play off each other’s strengths--Knopf’s kaleidoscopic art rock and Berninger’s impressionistic storytelling--to skim the best of both worlds.

Wolf Eyes’ travels through the depths of noise and despair sound like they end up at a place where the gates read “Abandon All Hope,” but the group’s ability to put across its artistic vision with such totality should inspire at least a flicker of optimism.

His self-titled debut on Anti- Records requires several listens before it comes into focus as a shape-shifting exploration of identity both personal and universal.

This 11th album is slighter than the group’s finest records yet there are enough emotionally true narratives here brimming with soul and bruised wisdom.

Fueled by exploration and musical experimentation, Carlton’s reinvention finds her a long way from “A Thousand Miles”--and in a better place, artistically.

On Divers, her breathtaking follow-up to 2010’s “Have One on Me,” the singer, songwriter, and harpist affirms her stature as a visionary. It’s the most streamlined of her four albums.

There’s plenty on Storyteller that will sound familiar to Underwood fans, and a few filler tracks. But a little stretching goes a long way, and this might be her most interesting album yet.

The music was recorded in a Nashville studio with few overdubs, which lends a welcome organic crunch at times. But overall, the consistency is not what it could be.

Raury’s spirit and intent are laudable, but his broad lyrics and potpourri musical approach need refining.

Singer-songwriter Josh Ritter is moving fast on his eighth album, but he never puts a foot wrong. The 12-track collection, produced by Trina Shoemaker over two weeks in New Orleans, is positively giddy with wordplay.

For all the lyrical power of those songs (and others here), the album’s most affecting moment may be its most plain-spoken: At the set’s end, Lund shares a song about a young niece who died of cancer, “Sunbeam,” that brims with quiet, heartfelt beauty.

A forthright album of pop songs that make it clear she is ready to be honest and even vulnerable in her music.

Among 12 originals there are a couple of failures (“Winslow” is soft, creamy, and dull), but the vast majority insinuate themselves into your brain with repeat listens. Not much commercial potential, but a job well done.

Whether he is grappling with his confusion with the modern world in the searching title track, mulling the delightful aggravations of relationships on “If It Wasn’t For You” and the joys of making up on “A Little Smile,” or working up a froth on his rage, rattle, and roll version of Television’s “See No Evil,” Jackson is in peak form.

Colvin struggles with the Band’s complex “Acadian Driftwood,” but otherwise shines.

Stories drags a bit at the end, the low point being a reggae-lite track starring former Fugee Wyclef Jean and the fusion-minded Matisyahu, but when it hits, it hits big.

What’s surprising isn’t that the band takes such leaps, but that it nails its landings so surely.

Unbreakable is much closer in sound and spirit to her peak self, and her most solid release in years.

By reinventing the idea of what a guitar-centric band should sound like from the bottom up, Girl Band has established itself as a much-needed force in rock, and Holding Hands With Jamie is among most exhilarating opening salvos of 2015.

While the contributors are many, Cass County is a Henley vision down to its bones.

This overflows with ideas and intricate synth patterns while maintaining the emotional resonance of the band’s best work.

Now six solo albums in, Vile sounds like no one but himself.

If you didn’t already, it even makes you appreciate Swift’s stealth songwriting, particularly when scaled to its essence.

The Pittsburgh MC has undeniably matured; a firmer command of internal rhymes adds slight intricacy to his verses. Unfortunately, he still sounds like the sum of his influences.

Gilmour’s fourth solo record summons a heady dose of the grandeur he brought to Floyd.

The players clearly thrill in wringing every possible sound out their instruments, making La Di Da Di one of the year’s most satisfying trips into the sonic unknown.

[A] fun, star-studded tribute, recorded with new Vampires Johnny Depp and Joe Perry

The album is assured and seductive, to the point that the despair underpinning so many of the songs isn’t immediately obvious.

Glynne’s first solo album (which has already hit No. 1 in the UK) is a bit all over the place stylistically, but flaunts her formidable pipes and undeniable talent for injecting a lyric with vulnerability.

Finn’s second solo album is packed with songs rich in street intelligence and wry humor.

His formula-defying sixth record probably won’t provide his breakthrough [in the United States], but it’s an undeniable creative triumph.

The Book of Souls is a triumph, packed with instantly memorable songs and riffs, vocal heroics, triple-guitar fireworks, and vital, committed performances.

Coproduced and primarily co-written by Auerbach and Michels, Yours, Dreamily satisfyingly careers from gauzy, reverb-soaked late-night soundscapes to raucous, fuzzy freak-outs.

His versatility, combined with a high-profile guest list, conspires against him; among 14 tracks, Scott conjures just a handful of moments that hint at untapped reserves of talent.

Her latest has a surplus of them [uniformly great songs]. It suggests Cyrus, at 22, has figured out how to present her views in a way that’s still powerful but also musically interesting and cohesive.

While drummer Mikkey Dee shines on an unexpected cover of the Rolling Stones’ “Sympathy for the Devil.” That efficient if unspectacular borrowing aside, this potent record ranks among the year’s best.

If you are a Beach House fan and want a shimmering soundtrack to serve as a backdrop for daydreaming, then Depression Cherry should fit the bill. For everyone else, your mileage may vary wildly, even within the span of one listen.

Thomas continues briskly down the middle of the road with a collection of jaunty pop ditties, brooding midtempo rockers, and heartfelt piano ballads.

Method Man is mostly in a lower gear (“Water”), only rising up to inspired heights intermittently. Augmented by a serviceably brittle production, the numerous MCs offer more energy than consistency, making it difficult for the 19 tracks to sustain momentum.

An album that’s incredibly enjoyable even as Jepsen stands on the precipice of heartache.

It takes band mastermind Ellen Kempner exactly eight songs in 30 minutes to hook you and leave you wanting to hear more.

It’s a cheesy plunge into dance-pop that shows a crass haste to grab Top 40 radio play. Many of these synth-driven, computerized songs land with a thud.

A highly listenable rebirth.

None of it would work without Royce’s supple voice and sweet charisma, which help to make offerings like the glitchy “Handcuffs,” which in less skilled hands could sound like a slippery commitment-phobe’s insincere come-on, recall a soul pried open.

Tracks like the straightforward “Huntin’, Fishin’, and Lovin’ Every Day” and the shimmering, wistful “Just Over” apply Bryan’s smooth charm to aspects of the Nashville template, his omnivorous nature peeks through here and there.

Often built around little more than the words, DeMent’s homespun warble, and a piano sometimes fleshed out by stringed instruments--is closely aligned to DeMent’s best work.

Some of the 25-year-old artist’s songs here seem unrealized, his slim insights into relationships not as revealing as his often eloquent guitar work. Self-reflection turns to self-absorption, and never quite resonates on a universal level.

A magnificent, subtle reshaping of classic honky-tonk sounds and sentiment, fulfills that promise and then some.

The result is a great effort from a still-striving free spirit.

Blood, is a statement of purpose and self-discovery.