This week the Canadian sorta-supergroup releases Together, its fifth album, and provided you're not the kind of fan who requires your heroes to evolve, the disc is delectable.

The result is this quite sensational new album that not only purges the darkness, but marks the finest music he has made.

Robison's focus, on introspective ruminations and the vagaries of relationships, is relentlessly earnest. And as well-played as the music can be, lyrically it’s a very bumpy ride.

Clearly, this set is designed to show, and does indeed prove, that the singer has a pulse.

Though built mainly with recycled material, "The Oracle" has fresh moments, such as the scrappy delivery of "What If?" and the up-tempo snap of "War and Peace."

Nobody's Daughter probably won't restore Love's credibility as a rock musician--her moment has passed--but unlike so many of her peers she's still weirdly, thrillingly believable.

Her voice is still pure and graceful, and her viewpoint is still optimistic, but there’s a noticeable lack of energy in these ballad-heavy songs.

Most of the moments of quiet introspection sag, though. It’s only in those heavier numbers where Etheridge’s best asset, her scarred, emotive croon works its visceral voodoo.

More fascinating than strictly enjoyable, All Days is the sound of an artist shaking his thoughts out onto paper to see what they look like and get his hands around them.

Like the best mashups, it doesn’t sound like it should make sense. That’s why it does.

On paper, a sentiment like that drips with bittersweet nostalgia, but not when Haggard is delivering it. There's a resilience in his voice.

Her typical lyrical bent remains, but musically, Tears, Lies & Alibis is largely a spare, acoustic affair.

Houston MC Devin offers the same batch of punch lines, extremely crude come-ons, and panegyrics to getting high and getting freaky as fans have come to expect, all to the echo-chamber beat of an array of synthesized blips and bleeps. And yet, something about Devin--his lackadaisical assurance, his Lil Wayne-esque gift of gab, his shamelessly un-progressive attitude toward women--is perversely charming.

This album isn't for everyone, but it's as open-hearted and grittily triumphant as any you'll hear this year.

Congratulations, MGMT's time-warped sophomore release, is a strange beast, a candy-colored acid trip set to music, and easily the most hallucinatory rock record of the year so far.

The record is further evidence of the quartet's easy chemistry. The band is both bold and geeky, creating a signature sound that typically triggers strong reaction; one man's progressive is another's pretentious.

Instead of rushing out a record, he has defined his sound, developed his vocals, and written some strong love songs. The breezy, acoustic-based set, produced by Eric Rosse, is uncluttered and extremely melodic.

Marling combines craft, instinct, and emotion for a collection of tunes that showcase a variety of mostly acoustic moods but coalesce into a hushed, beguiling whole.

While Go occasionally possesses the scope of IMAX (and Sigur Ros), it never develops the depth or grandeur.

Here Lies Love is a sumptuous two-disc feast of harmony, melody, and Latin-accented grooves that the Studio 54-loving Marcos herself would likely appreciate.

I Learned the Hard Way is yet another work of impeccable late-’60s nostalgia by the flagship act of Brooklyn label Daptone, where soul revivalism is a way of life, from crack horn section to period recording tools to throwback art and typography.

There isn’t anything revelatory or strikingly different here--just the solid, precise craftsmanship of an artist now deep into his career.

Raymond v. Raymond, his latest release, is something else entirely: an album ostensibly about divorce but too timid to explore the subject in all its complexities.

"My Love" are the first two words you hear on Erykah Badu’s beguiling new album, and they set the tone for the entire set. Unlike the politically charged mix of funk and hip-hop of New Amerykah Part One (Third World War), this chapter is a warmer, more sensuous blend of organic R&B and jazzy pop.

There’s an unforced, natural ease dripping from the songs, which sound like Western-accented pop music out of time. Even so, there’s still enough room for playfulness.

Deschanel and Ward continue their winning ways on Volume Two, drawing on their shared love of everything from Bobbie Gentry to Wilco.

For a band that has proven itself to be fearless, the idea of becoming hopelessly devoted to adult contemporary-friendly dance music is either the bravest--or craziest--move of its decade-long career.

It effects a musical anachronism, albeit a catchy one, but in this sped-up recycling moment all styles all at once are grist for the mill.