Samson & Delilah casts the English singer and songwriter even further afield, a mesmerizing right turn into the murky waters of throbbing R&B and ambient dance pop.

This may be the best record this Carter girl has ever made.

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

The CD, recorded last spring, is a collection of tunes that sound more groovy than gritty.

'We Call Upon the Author to Explain' goes the title of one song, but Cave offers no explanations and no justifications merely another lean, assured set of glamorously gloomy songs.

The album will be attractive to head bangers, math rockers, and now even classic-rock devotees thanks to guitarists Brent Hinds's and Bill Kelliher's deep devotion to the almighty riff.

There's not a dud minute to endure in the dreamlike 52 of "Mind Bokeh,'' which sounds far less like a sixth album than a second wind.

Welch and Rawlings weren't in a hurry to make this album, and you hear their patience in its unhurried grace. As usual, the beauty lies in the fluid interplay between the duo.

In exciting displays of versatility throughout the album, Segall grimes it up then unplugs, freaks out then holds back, wails then moans--all in utter confidence.

Along with his bandmates and producer Stuart Price, Flowers makes sure that Day & Age rarely veers from the not insignificant mission of making a record that simply sounds good.

On an album as free of frill as it is of gimmicks, Earl Sweatshirt lets his music stand on its own merits.

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

Full of irresistible grooves, quotable lyrics, and moments of spine-tingling beauty, American Dream is a worthy addition to the LCD Soundsystem discography.

Adkins remains unmistakably country, even when, from time to time, he throws a little blues or rock into the mix. No doubt that has something to do with his unmistakable baritone, which sounds undiminished here.

The follow-up to Robert Glasper’s Grammy-winning breakthrough builds on its predecessor by reframing the sound of contemporary urban music.

The result is a soulful reading that, driven by the sax of the Big Man’s nephew and exhibiting Henry’s characteristic resonant ambiance, ends up on a corner where the Boss and Van Morrison meet.

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 new music is more song-oriented, with a verse-chorus format versus some of the loosely knit, stretched-out mayhem of the past.

The Diving Board succeeds where the others did not. It does so by putting John’s piano and voice front and center, offering memorable melodies, and scraping off the production glop to reveal again the musician, the vocalist, the emotional artist still alive under John’s shiny shell of professional fabulousness.

What is evident is the astonishing consistency of Streisand's tone, her sometimes goose-bump-inducing interpretative gifts, and her stunning power over 45 years.

Obadiah is the archetypal sleeper: Its burnished songs--an unlikely marriage of plainspoken folk and blue-eyed-soul--wash over you on a cursory listen, start to percolate the second time around, and finally burrow deep into your brain.

An existential crisis has never sounded like so much fun as it does in Barnett’s songs.

Tribute To captures James’s sense of admiration, anguish, and awe for the quiet Beatle in an intimate solo recording that is three parts haunting reverb and one part pop melancholy.

On this debut, not a single note is out of place.

Grizzly Bear has learned not to stress over its craft, and Shields feels all the more fresh as a result.

A well-curated hits collection.

Avonmore is all lush layers and quiet urgency with songs of love won and lost, offering a mesmerizing combination of sophistication, melancholy, and danceability.

Lightning Bolt’s subversive sense of songcraft flourishes in these new recording environs, creating their most accessible record yet from tones and concepts as challenging as any in their catalog.

For many listeners Webber’s descent into Cat Power-style calamity will be the hook; others may find it a precious affectation. Then again, some people can’t see any beauty in a lonely overcast day.

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

This is a euphoric trip to the apocalypse, whether in a dig at social media in “Virtually Real” or a look at daily craziness in “The Way.”

What keeps Seventh Tree from lapsing into music for looming by is Goldfrapp and Gregory's inventive instrumentation, which harvests the warmth of electronic pop and marries it organically to acoustic instruments.

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

Far from an indulgent wallow in saccharine nostalgia--and disproving absurd accusations of a quick-buck dip into a fountain of easygoing oldies a la Rod Stewart--the album is lean and subtle

This tuneful, seemingly effortless set of sun-kissed pop reminds you why he's in so much demand.

She seldom raises her voice in anger or frustration, but imbues her words with emotional heft.

It's very much a smartly produced album that, while adhering to the blueprint for commercial-radio country music, successfully lassos a loose party vibe.

It takes on joy and loss with equal measure, and at its best--'Still Remember Love,' 'Lose Myself'--lands at the intersection of the two.

The album reminds you that those budding superstars can’t beat Carey at her own game.

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.

With help from a diverse coterie of peers, fans, and friends, Wrote a Song for Everyone offers fun and fresh takes on well-worn tunes.

A sprawling four-CD set of demos, alternate takes, B-sides, live cuts, promo-only tracks, and other miscellany.

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

This album is his best yet with his own band, a potent dose of rock and R&B instead of the lighter jazz and world music of past efforts.

The transition is subtle - the reconstituted tracks of Belong remain vehicles for near-perfect pop melodies, gentle self-deprecation, and wistful sentiments

It adds up to an album of left-field soul that's downcast but not at all a bummer.

A rare find in any genre, the entire album holds up from stem to stern as the group deftly gives Nashville what it needs in terms of melody and production polish while mostly sidestepping assembly-line banalities.

Covering the likes of Joni Mitchell, Patti Smith, and Nina Simone on last year’s “Mockingbird’’ seems to have rubbed off on her. “Crows’’ is a striking album.

You’d be hard-pressed to name another songwriter who sounded so fully formed at such a tender age.

If it is indeed her swan song, it’s a triumphant sendoff that reiterates what a singular figure she has been in rock music. It’s among her broadest work, spanning intimate ballads (“Love More or Less”), apocalyptic art songs (“Late Victorian Holocaust”), and harrowing blues (“True Lies”).

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.

Gift of Screws is only his fifth solo record. Perhaps that's why the singer and guitarist (who turns 60 next month) still sounds so vital and passionate, especially on the voluptuous, opening songs 'Great Day' and 'Time Precious Time,' where his luminescent riffs and nimble finger-picking shine.

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

[Silver Age is] an album not just reminiscent of but worthy of comparison to his best '90s material.

It’s prime Mazzy Star, the work of a band that knows what it does well. And then does it beautifully

Rice’s Fantasy, coproduced by Rick Rubin, is often dark and beautiful, featuring dramatic orchestrations, intricate arrangements, and hushed, swooning vocals.

With the assistance of ace songwriter-producer-multi-instrumentalist Wayne Kirkpatrick "The Reason Why" does what all good records should do: It makes you laugh, cry, hoot, holler, and breaks your heart.

The results are surprisingly encouraging. Flavor Flav, having been turned by VH1 into even more of a caricature (if possible) than he already was, reminds PE fans that he is still a competent and efficient hypeman, and Chuck D sounds angrier and rawer than he has in years.

Even with such hitmaking producers as Calvin Harris and Diplo on board, Magic Hour is refreshingly out of step with current tastes in pop music.

The album has a movie score feel, but this time every track is its own short film.

Børns has improved technically as a singer since his last record, and he’s smart not to cede the spotlight to Del Rey, instead using the album to twist his peculiar brand of romantic retrofuturism into inventive new shapes.

“Flux,” with its sharp focus and even sharper songwriting, could be a sign that the world is ready to focus — even if its residual chaos makes one need to let out a scream now and again.

SMD sounds like it's found a handle on its sound.

This time, there are moments of eye-opening wonder.

The three brothers and a cousin reconnect the dots of their career and interrelationships in an impressively catchy set of 11 songs.

For an album that’s seemingly been in turnaround for so long, Broke sounds very much of the moment.

Almost every song is a gem, the lyrics thoughtful and melodies memorable.

The intense and intensely bearded Maine singer-songwriter showcases a lighter side on his superbly crafted third disc.

Mostly, though, 21 sounds as though it was built around Adele's presence.

The Cult reunites with two former collaborators--producers Bob Rock and Chris Goss--with satisfyingly brawny results.

Pulling the entire effort back from the precipice of cliché is the immediate charisma of vocalist Megan James, particularly engaging when hurdling over cleverly constructed lines of wordplay.

While each movement works on its own, Elements is best experienced in one long pass.

The dizzying succession of beats per minute paired with thoughtful lyrics about music's role in shaping memories gives Saint Etienne a chance to create a rare entity: Dance music for the thinking person.

Never is frank, fearless, and restless--a 14-song rattle bag of damaged samples, uneasy hooks, intuitive melody, and dry humor.

Following an uncharacteristic hiatus, singer-songwriter Ryan Adams returns with this lovely, low-key effort.

Keys has rarely ever sounded so at ease, so downright sensual, as she does as her latest.

Proving itself to be more than a reunion cash-in, Heaven & Hell--the re-brand for Black Sabbath with Ronnie James Dio on vocals--has a batch of new material that is every bit as menacingly delightful as 2007's concert tour that revived the lineup after 15 years.

There's not a lot of replay value in Björk's new mode, but it still works humbly well and the computer visuals go a long way toward expanding on the fragile, chamber orchestra feel of the music.

Her vivid miniatures of complicated intimacies and everyday inadequacies slip between the cracks of country, folk, and rock, and they're as graceful as they are unflinching.

Evermotion is an airy, winsome release that puts less focus on guitars, dabbling instead in horns and electronic and new wave sounds, to terrific, moody effect.

From its length (18 songs, 66 minutes) to its guest list (Kanye West, Rod Stewart, Danger Mouse, Lil Wayne, Yasiin Bey, M.I.A.), the album is as much a large-scale production as his debut was. But it’s done on Rocky’s terms, with every element enhancing the sound that he laid out on his initial mixtape.

Harper leaves a few arrows unstrung from his deep musical quiver here, but the ones he fires all seem to hit their mark.

Halestorm’s third album is packed with straightforward mud-in-your-eye rockers, but also throws enough stylistic curveballs to set it apart from the crowd.

By midway through the album’s opening title track — its rolling banjo, accordion, and bagpipes atop raging punk chords as Al Barr and Ken Casey stake out an us-versus-them ethos — they’ve practically ionized every molecule in the listener’s body until all that’s left is the rush that the band intended. Although it may be schtick, it’s a really good schtick, and the Murphys are damn good at it.

April, the third Sun Kil Moon album by Kozelek and friends, has several such sweet spots, the kind we hope will never end.

An 80-minute prog-metal fever dream that proves the band is back and better than ever.

The Seattle boy-girl duo of Grant Olsen and Sonya Westcott fashions narcotic, melancholy pop songs that would make the band's influences proud (Neil Young and the Velvet Underground in its quieter moments chief among them).

Just about every note and lyric on Erin McKeown's Manifestra is a step away from the norm. Yet the songs are so beguiling you can't help but follow.

It's both jarring and exhilarating how disjointed the record often feels, from the dreamy Tin Pan Alley balladry of "Sir Greendown'' to the Screamin' Jay Hawkins freakout "Come Alive (War of the Roses).''

Nothing Can Hurt Me consists of rejiggered mixes of performances released on the band’s original albums. That makes it unessential, but it somehow reveals more new angles on the power-pop standard bearers’ perfect songs than 2009’s “Keep an Eye on the Sky” box set managed over four discs.

The results might qualify Live From Alabama as something more than a way station between Isbell's last studio record and his next one.

This time, the energy is clear from the start, giving tracks like 'Heart It Races' and 'Lazy (Lazy)' the momentum to burst into the sonic equivalent of confetti.

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

Produced by buddy Ryan Adams, and featuring guest shots from Bob Mould and Johnny Depp, Ghosts is a gorgeous, contemplative effort rooted in loss.

This album was written collaboratively with the entire band’s input, so there’s a lot of ground covered on these 15 songs, and plenty of room to get lost.

A decade in, this duo is still drawn to the dark side and the beauty lurking beneath it.

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.

Compared to James’s 2013 breakout “No Beginning No End,” this one is bigger, thicker, less sensual but arguably just as sexy.