Big Boi goes a long way in carving out an individual identity while still waving the Outkast flag.

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.

What is both surprising and remarkable, then, is how unflinchingly direct, bracingly unfiltered, and wholly intimate the new album, which is out today, sounds and feels.

This album is flush with easy-listening ballads, but they are often wondrously rearranged by Diamond, who continues to be a restless experimenter.

For his part, Burke invests the songs with a force and passion that remains unabated. What a marvelous note for the King of Rock and Soul to leave us on.

B.o.B.'s sophomore record shows he is one of the top hit-makers in contemporary pop.

Its new four-song EP continues with that sturdy foundation [from Astro Coast], even as it occasionally hints at larger arena-rock ambitions.

["Windows"] sort of upends the rest of Burn Your Fire, an otherwise intensely focused record that sounds like it was written and sung through clenched teeth.

Finally, the Strokes sound as if they’re having fun again.

How Big How Blue How Beautiful is a record about maneuvering around and through matters of the heart--sometimes triumphant, sometimes sad, and always deeply felt thanks to Welch acting as tour guide.

Taylor Swift bestie and duet partner, writer of songs for One Direction, management client of Sir Elton John, British singer-songwriter Ed Sheeran comes into his own on his sophomore album x--pronounced “mulitply.”

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

Ready for Confetti may be a little different, but it's still very much Robert Earl.

A cheeky, delirious romp that's rife with humor and originality, this debut channels the euphoric sound of an underdog finding his voice and gaining his glory.

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

In a way, it’s all as tightly woven as his Grammy-winning work, even if none of these cuts fit that album’s meticulous narrative.

A great overall effort.

Sometimes observing that a band keeps making the same record is an insult. Not so with Rancid--and not when the records are this good.

It’s refreshing to hear Jamie xx go so widescreen.

A tender fragility still touches her music, effectively so, but these strong interpretations feel like another step toward strengthening her own foundations.

Through 13 glorious tracks spanning back-porch hootenanny sessions to countrypolitan elegance, Lynn proves that at 83 she’s a national treasure who still exudes the earthiness of her rural roots.

Sometimes his baritone carries lyrics that are blunt and tart, and others opaque and blurry, but never lacking bite.

What it has in common with its superb predecessors is Lewis's invaluable understanding of what works for her.

Morning beautifully captures what makes this album so rich: that delicate divide between grandiose and intimate.

The Rip Tide establishes Beirut's music as not merely an ode to Condon's worldly bag of influences, but an entity that stands on its own.

As debuts go, this is a marvel by a singer and songwriter who has no desire to fit snugly into one category. Her talent isn’t that easily contained.

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

Fiasco builds on that promise [in "Food & Liquuor"] exponentially with the triumphant Cool, which gets extra style points for bringing back the idea of the headphones hip-hop album.

His interpretive use of his rich, burnished baritone has never been better, and that remarkable voice is still a force to be reckoned with.

The two CDs sound terrific, documenting how gracefully both McCartney and his music are aging. His voice is robust, his charm on full blast, and the epic set of Beatles, Wings, and solo material is deepening with meaning and sentiment.

Frontman Rob Thomas has not lost his fastball as a craftsman. Listeners will be humming several songs off "North" before the second chorus even begins, whether they like it or not.

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

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.

With 10 songs clocking in at just 33 minutes, Modern Guilt feels fleeting, even temporal, and that seems to be the point. It's destined to be an artifact of an age that's rocketing, Beck suspects, toward oblivion.

While the touchstones are evident--you can hear wisps of everyone from Vince Gill to Steve Earle to Lynyrd Skynyrd--Blackberry Smoke has assuredly carved out its own spot.

24 Karat Gold is Stevie at her Nicks-iest: a gold dust woman, caught mid-twirl.

His first album of new material since 2004's "Real Gone," it's also one of Waits's most balanced works in recent memory.

The Grammy-nominated singer-songwriter takes a major leap forward with this vivacious, smartly conceived work.

Most Messed Up is a full-blown, album-length expression of the Old 97s’ vintage, railroad-beat careen stripped of all embellishments.

An out of the ordinary offering, the disc proves Beck still hasn’t stopped growing.

While there’s a back-to-basics glee in the album’s geeky power-chord pop tracks, a largely instrumental three-song closing suite is neatly epic, triggering Pink Floyd chills.

Betty Wright: The Movie doesn't reinvent its maker so much as it extracts her essence.

Their fourth record, the stunning Lust Lust Lust, retains the Danish duo’s fetish for early pop harmony and surf guitar, not to mention shoe-gaze buzz in their concise, fuzzy bursts of tragic romance.

A major step forward, this new album sounds nothing like the work of her peers.

The debut from the once-anonymous LA duo of Rhye--Danish electro-soul producer Robin Hannibal and Canadian vocalist-producer Mike Milosh--floats with ease on this wave [of R&B experiments].

On her gently magnificent third solo album, Tracey Thorn--the beguiling voice of Everything But the Girl--tackles serious big-girl issues.

The Hendrix estate, along with Newton-based archivist John McDermott and producer Eddie Kramer, have done themselves proud here.

Grimy and disheveled, clever and infectious, it's a sloppy heap of classic pop, psychedelic haze, spastic rock, and teenage disaffection mixed to lo-fi imperfection in some kid's filthy garage.

As personal as it feels, The Beast in Its Tracks, like the great breakup records before it (Beck’s “Sea Change” comes to mind), is universal in its scope.

They're all delivered, with copious amounts of steel and Telecaster, by Smith's soulful pipes, which are now thickened a bit with age, but still clear, powerful, and emotionally compelling.

Forget about the dreaded decline. Arctic Monkeys have moved from their alarmingly evolved infancy into rock toddlerhood with glibness, swagger, and whip-smart songs intact.

More than ever, Ribot's creativity and versatility astound, confound, and frighten.

“Welcome to Earth (Pollywog)” starts the record with a foreboding sound that moves to stately piano and tremolo strings before exploding into soul. Nirvana’s “In Bloom” is turned into sweeping countrypolitan; “All Around You” offers killer country soul. “A Sailor’s Guide” confirms that Simpson isn’t content to stand in the same place for very long.

The short, melodically complex songs cohere into an often stunningly moving suite.

This album offers a 12-song slice of unpretentious, lovely Americana. Her songs didn’t vie for my attention or seize it; instead, I felt like I was settling into their embrace, unrushed. My heart rate slowed. Erin Rae’s lyrics are wistful and sometimes personal.

The production is as rich as the raps, spanning pop, underground R&B, club music, and psychedelic experimentation. The project is further heightened by Glover’s knowing irony, his gift for hooks, and his visionary theme.

Divorcing the music from its maker and inspirations can pose varying degrees of difficulty. But listeners who can imprint themselves on these songs will find much to enjoy in Stefani’s Truth.

With producer Shane Fontayne adding dimension and tension to the music, Nash’s first album of originals in 14 years is marked by hope and possibility shadowed by loss.

Life Is Good, finds him humbled and reflective after his high-profile divorce from Kelis. This doesn't diminish his impact, as these songs mix anger, nostalgia, and insight.

The Boys still sound like nobody but themselves, and to hear them making music again is an unexpected delight.

Save the Four Tops medley there has yet to be a match for Levi Stubbs--the Boyz sound as strong and harmonious as ever.

The album was 33 songs a year ago, and it’s 32 now, yet it unfurls cohesively like a film.

Even the very concept of a songwriter laying down a plethora of new songs in his publisher's office for others to perform feels out-of-time - quaintly and genuinely so.

Pink continues to make everything she touches her own. She uses brains and brawn to turn the mainstream into a complicated place.

Some of the phrasing on "MPP" sticks; some of it soars; most of it slips and slides through puddles of rich sonic texture. Only at a distance does the magic of the whole major-key mess become clear.

Recorded in five days with producer Four Tet and musical duo RocketNumberNine, the disc maintains a raw, improvisatory feel.

He continues to deliver the goods on Lucky by singing about the unlucky.

The wisdom she imparts across the songs that follow is profound in its simplicity, but it still needs to be heard: McKenna’s omniscient narrators are simultaneously understanding toward their subjects and interrogating toward themselves, a generosity of spirit that, when paired with Cobb’s thoughtful, subtle arrangements, is a quiet yet welcome tonic to the current landscape.

The program for Silver Pony is a balanced mix of originals, standards, and rearranged pop songs.

The Weight of These Wings matches the take-no-prisoners attitude of her lyrics with music that travels unexpected routes but often winds up touching the soul.

Hot Water Music nicely balances aggression and craft on Exister.

Plant has glossed all of this as “trance meets Zep,” but it’s more: a kaleidoscope that shows he still has much to say.

It’s the group’s most far-flung album, supporting Karen O’s recent claim that Mosquito offers something for everyone.

Wasted on the Dream is tight and snarling, an amalgamation of punk brevity, metal riffs, and garage attitude, tailor-made for blaring from parked cars idling while their passengers figure out how to maximize the night’s fast, cheap, and out of control quotients.

The Quins’ voices give songs like “Faint of Heart” extra dramatic heft, while adding anxious shades to the steely-eyed façade of “Hang on to the Night.”

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.

Shape Shift With Me is a sharply penned love letter both to the idea of romance and the people who engage in it, brimming with deep yet concisely expressed emotions that can only be worked out through top-of-the-lungs bellowing.

While several tunes could appear on a Sugarland album, it is a less commercial, contemporary country-sounding release and there is a sense of individuality stamped on the songs.

Invisible Cinema is the opposite of a silent film. The soundtrack is provided; the listener brings the visuals.

The unabashed emotion in their all-out approach will surely appeal to fans of raw yet sentimental Southern rock, Weezer and Modest Mouse followers, and angst-ridden teens.

“Highway Anxiety” shimmers with melancholy and evocative locomotive persistence; “Gone Clear” travels from Tyler’s intricate fingerpicking to a barrage of chiming bells and back again.

The thicker the walls of sound this time around, the better, too--the forward-marching layers of distortion throughout "Rano Piano" and at the end of the hyper-cinematic "You're Lionel Richie" are the most purposeful and satisfying aspects of the album.

The record is a celebration of life and a reminder of how rock ’n’ roll can help transcend grief and loss. The E Street Band sounds rejuvenated with Roy Bittan’s piano work and Charlie Giordano’s resounding organ swirls and swells driving the songs and echoing early E Street magic.

From jaunty opener "Feba" to dense finale "Rotin," the eight songs have distinct identities but share groovy, spacey production and a mystical-futuristic feel.

A model of crisp economy and deep craft, Gardot's singular vision spans bossa nova ("Les Etoile"), blues ('Who Will Comfort Me'), noir ('Your Heart Is as Black as Night'), art song ('The Rain'), and a fistful of romantic ballads that are at once timeless and thrillingly original.

The maturation of the Kills continues with this taut, emotionally complex fifth record, which deepens their sound even if it doesn’t break new sonic ground.

The production creates a Joe Henry feel of gently deconstructionist pop--warm and relaxed even as the instruments occasionally struggle against their leashes--giving the album's best material an extra spin.

As usual, singer and songwriter Jay Farrar has a few things on his mind, and his lyrics have grown more plain-spoken and potent with time.

Full of surprises and refreshing detours, this album sometimes feels like M. Ward on steroids.

As much as Dark Night of the Soul hinges on its creators' vision, the album comes to life through its collaborators.

With the help of an expert new backing band, Oldham wrings a polished grace out of this material, from ballads ('I Don't Belong to Anyone') to smoldering anthems ('Afraid Ain't Me').

It takes a few listens for this space oddity to come into focus, but Tranquility Base gradually proves itself a rather daring reinvention. It’s poetic and expansive, subdued yet spellbinding--altogether, one giant leap for Monkey-kind.

With a dual guitar attack that's resolutely old-school but lyrics that often take on contemporary subject matter, Sez So has heart, soul, and swagger to spare.

The quintet adds Gary Versace on piano, and he blends in seamlessly, sometimes as ensemble player with a perfect grasp of Hollenbeck's jolty, elastic sensibility, and elsewhere with a cool pianism that brings the sound back to more familiar jazz terrain.

With her producers subtly augmenting her vocals with lush harmonies, Brandy executes these songs with confidence.

While Waylon's shadow will remain a constant companion, the younger Jennings continues to prove that he's a great shot in his own right.

Elvis Costello has flirted with country music in the 28 years since his classic covers homage "Almost Blue," but "Secret" marks a full-blown return to Nashville with splendid results.

They all take some liberties with the music, but Drake's lonely outcast vibe is well-preserved.