Young the Giant’s finely tuned ear for pop is on grand display here, and frontman Sameer Gadhia excels at playing ringmaster, testing the edges of his vocal range while spinning yarns with brio.

Heart devotees should appreciate these new updates on their classic sound.

There’s less party and more perspective. He sees the troubles he went through before prison for what they are.

What results is an album to live with, and to live inside: engrossing and necessary.

The net result is an assured and engaging country music debut.

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

Much of Somewhere sounds remarkably consistent, even organic. Tyler, who co-wrote all of the album’s strongest material, proves a solid storyteller with a gift for melody.

Even at its moodiest, this is a deliriously inventive and often whimsical dance record.

His deeply felt meditations on matters of the heart and the soul are matched by the meticulously detailed, gorgeously rendered music that surrounds them.

While her sonic template, modern and spare yet lush, works wonders for “Don’t Go,” it’s otherwise isolated moments — the discordant saxophone blats pulling her toward St. Vincent in the danceable and lopsided “Waste”; the chewy synth bassline of “Crazy [Expletive]”; and the line “When you left me, I was ready for you to leave” in “Walls”--that suggest an excitement the songs can’t quite sustain.

This is soul music with personality and real instruments; best of all, it’s unflinchingly honest.

The Mountain Will Fall utilizes a wealth of live performances and ingenious programming to create an album that’s funky, futuristic, and thrilling for new fans and old heads alike.

The earworm riff of java paean “Kafe Mania!”; the huffy boom-bap funk of “Life Is Suffering”; the TV-metal urgency of “Learning to Apologize Effectively,” urgent synths nicked from Bon Jovi; the claustrophobic electropop revamp of “I Don’t Want to Set the World on Fire”; the power-pop jangle of “Plastic Thrills”--it’s all irresistible.

[An] unapologetically polished album, which reframes their music without sapping their identity.

This fourth release from the Texas native is in a singer-songwriter mode; four songs feature just Jarosz and acoustic guitar, while others are tautly arranged progressive-folk gems with backup from guitarists Luke Reynolds (Guster) and Jedd Hughes (Emmylou Harris and Rodney Crowell).

Her songs have the sophistication and idiosyncracy of a singular talent. At times (“Show Me Love”) the ethereal arranging meanders, but mostly (“Bread,” “Kiss My Feet,” “Angel”) it has the authority of a signature.

The album is simultaneously beautiful and shocking, its razor-sharp originality infinitely relatable.

Here, it’s less about what Y.G. does than how he does it; digging deeper into vintage G-funk flavors with a blend of personal, party, and political tracks, the young Compton rapper takes a sizzling step forward.

If you’re looking for alternatives to mainstream country, Clark is still providing one with Big Day in a Small Town--you just have to keep listening beyond the first two tracks to find it.

Re-examining its signature brat rock through an industrial prism, Garbage forges something more haunting and honest.

Colvin & Earle is rough, just this side of ramshackle, and thoroughly charming.

The album that resulted is Simon’s richest, most instantly appealing collection since “Graceland.”

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.

“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 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.”

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

While satisfying, the record could have used a bit more of that invention and risk.

The group’s power has always come from its Spice Girls-like ability to form a massive unit of self-actualization, and the peppy 7/27 has no shortage of that, both lyrically and musically.

After an all-covers debut, this second album is a major step forward.

The new album is as fiery and romantic as a youthful tryst, a rock ’n’ roll experience unsullied by the inevitable passage of time and unspoiled by the burden of experience.

The album glides through styles, maintaining a slightly menacing yet sexed-up vibe throughout.

Whereas second LP “You’re Gonna Miss It All” delivered Facebook rants from a self-pitying underclassman, Holy Ghost is the hard-charging graduation speech.

Six years later she returns healed, exuding hope and whimsy on her often wondrous new record.

The album’s title refers to the feeling of never being quite done, but “99.9%” oozes poise and confidence.

Unlike the haunting ambiguities that comprised the Johnsons oeuvre, Anohni doesn’t traffic in subtlety here; boldface subversiveness makes Hopelessness lethal.

Again Porter delivers passion and craft in abundance, owing to the songwriting, the acoustic-jazz arrangements (by producer Kamau Kenyatta and pianist Chip Crawford), and his corduroy-warm baritone, pliant and powerful.

As for “Sweet Reward,” a marvelous moment-in-time narrative sketch delivered by the murmur of Doe’s voice, and “Rising Sun,” where a reverberating guitar line gives way to a singer sounding like a Sonoran Sinatra amid the song’s slow, swirling rise and fall--at moments such as those, Doe simply is making some of the most striking music of his career.

A bright, challenging album.

Simply stated, here’s the experimental-listening event of the year.

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

Smith creates wide-eyed compositions with textures that cascade over one another, capturing the vast celestial wonder of synthesized sound.

His first release in six years is filled with downtempo, darkly intimate tracks--eight of the 12 are ballads.

The Hope Six Demolition Project might derive its title from a Housing and Urban Development program designed to “transform public housing,” but the bleak picture Harvey portrays on this stunning album gives that title a second, and more ominous, meaning.

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.

“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.

Whatever the particular style, Little Windows is a series of sparkling pop gems; clocking in at just under 26 minutes, the only thing the record leaves you wanting is more of it.

Highlights album come when the songs stretch beyond Hawthorne’s solo comfort zone.

Gore brings together light and dark, airy and grinding, in a way that makes these seemingly disparate qualities seem like natural allies.

The result is less serious than his last release--the kind of thing we might hear back from aliens in response to radio waves that escaped our stratosphere long ago.

Lukas Graham connects best when relying on pop smarts, without reaching for grand epiphanies.

The band’s masterwork to date, IV delivers a listening experience as thrill-packed and invigorating as the loftiest comparisons you can throw at it.

It makes for an often remarkable synthesis of the visceral and ethereal. The nine streamlined, artfully structured songs are patient and less dense, frequently relying on the separation between beats for power.

What drives Super, though, is the duo’s overarching vision, which helps the album flow together like a night at a club: one that Pet Shop Boys exist inside and above, simultaneously.

Patch the Sky might not be saying much, but Mould’s putting his all into saying it.

For those on the lookout for alternatives to what currently passes for country music, Midwest Farmer’s Daughter is the latest reason to cheer.

Regardless of the constantly evolving mood, RJ finds new ways to surprise and engage your ears.

An unusual but rewarding album.

[A] solid, surprising set.

This confident new album is among his finest works, a terrific showcase for his finely honed, deeply humane songcraft.

It’s a stark, sinewy affair that foregrounds the punk-rock lifer’s voice, a finely weathered instrument, all knowing vibrato and bemused sneering.

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.

It all sounds compellingly real; guitarist Adam Dutkiewicz adds brain-splitting riffs, and the rhythm section of Mike D’Antonio and Justin Foley locks it down hard.

There’s a tremendous amount of preserved intimacy on these unearthed first studio recordings.

Overall, in fact, the music on Good Grief isn’t as expansive as was “Wildewoman.” But it still comes across that way thanks to Wolfe and Laessig, who infuse their performances with a joy that’s almost unfettered, even when wallowing in pits of sorrow.

Eraser Stargazer is exactly the sort of album that pushes a local scene to be greater.

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.

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.

LaMontagne plays exquisite lead guitar throughout, backed by James on celestial harmonies that boost the psychedelic mood even higher. The resulting album is soothing therapy.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.