None of the material on The Altar will revolutionize alt R&B, future soul, or whatever awkward label one might apply to this nebulous genre. What is here, though, is proof of an artist still searching for a new direction.

Contact just finds a way to pull it off without sounding like she’s on the verge of collapsing--which, for the sake of everyone’s well-being, is a surprisingly good meeting point. There’s just a small space left unused that finds listeners wanting more.

Vince Staples is introspective without being isolating, thoughtful without being boring, and innovative without being pretentious.

Even if Sore isn’t the most refined debut you’ll hear, even if it opts for feeling over detail, at least it’s got an attitude you’d be hard-pressed to argue with.

It has too much surface ambiance to demand your attention--it’s a pleasant background album--but it welcomes and rewards it.

Stranger is too parochial at this stage in his career, altogether enjoyable yet only seldom worthy of evangelizing. As his fanbase begins to mature, Håstad owes it to himself to grow up with them.

Pivoting genres is no easy feat, and growing pains are expected and present. His knack for precision and developing lush arrangements on these eight songs proves that he’s more than up to the task.

Boots has refined her technical skills and curation choices over the past two albums, but her biggest breakthrough on Working Girl is just how much she’s now willing to let us in.

Terraplane comes across as a mostly pleasant surprise.

It sometimes goes down a little too easy.

They may not have quite hit the mark of a perfect partnership yet, but sometimes progress comes at a price. Jessica Rabbit is at least a step in the right direction.

What F.I.L.A. lacks in overt emotional content is made up for with the pleasure Raekwon takes in listing off his lavish purchases and seemingly constant jet-setting.

Despite its mixed offerings, Club Meds is a fascinating and unpredictable new direction from Mangan, surviving its own missteps. A few risks fail, but everything’s more interesting.

He’s turning them [conflicting emotions] into a rapturous piece of art like this instead of venting his spleen in the echo chamber of social media is worthy of praise and attention. Just do yourself the favor of taking this album in moderation. A little goes a long way.

Father of All… is a solid album that shows not only their mastery of sound but also genre and a nod to the greats that came before them.

Brothers and Sisters shows the songwriter at his most adventurous, aspiring for something bigger in a new direction.

Not every experiment on This Is Not a Safe Place succeeds, but that’s okay; failures still signify work in progress, and we can all agree that a world in which Ride’s at work is always preferable to the alternative.

Despite a few setbacks, White Women proves that Chromeo are on their way back to form via a playful deconstruction of dance floor jams and an innocent, universal heartache.

The end result is a mix of African influences and devilish American folk for dancing around the campfire.

On The Visitor, he falls into one of his most unfortunate ruts doing that sing-songy protest jingle shit that made records like Greendale and Living with War so darn unlistenable. But the good news is there are only two songs like this on here: “Stand Tall” and “Children of Destiny”. Skip both and thank me later. However, the remaining eight tracks on The Visitor rank up there with the best stuff Neil Young has released since the turn of the century.

Absent Fathers, Earle’s sixth album, is a distinct and deeply personal statement about the search for a rock, an anchor, anything to keep from floating into the ether when it feels like there’s nothing left to hold on to.

Generally, they stick to their formula, sweeping hooks buoyed by gang vocals and commanding horns, making for an album that’s predictable yet reassuring.

With Positive Thinking, The Pack A.D. outdo their past, the new facets and layers revealing themselves further with each listen.

Perhaps the B-sides are not all as special as what Jepsen chose for her official album, but she saved them and released them with her fans in mind. All along, she was most dedicated to them.

Though As You Were kicks off with stadium-sized rock songs, some of the record’s most memorable moments arrive on its ballads.

If The Offspring want to stay in their comfort zone, there are plenty of fans who won’t object, but it won’t keep them relevant. On the plus side, Let the Bad Times Roll offers hints of creative tangents that could revitalize the band next time around – if they’re willing to challenge themselves.

The only songs that completely jell vocally are the ones featuring former Beach Boys.

Despite its heavy-handedness, the end of the album offers an equitable, full-circle resolution to this human drama: how to love, how to forgive, how to move on. ... However, on this album, compromising for her marriage also means compromising the art she creates.

case/lang/veirs is certainly a cut above whatever record is playing in your local Starbucks at the moment, but it’s also content to steer clear of grand statements in favor of something more real-life.

This album may not represent one of The Who’s strongest collections of songs, but it’s the rare case study of a legacy brand as a vehicle for plumbing new ideas and moving forward.

Slighting a group for sounding “too much like themselves” is a difficult proposition, but the moments where the songwriting or musical performances defy and exceed expectations demonstrate that the true talent of the group may lay somewhere beyond their comfort zone.

More than any sort of technical achievement or genre alteration, Captain of None powerfully blends the mythic, organic, and internal.

It’s hard to blame Tyler for indulging his whims. These songs work best when you throw out your own ideas about where they should go.

TRUSTFALL is a solid entry in the singer’s now-expansive discography, if one that shows she’s playing it safe.

While the instrumentation may change here and there, and the beats per minute may move up or down a few clicks, the general groove and melodic pattern of each song tread too similar a path and the winking references to earlier ideas feel just like the same song played over again.

Making an old model feel fresh is no easy task, but Hinds largely accomplish it, embracing the intriguing sloppiness of their predecessors while making steps on their own.

They let the songs take them where they seemed to want to go, not steering the ship as much as they were content with drifting off to sea. Many (if not most!) of the songs here are perfectly nice, if a little sleepy.

The soundtrack, meanwhile, neatly sidesteps pure nostalgia and instead implants a more contemporary spin on a quasi-mythical past. It has depth and, not least, dark moments that hint at a less-than-perfect world.

Essential for fans and sporadically thrilling for newcomers, Eat the Elephant is the kind of reunion record that most bands would kill for. While it doesn’t court the same kind of controversy as the band’s previous political statements, it rewards multiple listens enough to overcome the vast majority of its shortcomings.

Eternal Summers occasionally fade into their own dream on The Drop Beneath, but that’s understandable, as their dream has become far more captivating.

Despite its shortcomings, Nocturnal Koreans is a decent collection sifted from the excess of an even more solid album, which is certainly enough to keep Wire moving forward.

WORRY. feels like the true start of Rosenstock’s solo career, with a backing band that is finally locked in, a record label 100 percent behind him, and a tower of critical accolades growing taller each day.

Individ sees The Dodos once again acting as their own harshest critics in the wake of darkness.

Bleeder might not melt your face off, but it will definitely burn it. Badly.

France and Rado steer into the skid of the cliché, taking something old and making it their own, unafraid to veer into Pinterest board territory if it means it will get their point across. And the point of Hang is to feel something unapologetically.

California Nights peels] away the layers of haze to reveal a mature ambivalence that feels more sincere--and less forced--than anything Cosentino’s done since Crazy for You.... Production flourishes might not appeal to those who fell in love with Best Coast for its bedroom sensibilities, and there’s probably a significant subset of fans who will resent California Nights as the moment the band abandoned indie for good.

Though adept, it’s not entirely an original racket.

The compositions themselves aren’t quite as adventurous or diverse, but make a solid entry into a rich field.

The record sounds more deliberately articulated and far less volatile, trading psych gusto for clipped quirk. Horns make their debut with the band. I’m reminded of The New Pornographers at their most chilled.

The lyrical content is the same paranoid, anti-establishment apocalypse they’ve been writing since Dance Macabre, and while the music is a shift back to the grime that was absent from Fasciinatiion, it’s still The Faint holding to their new wave revival.

Gone Is Gone plays smooth, finishes rough, and gets a little eccentric where it ought not to. Thankfully, the EP is far more good than bad.

Honestly, Nevermind isn’t a bad album, but it is disappointing.

Traditionally, M.I.A. peaks when she melts her musical influences, but on AIM, there’s this lingering feeling that too many of the songs were left half-baked. As such, the album feels less like a farewell and more like a preview for her next reinvention, a midday snack before the full-course government takedown.

The concept is far more ideal than it is practical, and No Waves dips between meaningful highs and shrug-worthy emptiness.

Big Boat, is wonderfully accessible thanks to its relatable sense of communal fun, as well as the band’s own self-awareness.

While it’s tempting to peg this as a breakthrough, it feels and sounds more like an expertly crafted transitional album. Oh No acts as a refinement of Lanza’s previous sound while gently nudging pop as a whole into a more complex and subtle future.

A good, if standard, Melvins album.

The arrangements are lush; each song harbors Little Wings’ signature breathy organ, but the addition of harp, flute, shimmering cymbals, and soft drums elevates it out of the ‘70s and into a more otherworldly dimension.

High as Hope is a marvel when Welch pushes past the boundaries both within herself and in the familiar structure of songs, but falters when stagnating inside those constraints.

For a prolific set of musicians, Compassion feels like the work of a group taking time to flesh out their ideas. With this headier approach comes a loss of some of the engaging, energetic moments of International, but also a renewed confidence.

With Dark Red, Shlohmo channels his pain into scintillating electronic exploits that riff off his emotions but don’t lodge.

PRhyme’s progressive approach to the evolution of “real hip-hop” suggests that somewhere beneath the growing pile of impassioned, but largely semantic internal arguments plaguing rap might lie the reconciliation and unity necessary to elevate the art form in a manner that allows all parties to avoid a messy, public divorce where the kids are forced to pick sides.

Surprisingly, Here doesn’t struggle to balance this range of topics. Keys sings with authenticity and passion, occasionally delving into frustration, which keeps everything connected. What Here does struggle with is an unfinished commitment to order.

While the driving forces behind Pray for Rain might not be ultra-fresh, Vesprille and Hindman do a more than passable job of wrapping them in a brand new package.

This album possesses a handful of creative risks that prove satisfying. DeMarco truly shines whenever a wider array of instruments and styles are at his disposal. When all of that is out of the picture, however, it dampens Here Comes the Cowboy’s full potential.

Musically, WALLS isn’t some adventurous left turn towards krautrock or no wave. Rather, it’s KOL’s most unified, solid, and direct album since Aha Shake Heartbreak, its arc owing to time-tested AOR more than anything else.

Young’s prolificness and penchant for producing in the moment often makes for mixed bag records, and Peace Trail is no exception. But if the execution flails in spots, the intention behind these 10 tracks is still plenty inspiring.

The anger and frustration that characterized his most famous work melts away on Ogilala, which stands out as his most centered, vulnerable, and soothing music yet.

Even with misgivings about the lack of length and focus, this mini-LP makes fairly clear that Adult Jazz are in a transitional state. Earrings Off! is too small to be called a sophomore slump, and it introduces new elements to the band’s repertoire that could easily play well with the best aspects of Gist Is.

Moving past melancholy into mild acceptance is a real accomplishment, but a difficult one to make compelling for an entire album. Seeds struggles in that regard, but has to be called a success.

Perpetual Motion People is about change, action, and metamorphosis.

Dylan could use some editing here, for sure, but it’d be even better to let his band off their leashes and, like in the old juke joint featured on the album’s cover, close the windows and let it get hot in there.

As McClure and co. look backward, their music only progresses forward.

A New Testament makes for a comforting, occasionally gorgeous listen if you can set aside your preconceptions.

The result is a late-summer collection that won’t dry up as soon as pools are drained and waterways freeze over.

Gang Starr’s first album in 16 years affords us an opportunity to luxuriate in the thousand-watt magnetism of Guru, who even at his shabbiest is contagiously zen. Every so often he flubs a line or falls off the beat, but Guru is never not in complete control of his instrument. ... Brace yourself for tonal whiplash; Premier is a tease of the worst kind.

Their collaboration doesn’t quite rival the strongest albums of either band’s catalog, but Sunn O))) and Ulver have produced an ecstatic, beautiful piece of experimental metal that celebrates the strengths of both bands.

Minimal in both instrumentation and the pairing of the duo’s fragile harmonies, the recording makes no sweeping gestures or grand statements. It simply radiates affection for an artist gone much too soon.

Kozelek sounds like a man making great strides in self-acceptance. This rosier outlook, coupled with Jesu’s fuzzy, grunge-era melodies, lightens (thankfully) the demands put on the listener. An annotated glossary outlining locations, people, and callbacks would still be helpful, though not necessarily essential.

A marked improvement on a charming but varied debut, the album works to place Bainbridge near the top of pop-minded disco revivalists.

As might be expected from a record this big with a rolodex this wide-ranging, Major Key is an absolutely mixed bag. Khaled utilizes full-speed-ahead intensity, big room trap, and syrupy R&B, all without leaving room to breathe. But then again, Khaled’s presence unifies Major Key.

The worthiest points of interest on Tied to a Star, therefore, are tied to individual moments.

As a companion to the musical, it’s indispensable. As a standalone piece of art, it’s as flawed, complex, and sometimes dazzling as the historical figure on which Hamilton centers, to say nothing of the country he helped to create.

This record feels a little too brief, especially trailing off at the end. But if the chief complaint about a Young Thug record is that he’s too focused, it shows he’s honing in on that perfect blend that will launch him into the stratosphere.

Teens of Style has plenty of both [mistakes and experimentation], but it’s somehow all the more charming for it. This is an album that will grow on you and frustrate you, probably within the span of the same day.

Although the guitar stands at the forefront of this record, at some points (“Gold”, “Plank”) they overshadow Ubovich’s bizarre, reverb-filled vocals, which beg for more of the spotlight. Regardless, fans of garage, psychedelic rock, and punk will all find something enjoyable to take way from Meatbodies.

Fans of Rodrigo y Gabriela’s early albums will find much to enjoy on 9 Dead Alive. The duo has continued their journey toward creating a unique sound that stands astride the disparate worlds of flamenco, tango, rock, metal, and countless other genres.

The Past, the Present, the Future fits right in with the previous three Jodeci albums, and will certainly be responsible for at least some members of the next generation of R&B babies. But it’s also front-heavy, and ham-fisted in spots.

An imaginary world is striking not because of its contents, but because of the way in which we view them--detached, overwhelmed, inspired--a feeling Deradoorian captures with exciting promise on her debut LP.

Intrinsically tied to the location where it was made, Whorl might have trouble finding its legs outside of an organic or properly curated live setting.

Harlequin is the product of five years of writing, refining, and arranging, and yet the record runs on a sleepy, easy vibe--at once one of its greatest strengths and potential stumbling blocks.

As a recorded artifact, the album falls short of providing a greater realization of the band’s honest potential, losing its better threads in a clutter of noise too loosely woven together to enhance the intended tapestry.

They [the songs] all sit well next to each other, but that feeling of “next to each other” rather than “supporting each other” can be difficult to shake.

Mosaics Within Mosaics, much like life, will float past you in a complicated, blur, but there are so many important, beautiful moments to learn from when you let them, rather than trying to pin them down.

Burhenn isn’t breaking any new ground with her lyrics, but the heartfelt delivery conveys a sort of factual, universal truth that is rare in such personal songs.

It’s been a fascinating journey for both him and his audience, especially when taken in moderation.

The album does have its share of absurd, tangled, almost impenetrable lines, nasally sung patches that could definitely be called an acquired taste, and mutated, oddball production that’ll raise more than a few eyebrows.

Absolute Loser isn’t an experimental, mind-blowing fusion of genres. It doesn’t veer away from Fruit Bats signature sound. Instead, it serves to remind us that Fruit Bats have grown their sound, cultivated it, broken it, and rebuilt it, yet the core remains the same.