When you turn on a Dinosaur Jr. record, the thinking goes, it should always sound like a Dinosaur Jr. record. I’m happy to report that Sweep It into Space does, in fact, check this box.

Fearless (Taylor’s Version) states boldly, simply and perhaps, generously, that this is a story still worth telling – and a fight worth fighting.

On their second studio effort, they step out of the shadow of their influences, carving a sound of their own. Where they go from here is anyone’s guess.

Violence Unimagined doesn’t precisely deliver a standout track, but it promises an exciting and surprisingly subtle turn in the band’s legacy of brutality.

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.

Throughout ROADRUNNER…, their psychedelic-saturated groupthink frequently coheres into daring and undeniably moving work, smoothing over the rough spots and small stumbles.

For the first time in a long time, the future feels uncertain and unformed. This is the music that will help us charge forward into the unknown.

This album release coincides with the aforementioned documentary, and as the details of Lovato’s rocky recovery continue to unfurl, there’s a bit of concern in the idea that this record is a bit too intrinsically tied to another very public narrative. She tells us, over and over within the album, that this devastating chapter of her life is over and gone. In the aching, tender closer, she sings that she’s in a “good place” in a track of the same name. I desperately want to believe her.

Another strong record worthy of their consistent discography. Longtime fans will find plenty to enjoy on Tonic Immobility. The supergroup’s musical personality remains intact.

The Bitter Truth is reminiscent of the band’s older material but also entirely fresh. It does not feel like a band going through the motions.

Chemtrails over the Country Club is a gorgeous listen: charming, clever, and vulnerable. Del Rey is as effective as ever in painting American fantasies, evoking nostalgia for realities always out of reach.

A History of Nomadic Behavior showcases a band that’s able to make its music more challenging while also being mindful of songcraft and being subtle about it in both respects.

As with most of the LP, the instrumentation and lyrics are equal parts memorable and evil. Let’s face it, memorable and evil are two traits any fan would want from a Rob Zombie album.

On Show Me How You Disappear, IAN SWEET reveals herself as an innovative artist unafraid to shine the light on deep, difficult complication and to create bright, interesting pop music that answers only to itself.

What Cave and Ellis have crafted with Carnage is a refreshing respite from chaos, a record that sits at the burning edge of dawn and anticipates destruction’s undoing.

The Melvins’ winning combination of riffs and black humor is in full force on Working with God, making the album recommended listening for longtime fans and newcomers alike.

The newly turned-up volume and heavier instrumentals of synths, bass, and drum programming still never drown out Baker’s tender vocals, which are consistently unexpected and innovative.

By introducing what could arguably be described as some of their most introspective lyrics to date into their rock and roll alchemy, Cloud Nothings delivered an album that totes an intriguing combination of coolness and comfort.

As a debut release, Cool Dry Place is remarkable. Katy Kirby has crafted a series of captivating indie rock-pop tracks, all centered around a voice with clarity reminiscent of Sylvan Esso or Haley Heynderickx, but swift and whimsical movements that feel all Kirby’s own.

There’s a level of introspection present on the record that’s hard to duplicate, and when coupled with a stunning exploration of queer relationships, it creates something truly extraordinary. And frankly, triteness is solvable, and there’s beauty in the simplicity.

On TYRON, slowthai doesn’t make grand statements or platitudes like a politician. He simply offers his own story of perseverance, hand extended and Mona Lisa smile brimming.

This album is the payoff of a risk: while this may not have been a vocally challenging album for Williams, it can be deeply difficult to share the quiet corners of the soul, the stories we might not want to tell but need to for the sake of healing.

An essential listen for fans and a fair introduction for newcomers, Medicine at Midnight feels like the rare late-career release that genuinely earns its spots within the legacy setlist.

This Lost Themes run is the best legacy sequel in this exhaustive era of legacy sequels, and if we’re lucky, the credits will never roll.

OK Human lands as a surprisingly charming collection of pop tunes whose imperfections add to rather than detract from the experience.

This album definitely draws from painful places, but comes out of its explorations is multifaceted, deeply considered, and above all full of kindness. The questions it asks — what does caring really look like, how do we show one another kindness when we’re angry, how do we show ourselves kindness when we’re upset or hurt or numb — are essential ones, and we’re lucky we have Parks to guide us through them here.

Drunk Tank Pink is a beautiful demonstration of how musical rebellion and fury need not be explicitly lyrically tied to the current moment to speak directly to those living through it.

There will be no sophomore slump for Viagra Boys. At its best, Welfare Jazz represents an evolutionary step from Street Worms that’s tighter, tougher, and more riotous than what came before. That same evolution even lifts the record’s missteps. There are failures, but at least they’re interesting failures.