It’s not the glut of product that’s Future’s problem. Future’s problem is that, like his cohort Drake, he’s drunk on his own myth, and unlike Drake, his (intentionally) limited skill set doesn’t have any obvious backdoors to sneak out of for his career’s third act.

This latest release shows they will continue delivering the brand of technical death metal they helped define without compromise.

She’s not pushing the envelope so much as crinkling it a little bit, so she can curl up comfortably inside.

Though there are near misses on Crystal Fairy (like the riffs that don’t quite reach heavy metal territory in “Secret Agent Rat” or the teeth-gritting introduction of “Under Trouble” that does more to incite annoyance than apprehension), the album succeeds far more than it falls short.

As a solo project, Dirty Projectors works well. As significant of a shift as this album is from past Dirty Projectors’ records, the detailed production and arranging work shows Longstreth put all of himself into making it.

Even though the record is layered in angst, Showalter has an inner fearlessness that has allowed him to take accountability for his actions. While Hard Love isn’t a clear solution for Showalter’s problems, it’s definitely a step in the right direction.

There’s something to be said for the potential for personal growth inherent in traveling without a destination, and every song here is the sound of Julie Byrne making peace with her restlessness.

I Decided. is a fresh statement that proves Big Sean is continuing to evolve.

Adams assembles a stunning scrapbook that captures heartbreak in an intimate array of snapshots, a collection that marks his most accomplished record since Heartbreaker.

His LP offers enough lyrical courses to chew through. What it lacks is minor and, given his immense talent, a tad comical: vocal delivery that follows through on the words’ emotion.

Backed by production from Murda Beatz, Purps, Cardo, Zaytoven and Nard & B, co-pilots Quavo, Offset, and Takeoff sustain the hubris, excess, and immediate gratification adored by fans of gutter rap machismo while somehow bottling the very particular charm necessary for them to capture the hearts of pop-loving teens across the globe and carry rapping children’s lit live on the radio.

The record surges without slowing down, expanding without adding burden. Moreover, it proves that, out of the old class, Kreator are among the strongest, crushed not by ego or commercial temptations.

The album sincerely embraces every dark corner of the brain, not just the ones that are easiest to sum up. Nothing Feels Natural is daring, sincere, and intimate, somehow more universal in its particularity.

Even when he doesn’t break new ground, Segall and Ty Segall remain solid investments. There’s definitely something to be said for getting exactly what you pay for with a new album.

After nearly a five-year wait, Japandroids could have written a record with more wind beneath its wings, but the pace of Near To The Wild Heart Of Life is consumable enough to warrant repeat listens. It just won’t be a record that saves you when you need it to.

It’s a chugging, nimble-footed affair, showing a matured and restrained group; no more eight-minute-plus pounding, slashing jams, replaced instead with a sense of clarity and focus, a driving, raw sonic thesis statement.

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.

AFI covers most of the band’s explored genres, giving fans from every era something to appreciate. Unfortunately, this means no one will be completely satisfied.

It’s hard to place Oczy Mlody into a direct political context, as the record was finished before the election results, but the grim Lips seem ever more at home in this climate.

Levi expertly evokes the story and emotion even without any visual cues.

What makes The xx and I See You so enthralling, then, may not be a particular combination of lyrics and melodies, but the notion that there’s a secret life playing out here--one we may not be entirely privy to, but one that still rings with the sound of truth in all of its complexities.

While it’s a relief that there’s no supergroup pretension present, it’s also a shame that it sounds like the original projects of its members thrown into a blender cranked to its highest setting. That kind of blending obscures the individual contributions of each musician, which ultimately renders Echolocation a dull effort.

On Reflection, Brian Eno chases the endlessness of thought through music and comes to terms with that same endlessness simultaneously--and by doing so, he allows listeners to do the same.

Passion, Pain & Demon Slayin’ seems concerned with little more than keeping up appearances. Hopefully, the high points of the album are a proper barometer, and Kid Cudi’s next destination is a sight better than this.

Between the abundant déja vu and the periodical redundancy (doldrums which would be easy enough to overlook on a full-length, but prove problematic on a brisk 21-minute listen like this), Not the Actual Events’ purported “impenetrability” manifests as a riotous retread instead.

So the blessing and the curse of Run the Jewels 3 is that it’s still a Run the Jewels album, a promise that every song is good, nothing is bad, and depending on your mood you’ll either bask in the lack of tempo changes, pulchritudinous song structures, and surprising hooks, or you’ll seek out a more colorful record.

Telefone shows a great sense of promise and complex beauty.

As he closes the final chapter in his Oxygène trilogy, Jarre somehow finds a way to fit all its components in a box, but can’t quite tie the bow holding them together.