On the whole, Osborne turned a confusing detour into an interesting wrinkle and a worthwhile addition to his massive catalog.

Few artists can make complaining about heartbreak passable subject material, and even fewer come out of that experiment more likable. Despite some too-similar musical passages and a lack of memorable moments in the album’s mid-section, a few gold standard hooks, some heart-pumping pop punk, and clever turns of phrase help Dalliance do just that for Gold-Bears.

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

Though the two men may feel that this is the most personal album yet, musically, Meteorites sounds more like Echo & the Bunnymen without its whimsy.

Initiation is the type of album that’ll please many, infatuate a few, and fade from memory for the rest.

The focus is less on total mayhem and more on creating droning dystopian soundscapes that MC Ride might occasionally hop on to yell over.

Overall, Do It Again feels like an exploration for all involved, and even manages to address gender politics in discreet but intriguing ways.

While Lighght has its highlights, there is simply too much questionable fluff surrounding the good ideas.

A few more of those scattered breaks into hip-hop and electronica could have given the record’s well-traveled sounds some fresh legs to stand on. Instead, it’s hard not to look at No Peace as a bit of a missed opportunity.

Are We There functions best as the portrait of an artist coming into her own, while hopefully putting some of her demons to rest.

On first listen, Kibby’s stratospheric vocal style can reach overwrought territory, specifically with the frequent acceleration from ethereal to formidable. For In Cold Blood, however, this approach (and her resultant ability to convey strong emotions) infuses the album with a level of high drama that puts White Sea in the higher tiers of ’80s-worshipping synthpop outfits.

In Conflict is ominous, gloomy, and marked with some of the most playful arrangements Pallett’s laid to date.

In spite of everything that Oasis would become on record, on stage, in the tabloids, Definitely Maybe stands above it all.

Despite the record’s production, some of the group’s most ambitious to date, it feels incomplete, seemingly ending five or six songs early. It’s a grower, yes, but there’s too much to unpack for it to sound vital to modern hip-hop’s equilibrium.

There are still instances where the band lose sight of themselves, either not allowing the real heroes of the songs to take full control or plainly not recognizing where to trim the fat.

Some of the harshness seems a little forced.

Upside Down Mountain shows that quality songcraft is still alive in Conor Oberst, and it is just a little bit of plastic surgery away from being relevant again.

While those demo versions were almost entirely incomplete, Jackson at least understood and interacted with those arrangements. Instead, we’re left with a record that is, aside from its opener, best described by the withering adjective “inoffensive.”

The balance is off, and some songs suffer from a lack of direction.

Amos manages to weave her own mythology into larger fantastical stories, and fight societal norms in the process, all with a fierceness that will please old fans and likely win over new ones.

McMahon’s a constantly improving songwriter, and with Love, he’s created his most fully realized and purposeful batch of songs yet.

In one way or another, nearly the entire album feels dependable, a true achievement for a duo who are just starting to sow their musical seeds.

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.

In the era of extraordinary machines, Yvette’s Process is abrasive yet still human to the core.

To Be Kind does as much soul exposure lyrically as it does musically, Gira’s simple, howled lines finding the vein incredibly easily.

Ultimately, Hour of the Dawn is a relentlessly happy record, which makes it hard not to enjoy, and with her deft song-crafting, Goodman proves that not all good art has to come from pain.

Nabuma Rubberband is Little Dragon’s selfish record, and splendidly so. Some of the sweet moments in its strongest tracks, however, are lost in others, as is the nature of an album with standout tracks.

Turn Blue, though, is the sound of Auerbach and Carney eagerly and grandiosely taking things into their own (and, if you want, Burton’s) hands.