She Is Coming is quite listenable and occasionally thrilling. This project might not turn out to be an important moment in pop music, but it is definitely an important moment in the growth of Miley Cyrus.

At times, this system feels almost crutch-like, similar to the earlier albums of Dirty Projectors, and you might find yourself arriving to the second half of the album completely full.

Here, QOTSA play it pretty safe. That might have been a necessary step to help Homme feel sheltered enough to show off his still-fresh wounds, but, on the whole it keeps the evolution of the band from reaching that next crucial step forward.

Final Days cements itself as Cult of Youth’s most rhythmic album: a somehow upbeat and still apocalyptic leap forward fitting of a finale, whether it ends up being one or not.

She’s successfully roping punk into pop and laughing her way to the top.

While What a Terrible World ultimately feels much less belabored than either of the band’s last two releases, it also blends the personal and the fictional to form a less cohesive whole.

Lyrically, Al Maskati spends Majid Jordan plainly expressing tense feelings of romantic unease, though his candor when singing about his heartache can result in cliches.... The directness of the lyrics can actually be effective when the rest of the arrangements complement their exactness, and Al Maskati and Ullman find that balance here more often than not.

While it might not capture his energy, Didn’t He Ramble fully illustrates Hansard’s deep empathy.

If The Pinkprint is a letdown compared to The Blueprint, then Minaj brought it on herself. However, as a breakup album that takes heartbreak (or, more specifically, the feeling of having an infinite amount of love to give to an appreciative person) in every direction possible, it provides a template worth imitating.

There’s an unmistakable feeling of sameness that runs through I Sell the Circus, which isn’t to say that it sounds tired--anything but.

The five-piece isn’t interested in comfort, but rather an intensity created directly by that push-pull exchange, their strangely humorous song titles, and primitive, warlike lyrics.

Honeymoon clocks in at over an hour; for a full-length of cinematic, defeated, slow songs, that length allows attention spans to drift off, possibly to somewhere happier--or even somewhere darker. Del Rey doesn’t seem to care. This is an endeavor for herself.

Blanco surprises by throwing this tattered voice over top synthesizer warbles and drum samples rather than brooding guitar--a cleaner, more lush take on the work he did in Headphones.

Spending more time alone with the grand piano has helped Krug open up the personal side of his lyrics, limiting the symbolism somewhat in favor of more direct emotional lines.

Home Everywhere’s strongest statement comes with its closer and title track, a multi-part epic that coalesces the album’s many components into something resembling a unified whole.

Despite the erratic material, Emerald Valley has moments of spine-tingling brilliance that shouldn’t be missed.

Fortunately, you won’t get the cavity-inducing earnestness and inoffensiveness that comes with the occasional preciously strummed banjo. Instead, you’ll get better-calibrated songs that sound fresh in a genre that, as these friendly and talented Midwesterners show, still has life left in it.

While not the strongest of the band’s second-era output, it’s a nice addition to Alice in Chains’ impressive discography.

While Blade of the Ronin doesn’t double down on the trail-blazing vision of its predecessor, it is a more than capable sequel to a genre classic.

The “pop” of Culture of Volume reaches maximum efficiency with “Turn Away” and “Carousel”.... Elsewhere, the album’s triumvirate of club-centric tracks (the trance-tinged “Beaming White”, the Friendly Fires-esque “Hearts That Never”, and “Entirety”) are more difficult to digest.

While Holy Fuck once felt like an absolute anomaly, it’s interesting to see that their brand of electronic music has become something of a trope. Even more interesting, though, is whether they’ll continue to push farther into dismantling that and forge into even newer territory. There are hints of it on Congrats, though that’s balanced by the feeling of too easily slipping into a familiar groove.

Welcome Back to Milk gives Du Blonde’s blisteringly creative mind space to experiment, and her edits show immaculate choices.

Hallucinogen shows Kelela’s remarkable confidence and strength through a fragility and willingness to admit faults and weaknesses.

The two songwriters show moments of brilliance best appreciated while poring over the liner notes and lyric sheets. With some fine tuning, these guys could produce some fine content.

Coming so quickly after The Album, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Europe doesn’t exactly mark a major reinvention for Jeremih. Some changes to his aesthetic might be in order; it can seem like he sings about sex and nothing else.

While some of it falls short of past greatness, the core of the album shows Lynne hasn’t lost his mad genius after more than a decade of silence.

A record as chaotic and full of life as the city that inspired it, Freedom Tower sweats with feverish energy. In the end, the Blues Explosion succeeds in honoring New York’s bevy of musical riches, even if it’s in their own off-kilter manner.

The biggest lapse on The Family, unfortunately, is that it’s one-sided. We don’t get to hear from the other members about how they feel it all went wrong. We’re not given a collage, just one vivid picture from Abstract’s perspective.