The songs are shiny and catchy of course. ... Yet there’s an uncommon sense of self-possession to this album--a kind of ecstatic calm--that sets it apart from everything else on Top 40 radio right now.

These 14 tracks merge synthetic funk, hip-hop, indie soul and a love of life. Songs including “Weird Part of the Night,” “Freaky Times” and “After the Load is Blown” possess chops and wit.

[DJ Mustard and YG] still sound great together in cuts like “Too Brazy” and “Slay,” with YG flexing his SoCal drawl over DJ Mustard’s crisp yet bouncy grooves; the music feels urgent but somehow unhurried, as though YG is sure the beat won’t go anywhere without him. The presence of his old friend brings out YG’s sly charm too.

Yet for all its tiresome megalomania, Scorpion is so beautifully rendered--from vocals to samples to features to beats--that Drake ends up pulling you over to his side, much like Kanye West did on his similarly vexing “Ye.”

He’s also got a distinctive, no nonsense style: lyrically direct without sacrificing a certain poeticism, willing to look directly at a topic and offer steely-eyed comment.

On Everything Is Love the two flex their muscles like it’s an Olympic sport. ... The inside references and the happy proximity to current rap also work in service of a larger point, which is thinking about black achievement in the context of a cultural and political system designed to hinder it. ... Mainstream art makes too little room for stories like that, especially when the grown-ups in question are people of color. But the Carters won’t be denied on Everything Is Love. For them, this hard-won encore is also a beginning.

She definitely goes further than Aguilera in tracks like “Ponyboy,” with a harsh beat that conjures smashed glass, or “Whole New World/Pretend World,” which stretches past the nine-minute mark. ... Yet the lyrics favor abstract concepts over intimate confessions; Sophie ponders consumerism in “Faceshopping” (“My face is the front of shop / My face is the real shop front”) and the power dynamics of sex in “Ponyboy.” Then there’s “Immaterial,” which feels like the key to apprehending this fascinating album.

Even at its busiest, though, the music emphasizes Aguilera’s powerful voice, which more than anything is what separates her from the younger stars whose popularity has eclipsed hers in recent years. She runs through the full gamut of moods, from flirty to depressed to joyful to furious--each a response, or so we’ve been trained to think, to some real-life situation.

Both a searing, emotional performance of Young and an ace band firing on all cylinders and a time capsule of West Hollywood in the early 1970s, the recording illuminates long-gone magic. Masterfully mixed, you can hear the delicate interplay among Young, guitarist-pianist Lofgren, the late steel guitarist Keith, bassist Talbot and drummer Molina.

The result is a confident, and comforting, celebration of American roots music.

A warm and vibrant tribute to the marginalized people, especially women and those with fluid ideas about gender and sexuality, whom Monáe sees as the true embodiment of America's promise.

What's remarkable about the album is how un-smoothed-out Cardi B sounds in this new environment. Though she clearly values the approval of old-fashioned arbiters, she won't dull her rough edges, as many have before her, to get it; the vivid result gives the impression that she's still in communion with her core audience.

What most demonstrates the Weeknd's growth on My Dear Melancholy, is the precision of his songwriting, even in material that downplays the flair for structure he developed while working with Martin.

[A] knockout ... In a funny way, the radical optimism of "Golden Hour" feels far more rebellious than any of Musgraves' earlier work.

It seems ridiculous to describe the new Eels work as "a headphone record," because, in the era of earbuds, most are. Yet here we are, lost in the intricate melodies, arrangements and textures swirling through The Deconstruction.

OG Ron C on Drank zeroes in on specific rhymed couplets and then loops them, and the effect makes the lines hum and resonate. ... Best, those that have wondered how soft rock singers Michael McDonald and Kenny Loggins would sound chopped and screwed now have an answer.

If Braxton, 50, collaborates more broadly on Sex & Cigarettes, she's still zeroed in on the rich emotional territory she explored on "Love, Marriage & Divorce."

Who Are You is a relaxing and intricate work. Nine instrumentals that mix electronic and acoustic instruments, the music revels in texture and layers.

Though there are highlights--including the winsome title track and the jumpy "Wait in the Car"--Deal's songwriting isn't quite as sticky as it used to be, with simpler melodies and fewer turns of phrase that pop like the twisted bumper-sticker slogans she once threw out.

Songs are built on weird, chiming chords or little fragments of picking and echoes that make her purposefully modest arrangements feel interesting and unique every time.

The result is a border-blurring convergence, one likely to propel whatever dance floor is lucky enough to receive it.

The band’s debut for respected imprint Rough Trade--which has served as home to bands including the Raincoats, the Smiths, Warpaint and dozens more--features short, beefy rock songs that run just long enough to make the point.

Once a groove machine that favored the warmth of live instruments, N.E.R.D has roughed up its sound to match these themes; No_One Ever Really Dies is full of heaving beats and harsh digital textures that catch the day’s chaotic spirit in the same way that Williams’ and Hugo’s flashy production work as the Neptunes reflected the prosperity of the post-bling era.

Singalong-ready and set to tempos determined not to leave anyone behind, the record marks an explicit return to the spirit of U2’s ultra-earnest mid-’80s work, and also to that era’s eager commercial ambition.

They [Sia and Greg Kurstin] bring effervescent energy to dance-minded tracks such as “Santa’s Coming for us” and the Phil Spector-inspired “Candy Cane Lane” while investing real sincerity into more introspective numbers including “Snowflake” and “Underneath the Mistletoe.”

The result, by definition, breathes, which leads your ear initially to hear Björk’s voice as just another wind instrument; her lyrics don’t jump out the way they did in early stuff like “Hyperballad” or “Possibly Maybe.” But the words on “Utopia,” once they permeate your consciousness, are actually among her most intimate and affecting.

Soul of a Woman catches Jones at her liveliest and most defiant as she lets her powerful voice loose in catchy, funky songs about overcoming hardships and dealing with fickle lovers.

I’ll venture to call it her most focused, most cohesive album yet.