At 41 minutes, this album covers every type of song Isbell does best; from tight rockers to disappointed country tunes, Reunions hits the spot.

Despite its sizable number of tracks, Quickies does move along at a brisk pace—even if its scattershot sequencing makes it better to digest as the five 7 inch-EPs presented in the physical version.

Small quibbles notwithstanding, Future Nostalgia is the perfect antidote to quarantine-induced cabin fever.

Petals for Armor succeeds best at sustaining a mood throughout, capturing the chaotic ups and downs of depression. Some moments are sugary sweet, while others are biting and angry, but the album keeps things healthy by switching between infectious pop tunes and mellow art-pop parts.

Its searing synths and chopped vocals can feel unjustified as a whole, but the songcraft is strong and the style supports some of its best moments.

While there are moments with more levity, Marling casts this world with a haunting backdrop of striking stories and superb instrumentation. It’s the rare album where a stripped-down approach entirely works, making these tales central and unmissable in their telling.

For music that's this visceral, every heart-rending confession can feel like a victory lap—but even the best runners have to take a breather to renew their energy.

Overall, Silver Landings finds Moore regaining her footing.

Where Chapman excels where others fail is that he's endearing about his self-deprecation, often conveying truths that read as casual as his relaxed arrangements. He also likes intertwining astronomical reasoning and science into his contemplating, because why wouldn't he.

Bloom is a little over 21-minutes of relentless noise pool of percussion and clatter that’s somehow relaxed by the gently pressed piano keys that methodically pierce its surface, a contrast that rests the mind over the length of this track when it might otherwise induce anxiety.

While there are moments that feel less remarkable (the insignificant Hasdallen Lights or the groovy but repetitive Asteroid Blues), Heavens to a Tortured Mind succeeds when it’s mostly focused on creating a sensual yet serious mood throughout.

Some of the arrangements stick, and some of them don't, but it's always enjoyable to hear where his open-ended narratives take you.

For the most part, Code Orange leans upon evocative writing that pairs heaviness to thoughtful lyricism. While there are a handful of phrases that feel sloppy or obvious (“The digital knife's edge that cuts us all” on In Fear, or Cold.Metal.Place’s “The fire burns down our 3D world”), Code Orange’s self-seriousness almost entirely works because of how badass they are.

The further you get, the sharper the writing becomes and the more introspective and unique the album feels.

Given that Uneasy Laughter is guitar-centric first and foremost, both Saving Face and What Separates Us benefit from having muscular riffs that help offset its huge synth lines and Solomon's tenuous vocal range. Which is Moaning's greatest strength, but can be a weakness too, as they haven't been fully able to add more personality to their vulnerable, dark romanticism.

Margolin's bare-faced humanity is what's at the core of Every Bad, heightening the complicated feelings inherent in every one of us. Still, don't feel fooled into thinking that Porridge Radio's music is simple in terms of character and dynamic range. Whether they intend to or not, their tuneful, guitar-driven songcraft practically obliterates the left-of-center indie that's softened the genre into dreamy, pillowy mush.

Ultimately an excellent record. Where the message is muddied, thankfully the music is often, simply put, beautiful.

Swimmer and a few other songs hint at what could have been, only to have the other half of the album play it safe. If only more of Tennis' songs took risks on unexpected palettes of emotion and drew from more complex poetic wells, then they might provide us with something special. Instead, they've created another enjoyable, if a bit rote and predictable album, like a relationship drifting into comfortable and boring domestic habits.

It’s a heavy, at times uncomfortable listen, but one that feels intensely relatable. It finds strength in the somber and the morose by paining it in bright colors and wonderful riff work. Once you’re drawn in, you won’t want to turn away, no matter how dark the journey becomes.

Man Alive! fleshes out Krule’s song crafting abilities to make for a slightly more cohesive and concise listening experience, albeit, one that remains perplexing—and still has a killer bite.

There is no doubt that it takes several cycles through the album for things to start to click. That’s if you find yourself willing to give in to the album’s concepts and approach.

Snaith's gradual evolution is more than evident in Suddenly, a reflective and also outgoing mood piece that shares insight into what he's learned in the six years he's been away since 2014's Our Love.

It's in how she alters her ghostly, choral-like voice that she's able to elevate her entire environment.

It's only after several listens that the album's wholeness clarifies. Because the tracks tend to be downtempo, reflective, and downright sleepy, it takes time and patience to realize Bejar is working like a good storyteller.

At 58 minutes, it does run a little long—and I probably would’ve cut songs like On Track or the two-minute flatliner Glimmer. But every time I’ve started this album since it clicked with me, I’ve finished it. Isn’t that the most you can ask of any record?

You only need to read through the song titles to get a sense of it all, but the carefully constructed builds of tracks like Wish We Had More Time and This Is Where It Ends make spending time with sorrow hard to resist.

Hard to call this a debut in the hands of such accomplished musicians, but the sublime far outweighs the average here and gives hope for further chapters

It's a heavy theme to handle, but thankfully (or perhaps to its chagrin), most of these topics go unnoticed if you submit to its simple guitar-pop pleasures.

Centered around their view of how we all connect, there's a familiarity in how the trio naturally links themes of nature and spirituality around the human condition—but it's the first time in quite some time where it feels like they're genuinely reaching beyond their loyal fanbase.

Even if Perdida does have a good amount of hammy lyrics and dull, strummy adult-pop, it's still the best music they've written since 2001's Shangri-La Dee Da. And, in many ways, is proof of why they deserve a fair shot at keeping the Stone Temple Pilots name active.

The Unraveling finds Hood and Cooley as fiery as they’ve ever been. If American Band proved that the Drive-By Truckers still had plenty left to say, The Unraveling shows that they can allow themselves a bit of fun in the studio while getting their message across.

Even at his most open, there's still this sense that his character-driven songs wouldn't exist without revealing the backstory of his Canadian roots. His sentiments are more palpable and poignant, but his approach is as casual as always.

It's a moving, eclectic return that longtime fans will admire—and find themselves surprised to discover them for the first time.

If you hear ten seconds of any given song then you've heard its entirety, yet you haven't experienced the song. It's that sort of an album.

I can’t say enough nice things about Tunes 2011-2019; there’s too much to love about this damn thing. I especially recommend it to those who aren’t very familiar with Burial and are looking for something other than Untrue to sink their teeth into. It’s a monumental snapshot of the “second act” of his career, and should be on all electronic music connoisseurs' Christmas wish lists. Prepare to get lost.

A group of veteran musicians who are committed to their craft, carrying themselves with stylish grace one crushing ballad at a time.

She heads into more accessible waters —on tracks like Down on Me and Confessions, Davis softens her pop-meets-classical mishmash with a mellifluous inflection that gives clarity to her self-empowering message. And like a memoir of sorts, she goes through stories that range from her birth to the present day.

Cotillions does have its fair share of bloat, though—at 17 tracks and clocking in over an hour, its instrumental parallels can often feel redundant once it concludes. Nevertheless, his recent "unplugged" projects suggest he’s found fulfillment carving his own path rather than overthinking how to capture the spirit of our times.

It’s still hard to truly get Leonard Cohen right, and Thanks for the Dance sadly sounds like an easy approximation of his sound.

Invigorated and with more purpose, Oldham feels the wholeness of family and unity. Whereas past projects lived in a state of flux, Oldham now feels settled and at ease. It does sound like he's found the "lightness," after all.

Ffollowers of the band will notice how they sometimes hold onto their older tendencies (see: Microscopie, the title track). Nevertheless, the strides they take show how they're an asset to their new label—and not the other way around.

With each album in Cronin's catalog, he seems to grow in confidence and song-writing ability—and Seeker is no exception.

Our children’s children may not remember baseball umpires and humans that sang their own songs, but Bodega’s Shiny New Model makes for the perfect soundtrack to worry yourself silly about such things.

Best listened to sad and lonely in your bedroom, Pang is the perfect dance album for smart and sensitive boys and girls after their day’s journaling are done.

It’s beautiful, inventive, catchy, heartbreaking, addictive, and bursting at the seams with ideas. It captures a performer truly at the top of their game, throwing everything into a project so that not one second is wasted. It’s a record that makes you fall in love with music again, a record you feel privileged to experience and a record that imparts fundamental human truths.

The transformative qualities of Spring reveal themselves with time and patience. What begins as a search ends with a confirmation of newfound clarity, where every location Cohen visits inspires new questions and new experiences.

It’s still haunting, and it’s still beautiful. It’s like a soundtrack to exploring some abandoned, centuries-old mansion in the middle of a desert, now filled with ghosts, lost memories, and cobwebs weaved around expensive furniture.

The sheer joy behind each song here is what keeps You Deserve Love from the occasion sameness that you could find on The World’s Best American Band.

On In a Bind, she reaches for a more spiritual musical expression—taking a page from the mesmeric rhythms of Ali Farka Touré. She finds herself at ease, picking out an arpeggiated pattern flutter over a meditative choral showpiece. Less impressive, though, is how Tamko derails into the dreamy, meandering synth jams she seemed to be at odds with from the start. ... These mood shifts show Tamko at her more inquisitive, proving how far she can expand her reach while using her own resources. And it'll be intriguing to see where her ever-changing nature takes her next.

It's one of those rare, almost perfect follow-up, albums from a promising artist unafraid of taking her music to even more thrilling places without sacrificing what made it so compelling to begin with.

Even if Lost Girls often sounds like scrapped ideas taken from a larger project, Khan doesn't go too deep into nostalgia—still working firmly within a pop framework.

Relying less on atmosphere, tracks like Savage Nomad and Negro Spiritual reveal a rawness that balances his brisk delivery and minimal samples with renewed urgency. It comes with a caveat, though, as taking a more formalist direction puts the focus on technique rather than subject matter. And that's okay.

You can hear how she gradually tempers her busy thoughts, setting her mind at ease with a sense of renewal. And in her clean, unembellished melodies, reminding us that we can take our true selves whichever way we choose to roam.

On Heavy Lifter, Martin and Taylor continue to lean on each others’ strengths while also allowing room for pushing out prior boundaries. By expanding the sandbox, Hovvdy open up possibilities that promise more good things to come. If you’ve missed the duo’s prior releases, Heavy Lifter is a good place as any to get on board.

The result is an album of uncompromising vulnerability and rawness.

Big Thief proves that it can feed your head, your heart, and your hands in equal measure. Like the musical giants of old there is nothing they can’t do, ably going from strength to strength. Two Hands serves as the band’s call to arms.

Dear Tommy may still be lost in the ether, and who knows when Jewel decides to complete it. But Closer to Grey feels like a fully-fleshed concept, and it should be considered the long-awaited follow-up to Kill for Love fans have been clamoring for for years.

The process of writing this album was personal and intimate, but the end result is a confident, bold debut.

The most striking aspect of Ode to Joy is how weary Tweedy sounds. From upfront political themes (Citizens, which wavers and rumbles with minor harmonies, lines about white lies, and distorted guitars) to thoughts of personal tragedy (White Wooden Cross), there's one clear conclusion: Tweedy is beaten down. But Tweedy is at his best when he's processing that exhaustion.

The tightest tunes here tend to be the mid-tempo ones, or the ones with the cleanest production.

It's a remarkably sharp pop record that retains her fascination with pop-culture iconography and the rosey simplicity of a post-war America where classic rock and blue jeans ruled and takes them to much deeper places. ... Think of it as an hour-long car ride peeling down the highway with classic rock blaring out of the radio and no real destination in mind other than where your impulsive nature might take you.

If In The Morse Code Of Brake Lights isn’t remembered as the peak of The New Pornographers' work, its heart is squarely where it needs to be—and is still head and shoulders above most of the choices we are presented with these days. Electoral or otherwise.

Perri needs to lean into the experimental nature of his work—take more risks, and avoid being so laid back that his ghostly melodies have all the impact of a polite, good-natured apparition.

In many ways, Memory poignantly conveys how time has caught up with the Vivian Girls. It may look into the past, but the trio are not the same anymore both creatively and personally—and the time they took apart to explore other avenues works to their benefit. Armed with a deeper understanding of those trying times, and each other, the trio moves forward—and live in harmony with it.

Devour is best experienced from front to back. Shifting from Chardiet’s possessed screams (Spit It Out), to the dial-up-modem-from-Hell (Self-Regulating System), to grotesque static (Deprivation), Devour is shockingly sublime, like some warped, morally corrupt gradient. What’s equally mystifying is how textured and thematic these songs are, subtleties and surprises that are only revealed through brave, dedicated consumption.

On an album where Taylor nakedly reveals his most pressing moments of despair, it’s only in the album's handful of brighter moments that you wish for maybe just another small taste of the darkness. Taylor manages to flip his career-long look for the silver lining by acknowledging the pull of the worldly can only be put in a tidy little box for so long.

Inspired by B&S leader Stuart Murdoch’s read of the novel, the soundtrack thankfully veers more towards the bibliophile than the head-banger. Two B&S classics are re-worked, including a spritely updating of the perfect fitting I Know Where The Summer Goes as well as more of a straight read of Get Me Away From Here I’m Dying.

There's a lot to ponder while listening to Powers' dynamic and exuberant contours, coming from a band that's adapting to life's changes with piercing directness.

An overwhelming sense of fun pervades First Taste, as further epitomized in a couple of wacky drum solos that are so maniacal they'll bring a smile to your face. All in all, Ty Segall's obviously having fun as a result of being chiefly interested in entertaining himself.

Yorn loses some of the album's momentum as it progresses, too enamored with its stately flow—but just like any troubadour who calls L.A. home, he still writes some of the most tuneful folk-rock this side of Laurel Canyon.

The 70s soft rock inspirations hit the hardest on two of the most interesting cuts here, Far From Born Again and Bad for the Boys. The two tracks combine a jaunty, easy-listening sheen, with lyrics in the former that discuss sex work positively, and in the latter, that talk about the reckoning of abusive men.

House of Sugar is just as bewildering as Rocket, even if Giannascoli is too much of a tunesmith to keep things too abstract. He's a cunning songwriter who will take on a challenge whenever an idea seems to complex to untangle, even if his tender side will always be there.

A very good album and only a very good album. Don’t expect it to linger like Jay Som’s last, but do expect it to keep you company as these waning days of summer transform into fall.

He embraces a lush, widescreen sound with such vigor that even he can't keep up with, causing the album to lose some momentum as it settles into repetition. But Hunter's biting social critique is the focal point from start to finish, revealing his more vulnerable self in the process—a bold reinvention that should follow whichever direction he chooses to take from here on out.

There's no doubt that Kline’s abundance of sharp ideas and approaches will lead her down some other paths, but Close It Quietly’s full-band approach yields an embarrassment of eminently listenable indie-rock gems.

If 22, A Million could come off as sometimes cold and always anxious, then i,i is the warm flipside, with songs that float and flutter, that call for resilience rather than resignation. ... This record finds power in its collaborations.

While fans of Power and Fuck Buttons in general will certainly feel at home here, as there’s plenty of abrasion and distortion to go around, Animated features, frankly, some of Power’s catchiest and most memorable compositions to date.

Coming in at 26 minutes, Twelve Nudes doesn’t hang around and, by design, is a much more modest record than Transangelic Exodus. It rarely matches the highs on last year’s effort, but paired together, it suggests Furman is the midst of a prolific period.

Lover is a plethora of things: a Taylor Swift genre sampler, an argument that Jack Antonoff is her best collaborator, a continuation of her problem with lead singles, and a collection of great synthpop songs, but the best part of it is that Taylor seems like she’s never been better. She’s unburdened by love, and that explosive happiness makes itself present across this record.

Fear Inoculum already feels like an event—It's the kind of grand statement that will equally delight and confound, where Tool allows themselves to highlight their technical prowess with uncompromising integrity. Though the lengthy tracks convey great character and complexity, it's best to experience its ambient soundscapes and strapping guitars with a full, uninterrupted listen.

Beyond the Door isn't without its filler (particularly on the back half) but considering how its 11 songs breeze by in around 30 minutes, the weaker songs are easy to shrug off and forget. It isn't one of those albums that finds the band pushing the limits of its riff-filled overdriven bubblegum pop, either, but it's just as satisfying as any of their other albums.

The only real issue that Shura faces on forevher is that the record can be too much of a good thing. The psychedelic grooves that back the project can almost be suffocating, not allowing melodies or choruses to flourish on tracks that feel like a huge hook could bring them to perfection.

She follows her curiosity with abandon, deconstructing pop modalities with space and patience—from the strings-drenched chamber jazz (For the Old World) and the warped avant-garde of the title track to campfire folk (Spirit in the Eye of the Fire King,") her wildly eclectic, though sometimes distancing, choices sound familiar, yet completely their own.

The duality of hopefulness and dissolution she presents is intoxicating (with droning, ethereal soundscapes that are chilling in their stillness, to boot).

Heaven is Humming is not only a surprisingly potent post-hardcore tonic for this era, but portends great things for GOON moving forward.

Though the album's theme is fairly inconsequential, more appealing as a one-off project for diehards, their prog-folk experiment breathes new life into a band that had seemingly lost their way.

Still, true to their L.A. roots, they can't quite abandon the love-stricken cliches taken from their eighties influences, from revisionist West Hollywood glam (Heartbeat Away) and Bomp! records-inspired rock (Rebound City, which sounds like a homage to 20/20's Beat City) to tight, driving rhythms (Real Life).

Although it runs a bit too long and some songs blend together, Bird Songs of a Killjoy is a heartwarming and enchanting listen. It’s as far from a killjoy as you can get.

She leaves enough open spaces to invite some speculation and creative faculty, but by all accounts, this is the story she had to tell during this period in her life.

While their more reflective and even pop-oriented moments keep the double album catchy and worth revisiting, this new avenue also affords a clearer view of Baroness' Achilles' heels, which are a propensity for predictable lyrics and an occasional Foo Fighter sappiness. But those flaws aren't terminal, and for the most part, Baroness takes us on a thunderous langskip ride through angry seas that is as addictive and thrilling as their past output.

Granted, the band's debased, arhythmic songwriting sounds a little obnoxious, if deliberately so, but they sure know how to translate their disarray into compelling expressionist noise.

Tracks like Nina and Part III give some motion to the album's swaying ebb and flow, while the intricate contours of Ghostride highlight how they craftily maneuver texture and groove. Nevertheless, there's also a hidden complexity behind Jinx's playful variations.

Much of Patience is visceral and fierce, but it is also skillfully melodic (think of Hole's Live Through This, or even Celebrity Skin), the result of a band that approaches pop constructs with abrasive guitar sounds.

Through the years, the band has sculpted their sound into full-fledged metal, and as the burly, serpentine tracks Arteries of Blacktop and Full Moon, Black Water attest, they incorporate palm-muted riffs and Sabbathy doom with much aplomb—even if the latter closes the album with delicate, melancholic guitars, saying goodbye to their departed loved ones with gentle compassion.

One of his consistently best albums and the one that perfectly captures the restless creative spirit that continues to push Yorke beyond his comfort zones at a time in his career where other artists would likely be happily settling into theirs.

It's a new start for an artist who many had proclaimed early retirement. And even if he hasn't cheered up, his return does feel consistent with his downtrodden nature—and we can only listen as it all unfolds.

There’s nothing new here, but it’s a strange feeling of someone else repeating back what you’ve probably been thinking. Tempest acknowledges she’s not saying anything revolutionary, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth saying.

Bandana is one of the most satisfying rap records I’ve heard so far in 2019.