Their fourth album reveals the breadth of the genre.

Although the album pushes the envelope lyrically, the music doesn't always elevate the ideas as much as it could. Mount Moriah's deftly woven, loose Americana is more a vessel for McEntire's poetry than anything else.

Occasionally, songs sound a little too derivative of older Scream, but Gillespie's desire to look inward feels genuine.

The weakest tracks--the hackneyed anthem Love Is Blind, the dreary Hurt Me--are the most radio-friendly and interrupt the album's flow. But that's not a major drawback. In fact, for many new artists, either track would be a high-water mark.

In this current moment, when the us vs them of identity politics is at a sharp pitch, it's an enlightened view for an artist to put forth.

Lamar is as cutting as ever in his rhymes, and adjusts his flow to great effect.

On his first solo album under his own name, the songwriting is just as sharp and hooky and the emotions sometimes just as plaintive, sad and angsty as on past projects. But this time Bogart hits upon the most fully realized pop idol version of himself by embracing the demented, neon-coloured camp aesthetic he's always loved.

A beautifully crafted debut full-length that delivers on the early hype.

Regardless of Tatum’s ever-shifting musical obsessions or emotional moods, an enjoyable lightness and subtlety to the arrangements and overlapping textures draw your ear in closer.

Although the album revels in its sonic clutter (it’s remarkable how they can make percussive rhythms sound both primitive and absurdly futuristic), there are tracks scattered throughout to catch your breath.

The 10-year-old band should be able to get a dance floor moving more than ever with these songs.

Even when West’s going in uncomfortable directions, his music feels alive.

A little rough around the edges, the album is pleasantly calm while simultaneously tapping into anxieties in its lyrics.

In producer Tucker Martine’s hands (he’s worked with Neko Case, Punch Brothers, the Decemberists and Laura Veirs), O’Donovan’s music sounds light and atmospheric, her folk freed up by billowing electric guitars and sensitive percussion.

Williams gives her songs more room to breathe than ever before, opening up vast, cinematic visions of the highway and land that inspired them.

Bulat has the rare ability to simultaneously sing from all sides: hurt and sweet and wise.

The songs are simple, but Nap Eyes always inject small surprises into them, like clever guitar melodies or tempo changes.

A new urgency and immediacy provide welcome counterpoint to the reserved Canadian introspection that still characterizes their songs.

There’s an urgency to the songs--aided by crisp production--as if Smith resolved to get all his feelings out.

You'll want to let the whole record play, but Refill, Land Ahoy! and Mekons' anthemic Beaten And Broken (sung by Fulks) are highlights.

Not every song is as outstanding as the next, but at points, Anti is incredibly satisfying and sufficiently distinct from her other efforts--very much worth the wait and the bizarre roll out.

Despite ups and downs, Suede have remained an impressively robust-sounding live act, and that energy comes across in Night Thoughts.

A masterful, mystical interpreter, Oldham conjures a new mood for Death To Everyone, unfurls an intense lost original called Beezle, and strikes at the gospel core of Prince’s The Cross.

Newly installed guitarist Kiko Loureiro weaves blistering licks around Mustaine’s own, elevating the frontman’s sorta sardonic, sorta goofy politicized lyrics. Longtime bassist Dave Ellefson ramps up his low-end pyrotechnics, with Fatal Illusion boasting maybe the grooviest Megadeth bass line since Peace Sells.

Like a lot of shoegaze, a uniform production and lots of layers mean the tracks have a tendency to lack distinction from one another. But this happens surprisingly rarely.

After a few listens, hidden melodies reveal themselves and easy-listening bass lines guide you through the ruckus. Or rather, you get used to the disorder and appreciate the songs for what they are: weird experiments from a prodigal songwriter.

The Catastrophist is another shining example of the band’s ability to forge multitudes of different sounds into something new--something singular, that can really only be described as, well, sounding like Tortoise.

Hard-fought optimism fuels the political fury behind Savages’ buzzing aggression (timely given the momentum behind progressive political movements), but now the manifesto is delivered via more familiar, accessible sounds.