Billie Eilish continues to rise to the occasion on Happier Than Ever, staring down critics, naysayers and whatever the future holds while carrying self-love and compassion in her back pocket.

It’s frank and fresh in its fashion, carrying darkness and unguarded emotions on crests of S-tier artistry.

It’s as lively a rock album as you’ll hear this year.

Jack Antonoff so desperately wants to be Bruce Springsteen. But on Take the Sadness Out of Saturday Night, he’s barely even John Mellencamp.

Change’s power mostly emerges at unhurried paces, so the shimmying, percussive highlight “Naysayer” instantly stands out amid a sea of casual strolls.

Gold-Diggers Sound is yet another graceful, often captivating deviation from the retro path most critics probably expected him to stick with.

On Spiral, DARKSIDE push their limits, all the while honing the distinctive sound that made the project so singular to begin with.

It is surely no coincidence that Sling’s best songs are the ones written solely by Cottrill, while a handful of her six co-writes with Antonoff—“Bambi,” “Partridge,” “Little Changes”—never quite take shape, instead spending a few minutes as an unmemorable mush of baroque studio-pop. ... Which brings us back to “Blouse” and another song credited only to Cottrill, “Just for Today.” Because of their relative lack of adornment, these are the tracks that stand out on Sling.

A compact, 10-track summer spin—a quick, sophisticated string of punches. And with instrumental chef Kenny Beats at the production helm once again, the record is a beautiful arrangement of confessional conversation verging on slam poetry.

Rose declares on “Swimmer.” “I hope you’re listening to me wherever you are.” With a record as authentically beautiful as Mythopoetics, we should be.

The album is cinematic in its own right, carving out a singular vision with moving musical choices, impactful delivery and evocative lyrics.

The dawn has broken and we all know the myriad “oopsies” that led us to where we are now. Dark in Here isn’t a solution to the problem. It’s just a damn good soundtrack.

While parts of Planet (i) can feel akin to standing out in the sun on a particularly sweltering day, Squirrel Flower’s talent as a chronicler of relationships and memories makes this album worth exploring.

Call Me If You Get Lost doesn’t strike the same emotional resonances as Tyler’s last two LPs, but it isn’t meant to. ... hat’s the crowning achievement of this record—the way it sharply reminds every listener that the early entries in an artist’s discography are not parts of their past meant to be forgotten.

Most of the songs on The Golden Casket don’t sound like they’re of a piece, and while the album has its moments, an overall lack of cohesion means they quickly fade.

Here, her wise brand of rock music blooms into something even more palpable, relatable and beautifully messy.

Kings of Convenience do a good job of augmenting their sound just enough to keep things interesting.

A flaccid smattering of pop trends that have long since passed and melodies so transparently halfhearted, it barely sounds like a person even made them.

What Path of Wellness lacks in sonic urgency, it makes up for with a vintage classic-rock swagger that livens up the material considerably.

Aside from a sterling, unobtrusive remastering job—kudos to mastering engineers Andy Pearce and Matt Wortham for opting not to artificially magnify anything about the mix—the real selling point with this new edition is the inclusion of a complete live show recorded a week after the album’s release. ... The newly brushed-up live recording—which significantly improves on the sound of the bootleg—takes the cake for the most accurate and well-rounded live document of Black Sabbath in the ‘70s.

As a whole, No Gods No Monsters reads as an album about deep societal frustrations. Yet it manages to feel light and airy in moments, like the humorously titled, Pet Shop Boys-adjacent “Flipping the Bird.” The emotional texture of each track is what makes it rise above a collection of empty, sloganistic statements.

It’s 14 minutes shorter than its predecessor, and it’s light on the warbled, bursting electronics that defined Half-Light’s hazy tales of queer romance. It feels quiet and intimate even when it’s roaring.

It may be overstating things to say Duterte and Kempner belong together, but their musical union sure is satisfying. Written and recorded during a pre-pandemic, two-week-long creative outburst in a rented California house, the songs on Doomin’ Sun bring together the two artists’ best qualities.

Where Schlagenheim felt serrated and sharp-edged and packed tight with grooves, Cavalcade feels brooding and explorative. It’s wordy and lyric-minded, with long, serpentine narratives that unfold like shape-shifting fruit roll-ups.

In so many ways, the album represents the full realization not just of Moctar’s individual artistry, but of what’s possible when influences collide in unexpected ways. ... Stunning, unique desert flower.

WINK is a filling, nutritious meal: good for the soul and brimming with flavor.

As the poetic nature of her lyricism evolves, it makes future albums and EPs even more promising. Hopefully, the singer will experiment even further with more rich and upbeat tunes that will heighten the dynamism of her already-indelible voice.

Daddy’s Home brings us a far moodier, expansive work than predecessor MASSEDUCTION; it begs us to sit and listen, calling back to the slow-burn complexity of Strange Mercy.

The songwriting is first-rate, and the minimalist aesthetic suits these tunes in a way that more elaborate arrangements and polished production never would.

Bright Green Field is easily Squid’s most musically varied and ambitious work yet.

It is an album that would make Tenacious D roll their eyes and make metal fans scratch their heads.

Seek Shelter is ultimately less effective in its catchiness and sheer force, considering its occasionally clunky sequences, but Iceage attempting to write songs of unprecedented magnitude this far into their career is admirable. The album’s greatest triumph is its finale, “The Holding Hand,” which plays to their tension-building strengths.

The Tennessee native shows a dreamier, more daring side of herself on Rosegold, implementing bold new production elements along the way.

While Endless Arcade may not quite match the standard of consistency Teenage Fanclub is known for, it’s an excellent reminder of just how much songwriting talent has called this band home for the past three decades.

Ulven succeeds in making it go quiet with an entirely instrumental track of spare piano and dramatic strings. These daring instincts are what elevate girl in red’s music beyond her status as the wunderkind of the moment.

Following the overblown COPE, it seemed unclear where the band would go next. But with The Million Masks of God, Manchester Orchestra prove that they’ve found their footing.

Second Line brings few changes, especially lyrically, but Richard largely makes up for her retreading with some of her sharpest hooks to date.

“Take It Back” aside, Dinosaur Jr. tend to get by on a fairly limited sonic palette. Yet the trio continues to find compelling ways to fuse their core musical elements into songs that resonate, on albums that almost never misfire. Sweep It Into Space is merely the latest example.

What’s most impressive about ULTRAPOP is not necessarily the killer riffs, the pummeling rhythms or the plentiful melodies, though all of those are consistently thrilling. What’s most impressive is the way this band brings together different, disparate styles in a way that sounds seamless and natural and new, even if others have done it before.

Most of these artists strike a rare rework/remix balance, preserving what made the original tick while infusing enough of their own identity to justify the new take.

Their vision fits right into the lineage of trailblazers they’ve joined by aligning with Saddle Creek, and their first contribution for the label makes for a most worthy addition to its roster.

Cheap Trick and others from their graduating class may be perfectly content to carry on as walking memes, but In Another World reminds us that this veteran rock act still has lifeblood coursing through its veins.

In typical BH fashion, there are moments on “THE LIGHT,” “WHAT’S THE OCCASION?” and “DEAR LORD” that lean into vulnerability, tenderness and slight existential dread. It’s easy to pinpoint BROCKHAMPTON’s growth as evidenced by their latest project, but deeper parts of their creativity are tapped when outsiders—who happen to be insanely talented—are allowed to infiltrate their unit.

Having zigged for a while, Godspeed zags (of course) on G_d’s Pee, bringing back some of the inscrutable elements that made the band so interesting in the first place.

Wasner has you in her grip from the scratchy layered vocals and slippery synths on album opener “Heads” all the way to the melancholy, dwindling notes of “Head of Roses.”

Some grin in the face of the absurd and rotten, and others reflect all the hot air back outward. Dry Cleaning make an art of doing both.

With Is 4 Lovers, they not only prove that they can stretch without compromising, but also that intimacy and discovery can still be rockin’ AF.

There’s a timeless quality to Promises, an inscrutable sense that the album could hail from 30 years in the past or 30 years into the future.

While kid-friendliness is a great merit of Under the Pepper Tree, its ineffable beauty makes the album a fast favorite for a person of any age to unwind after a long day.

Tune-Yards continue to make meaningful and joyful art after the watershed moment of reckoning on their last album.

Xiu Xiu’s esoteric lyrics and challenging, textured sounds are part of what make them so singular as a group, but can also be overdone. OH NO’s moving moments of catharsis and uplifting hope are muted by how exhaustingly over-the-top the rest of the album feels.

On Today We’re the Greatest, they make great music sound effortless.

Chemtrails Over the Country Club is a record full of euphoric highs and baffling lows. It’s an enjoyable listen that cinematically celebrates Del Rey’s vocal prowess.

It may be called The Moon and Stars, but June’s latest showing for Fantasy Records is music to consume while perched by a window fragmented with sunbeams. Just the sound of June’s voice is enough to defrost any lingering icy memories of a cruel winter.

Throughout, Bird and Mathus span a wide swath of human experience, and the practiced ease with which they do so, and their easy rapport, suggest that maybe they ought to do this more often.

As they’ve grown bigger, their songs have become increasingly interchangeable, and while that’s made for a certain measure of consistency, it’s anything but exciting.

Nick Cave may very well be the avatar for the idea that what we think of as “mellow” can be “heavy” and vice versa. With Carnage, he and Ellis prove that point yet again. Believe it or not, they also stretch themselves again, suggesting there may be no end to the inspiration they have up their sleeves.

Working with God shows us that the Melvins are indestructible at this point. Where their single-mindedness might grate from one perspective, from another perspective, they’ve become the picture of dependability we can only hope all bands would reach.

Another perfectly solid Cloud Nothings record that expertly straddles that imaginary knife Baldi was balancing on earlier.

Even with booming guitars, pounding drums and soaring instrumentals, Little Oblivions feels just as intimate as Baker’s more, well, intimate albums. It’s an impossible task to make a massive capital-R Rock album sound just as home in an arena as it would in a living room, but somehow, some way, Baker has managed to crack the code.

Cool Dry Place is unexpectedly groovy, with hooks and rhythms worming their way into hearts and minds in more ways than one.

After a two-album stale patch a decade ago, The Hold Steady have rebounded to become more adventurous than they were before, and Finn’s storytelling has never been stronger.

Where tracks on My Mind Makes Noises had a tendency to blend together, Who Am I? flows without becoming repetitive. Winding between melancholy ballads, poignant love songs and screamable rock anthems, the album displays a range and skill that make Pale Waves a force to be reckoned with.

This batch is as tuneful and accessible as anything Ounsworth has written so far.

TYRON is an exciting follow-up project whose bifurcated structure encapsulates the duality of slowthai’s effervescent rap persona and the evolving interiority of Tyron Frampton.

While their quiet folk songs are not a thing of the past, Good Woman benefits from the poppier textures and shiny new grooves implemented with help from Congleton.

Black Country, New Road showcases immense disregard for standard musical structures and an affinity for shrieking, discordant noise. Unlike their peers, they rely less frequently on jolting stops and starts, instead relying on gradual jazz and post-rock buildups.

One of the best albums to emerge in this strange young year.

At a brief 36 minutes long, Medicine at Midnight is a solid addition to a discography that raises the bar for what it means to be a rock act that seamlessly evolves with the times. It also exemplifies how the group isn’t afraid to stretch their imaginations whenever the mood strikes them.

It takes several listens to realize that the tracks on The Third Chimpanzee each function on an interior logic that’s quite satisfying to climb into, like being inside a video demonstration of a Rubik’s Cube getting solved over and over.

Weezer has always had heart, and OK Human shows the value of taking time to record instead of filling the silence with countless tours and albums. Weezer is finally taking risks outside of the formula that has worked so well, and they still have a lot of mileage left in them.

Strawberry Mansion, named for a neighborhood in Philadelphia where both of Slim’s grandfathers grew up, is a little shaggy around the edges, and probably could’ve done with a four-song trim. But it offers a clear look at one songwriter’s experiences during a monumental cultural moment and frames them within his own personal struggles.

On Parks’ long-awaited debut album Collapsed in Sunbeams, her narratives remain vivid and often crushing. Likewise intact is her vibrant fusion of rock, jazz, folk and hip-hop.

Goat Girl remain just as captivating as they were amid the spiky guitar and haunting harmonies of their first album, but have made incredible strides in just a couple years.

On Palberta5000, the clarity and force remain, but the musical components are more conventional, and the effect is thrilling.

Because it doesn’t cohere quite as much as their previous output, Spare Ribs wouldn’t necessarily be the album you point to in order to make that case, but it’s not short on charm or growth, so it doesn’t detract from the argument, either.

For the most part, you also won’t find the simplistic catchiness of their debut, but that’s not the point of their second LP. Shame are in a different, increasingly dejected headspace, and they poured their anxieties into a more considered album. Drunk Tank Pink is more varied in pace and inspiration.

Mamalarky is a promising debut, no doubt. In places, though, it feels fussed-over, which saps some of these songs of their warmth and intimacy, and keeps them at an arm’s length. If Mamalarky spend more time writing, playing, performing and just being together, they’ll almost certainly overcome that obstacle.

Songs like “marjorie,” “happiness,” “closure” and “tolerate it,” all full of Swift’s hard-won wisdom, are the most representative of what evermore really is: a peacefully intimate record.

They sound like they’ve been singing together all their lives—as if Anderson and Linthicum somehow stumbled upon a third cousin in a faraway land. Here’s hoping the distance doesn’t stop them from doing this again and again and again.

The LP is woven with otherworldly, alien sounds, yet there is an undeniable coziness to the songs—thanks in part to the cozy crackle of vinyl samples and stirring vocals—that combats the coldness often associated with outer space.

The EP’s lyrics likewise do little to distinguish these characters from one another, though clearly, little overlap exists between Bae’s glamorous blonde ‘do and Bonk’s, uh, clown-like makeup. Even if these aliases remain imperfectly distinguished from one another throughout the EP, Shygirl’s consistently puffed-up swagger manages to illuminate her nuanced but aggressive persona.

The framework for Odin’s Raven Magic grounds the band and shows that, when they wanted to, they were more than capable of tempering their penchant for extravagant strangeness. Which is not to say that Odin’s Raven Magic’s doesn’t contain many of the band’s signature hallmarks—like the rest of the Sigur Rós discography, the album comes drenched in mood, as well as an incomparable sense of elegance.

Overall, Rico’s inaugural efforts are cathartic, ballsy and just plain fun. Nightmare Vacation solidifies the emcee as quite the furious force to be reckoned with.

Jack White had an abundance of talent and a highly specific vision that he pursued with dogged persistence. Meg White provided the anchor for his wild flights of imagination and searing guitar noise. These 26 songs are a reminder of just how potent they could be together, and that’s as compelling a reason as any to dig into their music all over again.

Grande is making no effort to be discreet, instead explicitly owning her sexuality—the album is called Positions, after all. The juxtaposition of beautiful violin sounds and risqué lyrics has become one of Grande’s signature sounds, and it suits her well.

The crisp production makes this feel like a well-thought-out and intentional release, rather than a rushed cash-grab. However, it’s this poise that makes Good News exactly that: good. When held up to past releases like Tina Snow and Fever, Megan’s larger-than-life personality over the Dirty South production she is most familiar with is not showcased to its full potential.

All in all, Chubby and The Gang are so much more than the average shouty, loutish band. For one thing, they’re wonderfully out of step with the speak-sing post-punk that has engulfed London recently. Chubby and The Gang play the kind of plug-and-chug, throwback punk and pub rock that never exactly left, but doesn’t feel especially fashionable in 2020.

On the surface, TRIP’s concept sounds like the kind of diehards-only project that would fit on the back half of a career-spanning boxset or as a high-priced Record Store Day release. Instead, Lambchop continue to subvert expectations by making TRIP an essential chapter in their recent creative hot streak.

These tracks are among Lenker’s most striking and emotionally nuanced. While it lacks the musical dynamism of abysskiss, songs’ lyrics are more potent and detailed.

Night Network is the first Cribs album the Jarmans have produced themselves, and they dial in the sharp-edged indie-rock sound that characterized the bracing guitars and punchy rhythm of The Cribs’ earlier records. It’s in the songwriting that things sometimes fall apart.

5EPs is the first time this seemingly interminable project has felt completely approachable, rather than yet another informational overload in this swirling year. And though it highlights each performer’s unique strengths, it sometimes obscures the new members’ talents under tried-and-true Dirty Projectors sounds.

Despite its metaphysical optimism, Sundowner resonates not because it has the answers, but because it proves willing to hunt for them or, in their apparent absence, to create them.

The more scrutiny you give these seemingly straightforward songs, the more mysterious they become, even as they grow more familiar. That said, while this expanded edition certainly helps provide context, opening new windows on a classic, long-inactive lineup of a band that was oozing with inspiration and still had something to prove, even listeners above the casual-fan threshold should exercise caution before taking the plunge a second time around.

It tries too hard to pay homage to horrorcore tropes, like the chopped-up horror movie samples and heart-pounding bass, and sounds too polished as a result. It’s horrorcore for people who don’t want to listen to the real thing. Clipping. is an incredibly innovative and talented group, especially in creating entire worlds within their songs, but at their most inhibited, they come off as try-hard.

There’s a rockabilly feel alongside soul and even country, but no one genre is discernible for long. It’s as if The Mountain Goats contain multitudes and so can you.

The only real misfire here is a misplaced cover of Grandaddy’s early classic “A.M. 180.” It’s an affectionate rendition, revving up the tempo and swapping out the song’s R2-D2 synths for overdriven guitar, but PUP’s pummelling aggression is an awkward match for Grandaddy’s cerebral melodicism, and the result doesn’t quite fit among these Morbid Stuff rejects.

On acts of rebellion, she maintains her punk, community-oriented ethos whether she strikes strongly, replaces guitars with synths or creates more introspective works.