The Dots has a flowing energy and musical sophistication that’s never static, and their experimentation with different genres, rhythms and tempos appears to derive from a place of sonic exploration—not obligatory diversification.

Superstar proves itself a tightly knit satire of celebrity, effective thanks to Rose’s sharp storytelling and her calculated use of distortion, which highlights the artificial quality of the protagonist’s new surroundings. ... Among these key storytelling points are some of Rose’s most brilliant moments yet as an indie-pop artist, a dizzying kaleidoscope of her own vocal talent and colorful artistic choices.

The National have put out another album that could easily be argued as their best--and it may be easier to make that claim now than ever before.

Instead of dwelling on what isn’t said on the record, she chooses to use her experiences to find the strength to move on. And so we get the most authentic Kesha album yet, and it’s a triumph.

They may rock harder than Neutral Milk ever did, but there’s something about their sound putting them in the same category of earnest playfulness.

Reznor’s letter paints Ghosts V: Together as hopeful and Ghosts VI: Locusts as fearful, but the moods evoked by both are too richly layered to just dichotomize the two records along such bold lines. Together contains more than its fair share of excruciating suspense (the incessant siren-like wail of “Apart,” for example).

The evolution of Queens of the Stone Age has been slow and steady; and 20 years in the band still sounds amazingly energized.

If you were a fan of No Time For Dreaming you’re going to be a fan of Victim of Love, and you shouldn’t really need to know anything about it other than it’s an album full of Charles Bradley songs.

It’s unlikely that Arms will bring Bell X1 any sort of really big breakthrough on this side of the pond. Yet at the same time it’s a skillful enough effort to at least increase their notice.

They still manage to hit that sweet spot where they seem uncertain about everything, except the music they’re making--smart, charmingly relatable, and definitely evolving.

Though Kveikur is more anxious and busy than a lot of their past output, it still possesses the heavenly quality all their other records so admirably held on to as well.

The risk they took with their complete metamorphosis paid off, further solidifying them as a band with talent that transcends genres and states.

In a discography saturated with ambient anthems and frenetic energy, CAPRISONGS brilliantly brandishes the talent of an artist constantly looking for her next high.

Twelve Nudes is loud, sometimes sarcastic, often pointed and invariably entertaining. The album is the work of an artist with a keen sense of his own capabilities, and it’s a fitting soundtrack to a world in turmoil.

Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer? is probably the most fun one can reasonably have while wrestling with somebody else’s demons.

It's what you hope for from your favorite artists in your best moments -- evolution, a little difficulty and, especially, something new.

Andrew Bird is a highly skilled musician capable of crafting an album full of delightful little moments that make the album worth a fair listen, and more.

So Black is a heavy record, but there are bright moments sprinkled throughout.

What's it sound like? A lot like Segall's proper solo material, frankly.

Though Cash refrains from direct political speech on this record, she offers solace amid the political unrest, choosing to focus on personal connection rather than polarization as we near the end of a chaotic, divisive year.

It’s worth noting that the band’s emphasis on songcraft, on making a point, pays off in a way that not every track here does.

There’s a whole lot of ambition on display here, especially in the second half of the tracklist, and all of these disparate pieces somehow come together thanks to Ross’ confidence as a songwriter and arranger. Simply put, if this isn’t the sound of a band leveling up, then I’m not sure what is.

Though the sludgy abrasiveness of 1970s classic rock dominates, the influences, instruments and electronic sounds fly by at a dizzying pace.

Ultimately, Sound & Color is a ballsy sophomore LP that shocks, surprises and usually satiates.

Even if Surrender and HIIAPL aren’t 100% dynamite from start to finish, it’s clear Rogers is consistently capable of creating special (and yes, spiritual) moments in pop music. On Surrender, Rogers is in communion with her collaborators and her listeners, and that’s a path to something lasting.

With an 80-minute runtime, The Ascension feels overwhelming in its second act. ... But worried as it is, The Ascension isn’t without joy.

A nice surprise in a year full of unpleasant ones. It’s also one of the best experimental releases of 2020 so far. Continuous Portrait doesn’t depart dramatically from the lively ambient sweet spot of Inventions’ previous work, but it does expand the duo’s sound to make deeper use of one element usually absent from Explosions in the Sky: the human voice.

Such arty, at times enervating, digressions highlight Icky Thump’s curious weight; whereas Elephant’s dinosaur-rock stomp got cut with fragile acoustic turns, there is little reprieve here.

Not merely a product of maturity, Nickel Creek has grown without losing its palpable joy or wondrous ability to make musicianship as accessible as the engaging way their voices draw listeners to them.

That contrast of vicious agit-prop and palatable pop [on ["Jesus Will Kill You"] isn’t quite as pronounced on the other songs, which take on a more nuanced, often more personal feel.

It’s an uncanny understanding of not forcing the muse that she maintains on her brand new album, I Thought Of You.

The Crying Light, reaches out from the band’s investment in gender issues to grapple with nature of a different sort: the earth, familial relationships and a life-force passed on. The scope of the record spans generations, but retains a sense of communion with its listener.

Nobody Wants To Be Here and Nobody Wants to Leave is The Twilight Sad’s most demanding album, dragging listeners from burning coals to murky, cold depths.

Whether she shuck’n’shimmies through the flirty trombone-laced “Hey Bebe,” the bowed cello and moan lullaby “Baby Boy” or the staccato romance denied “Love We Almost Had” (featuring fellow roots journeyer Bhi Bhiman), the emotions of desire and elation run strong.

Fans of folk and Malkmus alike will find something to love here, even if Traditional Techniques doesn’t quite make the grade.

The very best tracks grapple with eternal themes of love, fear, suffering and the transmigration of the soul, with the overarching narrative largely irrelevant; the low points, however, take the dramatic framework and hit you upside the holy head.

With redneck-underground country, slightly detuned minor-key Southern rock, grungy Crazy Horse-indebted lopers and Stonesy rockers, there’s a little of everything Hood’s done so far, plus a few dashes of discovery.

REV is one of Horton Heat’s finest sets, channeling the abandon, fun and rebellion of primal rock ‘n’ roll without a cloying or overly nostalgic moment.

The best pure indie-pop record of 2018 (so far) is not from Brooklyn or Glasgow or Melbourne or Olympia but Busan, South Korea. The album, Where We Were Together from the band Say Sue Me, is a perfectly paced fusion of jangling guitars, bouncing bass and sighed melancholy.

The Louder I Call, the Faster It Runs is arguably Wye Oak’s most assured album: Wasner and Stack perform with a confidence that is almost serene, as if self-doubt weren’t even a possibility

The result is a hermetic record that is practically self-contained within a computer hard drive. Yet Have We Met never lacks for atmosphere, or a sense of unpredictability that feels kinetic.

The whole project is kept above water by the spirit that Donahue and Grasshopper, and their other guests, bring to the sessions.

Real Life is No Cool is a tasteful take on the edgier side of ’80s pop radio--like the lucid oddities of Kate Bush—but with a dash of classic soul.

There is a lot of variety--a lot of music, really--here, and with 15 tracks that top out at just north of the 50-minute mark, it's a lot to take in.

Anjimile touts his hard-won strength throughout the record. A debut this scintillating sets the bar quite high for the 27-year-old songwriter, but, as we quickly learned—he is already up for the challenge.

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

Staples makes redemption a matter of small things, tiny actions and incremental leaps of believing. Accessible to the fallen and faltering, on One True Vine grace is a funky thing.

By track four, a whimsical-by-numbers reverie called “Dinosaurs on the Mountain,” American Head starts to fall off an American cliff. The tempos are slow enough to deflate even Coyne’s considerable charm, and the record’s rootsy, pastoral spin on the Lips’ sound is undermined by the band’s maximalist production ethos. Nearly every song is overstuffed with queasy synth textures and sleek, digitized strings, and Coyne can’t resist warping his vocals in a grab-bag of ugly processors.

Gorilla Manor is a bit too much of an amalgamation of its bi-coastal influences to really stake out any territory of its own, but it's a handy synthesis of two prevailing sounds.

More memorable are the tracks where Serengeti simply inhabits the role and goes the direction it takes him.

This sense of loneliness haunts Kozelek’s best work, and it’s in full force throughout April, arguably the finest album of his career.

The album achieves a powerful sense of place, capturing the city and its innumerable narratives.

Moonface is essentially making Krug more admirable and less enjoyable. Depending on what you look for, that is the measure of its success.

There’s no con on Total Freedom—just a welcome progress report from a musician who took the time she needed, and returns stronger and wiser than she was before, with a first-class collection of songs to prove it.

In the grand scheme of Japanese noise Melt-Banana’s the most playful but also perhaps the most refined.

She’s in perfect form.

Tonally, Feist exposes a storm of feeling on Pleasure, probing an abyss of her own confusion, lack of trust in others and self-imposed isolation, and yet also a core tendency to love and care.

True to form, this brisk, exhaust-scented third album makes an ambitious return to the Boss' scenic Friday night carnival for a familiar but still-mighty wallop of muscular, crying riffs and good old-fashioned restlessness.

This is not an album to absorb in desperate moments, but rather an artfully brooding, grime-y thing that stands as a terribly unique and nightmarish account of what it could sound like to spiral out of control.

Atlas is ambient neoclassical at its finest; stirring and introspective without succumbing to sameness, furthering Laurel Halo’s extensive, unpredictable influence on experimental and electronic traditions.

It’s not terrible, it’s mostly pleasant to listen to, it’s beautifully produced and it’s easy to recognize the skill it takes to craft their saintly, synth-driven sound. But when you couple a critical reputation like theirs with the band’s own claim of making a big artistic jump, mostly pleasant to listen to shouldn’t cut it.

There’s something for everyone on Rozwell Kid’s new album, to be honest: It distills down a good two decades’ worth of guitar solos, pop hooks and wink-nudge lyricism into--well, would you look at that--a delightfully precious piece of art.

As painstakingly beautiful as her more inscrutable records have been, to witness Mega Bog in crystalline electronica is to witness an artist reclaim and represent her consciousness with unsettling clarity.

Culling lyrics from the public domain and recording with few overdubs or added takes, Amidon and a group of trusted players perform Lily-O with an immense, artistic daring.

The result is an unspooled revelation, a supplicant’s distorted glee—a celebration which Hayter leaves pointedly open-ended.

Anderson brings along his DIY community for the ride. It’s that bedrock that makes Cartwheel such an expressive and foundational album. And one that’s not just a triumph for Anderson and Hotline TNT, but for shoegaze itself.

It's that mix of dedication to cool and earnestness that makes Dye it Blond endearing and surprisingly timeless despite its obvious wink to the past.

On Hallelujah Anyhow, he sounds more comfortable than ever before, and that’s saying something. Taylor’s songs are warm and well-worn. His band moves as a single organism. ... Musically, Hallelujah Anyhow is a beautiful patchwork of styles.

It’s a respectable collection of bluesy rockers that showcase the brothers’ strengths.

Superwolf is Americana at its most grim. [Apr/May 2005, p.134]

Rarely does a track on this set demand skipping, and even the scant missteps are worth at least a few listens--like any great band, the JAMC lived and learned.

The record's strengths are mostly atmospheric. [Oct/Nov 2005, p.144]

The band doesn't vary its approach much for record number two. [Mar 2007, p.63]

Rock ’n’ roll has a knack for brute force, but these songs are never less than nimble, always full of electricity and a steady barometer of unfailing good taste.

Heaven knows has more intricate songwriting and a wider scope [than her 2021 mixtape to hell with it].

With A Beginner’s Mind, Sufjan Stevens and Angelo De Augustine have stumbled upon a beautiful vocal recipe.

The power of Tinariwen lies not only in their ability to communicate that idea musically, but most crucially in their ability to make such a simple idea sound fresh and profound.

As it stands, The Book of Souls is the best Maiden record from Dickinson’s second act, and an impressive achievement from one of metal’s greatest bands.

Truly great pop is escapist, a chance to transform the otherwise mundane into something divine for a three-minute time span. Tesfaye doesn’t always get it right, but on After Hours, he offers up at least a few moments of communion during a time of isolation.

Rather than hone the traditional Appalachian discipline, the sensualist singer explores the possibilities of acoustic/roots music--conjuring songscapes, erotic tableau and enough tension to hold listeners transfixed throughout Follow Me Down.

While there’s nothing here as instantly infectious as “Toe Cutter-Thumb Buster” (the single from last year’s Floating Coffin), Drop plays like some lost weekend at the Fillmore West circa 1966-71.

It’s as communal as a set of campfire songs, complete with humor, screw-ups and familiarity.

It’s the acoustically driven numbers, like Saliers’ “Alberta,” a moving song based on a 1903 rockslide that buried part of the mining town of Frank, Alberta, that spotlight the strength of the duo’s voices.

It’s certainly a departure from the shaggy surf-rock of their debut, Metalmania, but one that feels natural and deftly executed.

The constant push-pull between Read’s expectation (his seedy lounge rock) and the reality behind his lyrics is what makes Air Con Eden such a fascinating listen. And it’s a gorgeous, slow-burning record throughout.

In heading Sideways to New Italy, Rolling Blackouts C.F. continue to make a strong case as one of Australia’s most vital rock acts, if not the world’s.

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.

Big Sigh is a knotty, downbeat album that shows the English singer/songwriter stretching herself sonically while still maintaining focus on her pet subjects.

Triplicate allows us to experience the rare and intimate pleasure of listening to an artist connect with, and express the subtle and infinite joys suggested by a great song.

Like Charlotte Gainsbourg’s entire musical career, Rest is imperfect, but it’s intriguing enough that you can’t help but pay attention. And now that she’s pouring more of herself into her songs, her work feels weightier, more complex, and more compelling.

With The Lady Killer, Cee Lo Green is out for blood. Track after track, he triumphs.

Tay Strathairn's work on the keys shines on just about every song; Wylie Gelber maybe one of the most tasteful bassists ever, and Griffin Goldsmith's percussion is rock steady and incredibly impressive, especially considering his young age. But it is the sum of all these parts that makes Nothing is Wrong something truly special.

A record that’s as jittery and unhinged as it is perversely spot-on.

Throughout Ruinism, Lapalux programs his beats with an eye towards gradual rewards, and having no vocals to enhance their accessibility makes them a bit impenetrable at first, just as the fearsome journey towards death doesn’t offer instant answers.

A handful of songs here are as inspired as anything he has done in at least 30 years. But for an artist who has experienced enough of the American Dream to know where the truth is and where the lies are becoming more seductive, it’s a shame he didn’t have something more interesting to say about it all.

Rolling Golden Holy is a contemporary folk classic with songs that wouldn’t have sounded out of place 50 or 100 or 150 years ago. It’s an ageless album for the modern age, by a group coming into the full scope of their abilities.

Marissa Nadler hints at larger tragedies and losses, implying an overarching break-up narrative that gives each song added force.

The songs that do make up Collector are packed with interesting guitar tones, an intuition for pop magic and a message that should be shouted from the rooftops.