On The Agent Intellect, Casey finds himself as more of a vocal stylist than a singer, and that’s good.

Without a doubt,Stranger to Stranger is a testament to an artist who refuses to be ordinary and pigeonholed. With this LP, Paul Simon has created his best work in many years.

Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers rejects conformity and leaves its flaws in on purpose, featuring some of Kendrick’s best and worst songs of his career.

It's a linguistic lesson you never asked for, or even wanted, but also one you'll never forget.

This long-lost document may be the most important live offering there is of Neil Young and Crazy Horse—or at least the most important Young has shared with us.

Case... still approximates a Northwestern Patsy Cline with a graduate degree, and while the stories she tells are mournful, her delivery remains buoyant. [Apr/May 2006, p.101]

The difference between old and new is more distinct on tracks from The Silver Globe. ... They’re not required listening, but it is interesting to hear Weaver recontextualize these works and, in turn, provide a reminder that songs are living things. And if you’re looking for something to tide you over to Weaver’s next proper album, Loops in the Secret Society might just do the trick.

Ultimately, A Man I’d Rather Be (Part II) is best suited to those who may be aware of Jansch’s formidable reputation, and ready to begin some intensive album acquisition. Given the evidence provided by what’s heard here, that effort is certainly well warranted.

Martin and Taylor thoughtfully trace their own familial inroads on Hovvdy, and it never sounds less than courageous, not to mention so damn listenable.

Third is far and away the best, most punk thing in the Portishead catalog: a deeply transgressive album that bears a passing similarity to its predecessors but leaves most of the baggage behind in favor of a full-blown reset.

The album feels more like an EP of stray tracks and sketches than a proper follow-up to Rarity. However you classify it, the highs here are undeniably high.

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.

A little bit Sleaford Mods, a helping of The Fall and a dash of Pulp, the group craft smart vignettes of modern life with a confident, witty delivery across their debut full-length, The Overload.

In and of itself Truth Liberty & Soul is a fantastic performance. But better still, it provides a counterintuitively good look at what was special about Jaco.

A masterful sophomore disc on which every weak rhyme, guest and beat has been ironed out through months of hard work and several blown deadlines. [Oct/Nov 2005, p.120]

While his band has grown into a post-punk monster, Casey, too, has moved beyond his personal frets and frustrations and developed into a lyricist capable of clear and compelling commentary. He’s a voice worth listening to. It took a while, but thank goodness he found his way to the front of a band.

Suffice to say, then, if you’ve enjoyed the increasingly accessible path The Hold Steady’s taken over the last four years--and, frankly, if you like raising beers, pumping fists and yelling out choice phrases, how could you not?--then you’ll find Stay Positive nearly flawless.

Not every cut is a revelation, but when Shane is on, she’s on.

Buoyant, entertaining and lively.

Sleep Well Beast is anything but complacent and it doesn’t skew from the high-caliber rock and roll the band has been producing since day one.

Songs For Judy plays best if a listener can manage to ignore such contextual inequities and instead immerse themselves in the slice of time and space that the album brings to life.

Swift’s lyrics can still cut like glass or cast a spell. No matter what era she’s in, it’s the stories—more than anything else—that will always work the hardest. That’s why Taylor Swift is pop royalty. When she tells you she’s a mastermind, believe her.

Deafheaven is a ambitious heavy rock band, a gathering of innovative musical minds, and one of the very best guitar bands on Earth. Ordinary Corrupt Human Love is strong evidence of all three.

For now, Pecknold and his bandmates are important cogs in the indie-music scene - with a few more albums akin to Helplessness Blues under their belts, they may soon fit just as nicely into the canon of American folk music.

On Pompeii, Le Bon is direct and poignant, honing in on a polished sound while using classical, tragic influences to help her make sense of the urgent, unfurling present.

Exhilarating and complex enough to keep you warm year-round. [Aug/Sep 2005, p.108]

It’s a no bullshit record free of frills and fat; 11 songs that make their points powerfully and memorably.

Kozelek’s lack of reservation here is something to be begrudgingly admired, as his willingness to make yet another album that is solely for himself and those obsessive fans who want all the gory details of his past. For the rest of the world, there’s not much here to make any real connection with.

For diehard Elliott Smith fans, New Moon is an absolute must... For remaining listeners, it's merely instructive, sublime in parts but not solid enough or surprising enough or interesting enough, musically, to merit multiple listens. [May 2007, p.58]

This tender collection of stories and songs float and flit, at times reaching the grandiosity of a movie score, but they also suggest the kind of calm we crave in the midst of this hectic existence. Korkejian is a folk magician who knows how to harness the genre’s long history of acoustic storytelling and fold in something entirely her own. Her second studio effort does both, majestically and intelligently so.

This is a beautiful nightmare with no referent in pop and few in recorded-music history. [Jun/Jul 2006, p.131]

The songs on I’ve Got Me start simply, then bloom into playful complexity.

he has created an album of songs whose sounds and sentiments are much weightier than they appear on the surface, providing entry to somewhere much more wondrous and strange and troubling than it first appears. Semper Femina is a ticket for such a journey, one that provides practical insights but no easy answers.

The album sounds remarkably warm and alive and real; it feels like you can step on the bass lines, put the twinkling piano notes in your pocket or reach out and touch the pedal steel guitar parts.

It’s too early to say whether or not it’s better than Retreat from the Sun. But it definitely picks up where That Dog left off, delivering 11 pop-rock songs that are chunky in some places, lush in others and consistently resistant to settling into a tired pop-rock formula.

Hannah is another solid piece of output from a dedicated and thoughtful lyricist.

As a master wordsmith who believes in simplicity over all, he’s excavated the human heart, calloused pride and faltering dignity with a scalpel. On Picture, it’s all there.

It’s difficult to imagine another situation in which plinking pixie sounds, recurrent madrigal noises and radiant folk poetry could be categorically described as honking huge, but for all its girth, Have One On Me is packed with magic.

On Country Squire, his best release yet, he grapples with masculinity, family and the South in ways that feel entirely new, despite sounding really traditional. I’ll listen to his rocking chair tales any time.

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.

Underneath the orchestral flourishes and children’s choirs, beneath even the frequent textural shifts and melodic detours, are a set of melodies that find new ways to cut straight to the listener every time.

Mixing deathless classics (“Here,” “Gold Soundz,” “Range Life,”) with a few non-album gems (“Frontwards”), it’s a near-ideal primer on the savviest slacker-rock band ever.

The result is the most thoroughly engaging entry in the Dirty Projectors catalog and one of the most singularly engrossing albums likely to be released this year, a triumph in sustained creative restlessness.

The new songs on this already-strong collection only elevate the ceiling of Ware’s potential.

A vivid document not only of how far Wilco has come, but also of how distinct its vision has been all along. [Dec 2005, p.112]

Taking emotional truths and cutting to the quick, her razor-sharp sense of detail has never been sharper.

Walking Proof’s balanced blend of quirk, confidence and craftsmanship make it a 2020 standout, both within the sphere of Nashville’s rich music scene and without. The genre flexibility doesn’t hurt.

The trio has consistently blended their Nashville roots with classic rock and a stoner rock outlook in their previous albums without ever tripping over themselves and falling into a rut.

The most interesting moments of the album are when Pusha feels his way around the darkness instead of embracing it so willingly.

The only potential drawback to The Weather Station is that Lindeman’s mastery of rich melodies can sometimes overshadow her narrative lyrics. Her voice becomes another vital instrumental line in the pastiche, so it takes multiple alert listens (and ideally, a lyric sheet) to fully realize the album’s depth. Luckily, the album’s sweet, yet confident musicality encourages repeated spins

Powerfully, the evolution of the songcraft on Muchacho doesn’t arrive as a random left turn but instead progresses directly out of Phosphorescent’s own canon.

The indie vets consolidate their talents, channeling the eclectic scope of their live shows into a 78-minute demonstration of control, confidence and imaginative songwriting. [Sep 2006, p.72]

Despite a surprisingly visceral first listen, Chemistry reveals itself to be expertly crafted record with hidden subtleties at every turn.

One of Stumpwork’s greatest strengths is its tension between curiosity and apathy, opposing forces that clash throughout the album. Often, it feels like oblivion is winning.

i don’t know who needs to hear this… is grander than anything she’s done before, but rarely does it feel like a departure.

The record signifies the formidable maturation of Hughes’ career and pop prowess. Allie X can masquerade as the Girl With No Face all she wants—but there’s no hiding this album’s serious legs.

The two discs offered here brim with ideas, some more navel-gazing than others. [#16, p.143]

In an era of hype and hyperbole where such a word has lost its meaning, Old Ideas is in the truest sense a masterpiece.

The gentler surroundings encourage Finn to calm down and sing with a lilt of compassion. [Nov 2006, p.80]

Her catalog overflows with interesting and unconventional songs that nonetheless feel comforting and familiar. That’s a catalog worth celebrating, and Hell-On is a wonderful new chapter of Case’s career.

Romantic Piano is an endless reliquary of devotion, self-kindness and wonder; an impressive, beautiful third act for one of our most-daring and interesting songwriters.

This is a big-idea album in a way none of his work was before.

Two Hands does not dramatically depart from the mesmerizing folk-rock fusion of U.F.O.F., but its best moments emphasize the band’s gnarled electric energy, particularly on the career highlight “Not.”

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

Aggression doesn’t fully return until nine tracks later on the aptly named instrumental “Trolla Gabba,” and then again on the back half of the title track. These explosions are among the album’s most riveting moments, but you have to clear the muck before you get to the fireworks. ... That effort eventually proves worthwhile: Many of the musical risks pay off once you get accustomed to the songs. And despite her occasional failures, Björk still illuminates enough of her story to remain compelling.

Pound for pound, Stern’s latest offering is as urgent and electrifying as anything she’s managed in the 16 years since her disarming debut.

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.

On songs like these, she resists the temptation to play the spurned frontierswoman out for revenge. She’s a little wounded, a little scared, a little less of a caricature and a little more human.

Ultimately, it’s a credit to the band’s honesty and humility that even though they now find themselves on a higher plateau, they haven’t abandoned their rugged credo. One of their finest collective efforts so far--no small claim in itself--Volunteer clearly serves its purpose.

This Stupid World, the Hoboken trio’s first proper full-length in five years (not counting the ambient lockdown quickie We Have Amnesia Sometimes), is very good indeed, a dreamy and reflective song cycle that welcomes us into Yo La Tengo’s private world while leaving ample mysteries unexplained and secrets untold.

There’s a sense of purpose and forward motion on this record where old tracks had a feeling of circling in place until the tape eroded.

Here, they sound self-assured and steady, like a group that understands what they have and makes the most of it.

St. Vincent reaches, and while she doesn't quite find it throughout, listening to the reach is certainly more interesting than listening to an album that answers just one of the questions again and again and again.

The collection sounds like a deep dive into the ominous shuffling of Color’s outlier titular track, an ideal musical direction given the subject matter.

The Harrow & The Harvest is simply one of the richest, most expansive roots albums to be released in some time.

The tracks on async are more often gentle sighs of relief suffused with a reawakened wonderment at the beauty of simple sounds created by man made instruments and the natural world.

The cream of this set is the five full concerts captured at different junctions of the group’s existence. All are near perfect, breaking down with clarity how tightly controlled they approached live performance and elucidating how R.E.M. evolved from the jangle and fidget of Chronic Town to the agitated rock and lucid beauty of Accelerate. ... The set isn’t a complete picture of R.E.M.’s full evolution as it skips over the post-Reckoning years.

“one sick plan,” an acoustic performance presented through an intentionally lo-fi style that crackles like a demo and feels like a stick-figure drawing dropped into a pile of Picassos. It’s a good song, but an odd production choice. These are minor quibbles, of course, within the context of an otherwise brilliant work. basking in the glow is not only the fulfillment of the promise Lilitri showed on the yunahon mixtape, it’s one of the best pop-rock records of 2019.

The War on Drugs have continuously grown into fuller and more realized versions of themselves. I Don’t Live Here Anymore is fitting for their newest form: revered musicians with over a decade of quality music under their belts who never lost sight of the prize.

Carlisle’s third album doesn’t have the same sweeping scope as its predecessor, which was boisterous, messy and open-hearted on songs embracing a certain worldview: “Your Heart’s a Big Tent,” say, or “I Won’t Be Afraid.” In some ways, though, he digs deeper on Critterland, an album that is more about making the best of heavy circumstances.

Though High Violet lacks the front-to-back consistency that made Boxer such an unmitigated revelation, the new album's peaks absolutely rival Boxer's best tracks.

This is an emotionally multi-faceted album to luxuriate in.

The lack of universality to much of it keeps it from being the great album it wants to be, and some of the fascination seems to stem from 2013 celebrity culture obsession and speaks to the need to disappear from our own lives and become so wrapped up in the world of the rich and famous.

Hawley's empathic delivery reveals the indelible stamp these relationships leave on his protagonists' hearts. [Dec 2005, p.126]

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.

A preciously solemn soundtrack for blustery days. [Dec 2005, p.124]

Even putting aside his berserk, imagination-defying technical skill--he stays deep enough in the pocket to get lost there--there's not a wasted breath on R.A.P. Music.

On The Line, her best solo work to date, finds her trading chaos for peace and pain for parties. And West Coast rock combined with piano glam and Lewis’ lyrics makes for a most celebratory listen, indeed.

What the world needs now, more than ever, is an album as valiant and compassionate, satirical and sensitive as Pageant.

Crushing is the brave story of a woman--and an artist--coming into her own. Securing that agency, however, was no walk in the park. Jacklin clearly had to sort through mountains of wreckage to arrive here, but the album’s autobiographical nature is what makes it so affecting.

Only Bejar knows the logic behind his musical metamorphoses, but that doesn't mean we can't enjoy an album as smart and as beguiling as Kaputt.

It’s all danger and gangsters and loving the ladies when there’s a spare minute. Meanwhile, amidst the hootin’ and hollerin’, the soul will be sated, and saved.

When a band have been so focused on their brand for as long as Florence + The Machine have, it’s easy for them to box themselves in, muting their power; instead, Dance Fever is the sound of a band finding an escape route, rediscovering what makes them special.

She hones in on her emotional and sexual connections both to herself and others post-breakup. The truths Hackman discovers along the way, illuminated by songs both inventive and entrancing, are enough to make anyone want to be her human friend (or, at least, a rabid fan).

Mann has earned her reputation as a master songwriter on the coherence of her artistic choices. As in good short stories, every element in her songs works to support a single theme.

This is exactly the type of ambition you want to hear from a young band. After making such a peppy, instant classic debut, they weren’t intimidated by the thought of a Sunday stroll album, and they reached newfound emotional and sonic heights in making one.

This is their most listenable album, one that dials back the heavy-handed metaphors and overwhelming musical gloom for something more danceable and upbeat, though still dour as ever lyrically.

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.