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

This particular setlist was thoughtfully curated to engage his devoted listenership, who, at this show, sang along to his lyrics in sublime, chill-inducing unison. This live record heedfully honors a legendary venue, beloved songwriter and an evolving South.

World Peace is None of Your Business may not pack the same jangly punch as Bona Drag, Your Arsenal or even You are the Quarry on first listen but its slight idiosyncrasies within the Morrissey catalog end up being very rewarding on repeated listens.

Black City overall is lean and upbeat, and Dear's gift for making an arrangement jump within snug confines continues to evolve.

At nine tracks, there’s not a flop in the bunch, making Uncle, Duke, & The Chief an extremely likable return to form from an extremely likable band.

Ultimately, Black Friday is a constantly modulating love song to the very human experience of clinging to other people, but through her sharp writing, Kempner offers insight on how to rely on ourselves when everyone else leaves: “Nothing worth loving ever sticks around / But you.”

He's not the only one channeling the greats, but he does it better than almost anyone else today.

Nothing Was the Same is ugly, yes, but cathartic.

Be the Cowboy shows why she is fast making herself into one of the most interesting songwriters of her generation.

With the help of producer John Hill (Phantogram, M.I.A., Wavves, Shakira) Cummings and guitarist/co-founder Joshua Hubbard (The Paddingtons, Dirty Pretty Things) weave guitar lines together into a glassy meshwork that sparkles with clarity while retaining the grit and jangle the lyrics call for.

Finding a strong balance between art and slick, Parton continues walking a line of what people expect and her heart. She just gets better with age.

While the band isn’t immune to occasional aimlessness on tracks like “Sub Rosa” and “Heat,” their debut album should be praised for what it is—a strong record with memorable melodies, lovely vocals, impactful lyrics and some of the best guitar playing you’ll hear this year.

Like Bodies and Control and Money and Power, the LP thrives on an economy of force and purpose.

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.

Currents is probably Eisley’s most calculated and complete full-length album to date, and one that takes the band’s obvious desire to experiment and expand on their sound (which was already quite evident in their 2011 album The Valley) to the next level.

If Codes and Keys started at track 7 and kept the momentum going, it could be a great record. Instead it's a good one with great moments from a band that's clearly getting better with age.

If Myrkur is a black metal artist, “Crown” is the sound of her pushing and pulling hard on the genre’s boundaries. The strongest stretch of Mareridt, however, is three songs on its back end. First up is “Funeral,” a swirl of blackened sludge that moves at the pace of, well, a funeral procession.

A gritty girl dug in, she embraces her Bob Dylan overtones (the harmonica on “My House”), Roy Orbison steel cry and mariachi Eagles-tinge (“I Miss You”) and a tumble of revival slap ’n’ stomp (“Stupid”). This is no conventional pop-country supernova.

Again addressing themes of geographical and emotional isolation, Threadbare sounds like a band trying to find its place in the world, whether on land or at sea.

Moving in this decidedly uncommercial new direction is a bolder step, which proves him to be the sincere and genuine artist that his biggest fans always knew he was.

It's encouraging to know both that Portugal. The Man has not lost sight of themselves despite their successes and that their new home at Atlantic will be one that fosters the creative vision the band has become known for.

Their debut promises the possibility of future growth that could find the duo carving out a very fun, well-earned niche.

Throughout, Stone maintains her soulful vocals without resorting to diva histrionics.

Like most of her work, McKenna’s latest is a family-centered collection of rootsy folk songs, and as usual, she finds profundity in the ordinary moments of everyday life. McKenna’s attention to detail, and the way she makes universal sentiments suddenly, and piercingly, specific, are why her songs are special enough to have earned the deep respect of her fellow folk singers, and to have caught the ear of the big-ticket country stars who have recorded them.

In short, it's a modern blues record that even non-blues fans can love and that blues fans can outright cherish.

[The song] "Rize of the Fenix" is so powerful, so perfect, so representative of what these guys do well, what follows is almost sure to pale in comparison. Luckily, the highlights keep on coming.

Far more than just a curator and tasteful interpreter of others’ material, Lovett once again proves he can stand alongside the finest storytellers.

What La Luz have going for them on their second album is a willingness to crank down the tempos to a sexy crawl that feel intended for bumping and grinding rather than shimmying or frugging.

Night Fiction does feel like a fully realized reflection of its creator’s mercurial disposition.

In keeping with the understated, meditative quality of the lyrics, Principe pushes his voice to notes of particular emphasis but conspicuously avoids the acrobatics that might otherwise attract attention: rarely does anything so lovely appear so unassuming.

El Camino is yet another ear-pleasing installment in the catalog of a consistently impressive band.

Although the band has put an emphasis on slowly releasing single songs, the album feels like its own focused piece, and not just 13 different studio tracks, and Oceania very much sees Corgan and company settling into album, not single, territory.

The Montreal quartet is mostly successful in this balancing act, delivering a handful of thematically-obtuse pop missiles heavy on reverb and guitar, with trademark synths still lurking low in the mix.

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.

Back Being Blue may reflect a sadder state of mind, but there’s no denying that it still shines all the same.

Tell Me feels genuine and unpretentious throughout, setting the tone for a night of cathartic, misty-eyed introspection.

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

The results--as evidenced by such songs as “Gwennilied,” “Aom” and “Koad”--are lush, lovely and inspirational, all exquisite examples of sublime repose simulated through delicate, dreamlike designs.

It’s a bold direction that’s not always easy to pursue successfully in the world of music, but Jim James is sure off to a good start.

Combs has shared that timeless quality since his first record and Canyons Of My Mind is an assured and accomplished continuation of that.

What matters are the travails we endure to appreciate goodness. Life on Earth is a journey through the former toward the latter, and a dazzling shift from Hurray for the Riff Raff’s roots to their present.

Radio Red is a crystalline, shimmering pop enterprise that dares to ask what a project might look like when a synthesizer takes a backseat to a career-defining vocal performance. It’s a signal that what’s next for Laura Groves is sure to be another marvel just as mythical, intricate and rewarding.

The whole thing is a bit ramshackle, but when he listens to his wife, Bad as Me is as good as anything Waits has ever done.

Dogrel is an album of tremendous ardor and vivid landscapes, and interspersed with an Irish underdog spirit, Fontaines D.C. are nearly untouchable.

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.”

A new level of vulnerability from Florence Welch and deft, atmospheric production from Emile Haynie (Lana Del Rey) makes High As Hope another album of cathedral-filling, mountain-moving sound, with Welch’s vocals the main source of power.

Regardless of its wavering intent, though, even a CAVE compilation digs out a reasonably significant trench in underground music--one more deserving of attention than U2’s business practices or some producer’s first release in a decade.

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

Their sophomore album (following up last year’s Horehound) cranks the mojo up to 11, splitting time between inferno-grade blues-rock and grooves so swampy they practically emit wavy stink lines.

Desperation’s greasy, grimy garage rock sounds natural.

A Weird Exits can be a trying album, requiring the listener to tumble through several disorienting sonic rabbit holes. The reward, however, is emerging from the other side of this wild ride with stories and theories as to what exactly went down between the channels of your headphones.

They've always had a rich, full sound. But now, it's larger, more grandiose.

In lieu of memorable choruses, indie nerds will enjoy this disc of earthy space-pop as a complete experience without any aesthetic hiccups.

The result is a combustible album that doesn’t seek to recapture the band’s old spark so much as light a new one.

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.

It’s a better-than-solid album from a band that seems equipped to someday make a classic one.

Fans that loved Tourist History, prepare your mp3 player; this will be your favorite album. But if you haven't already fallen for TDCC's dance-ready, bright-voiced Irishmen, you won't find love here.

There’s no room for filler here; momentum carries on and roams wide but never eases.

The record is arresting and unnerves in a way only possible from personal anecdotes as opposed to Poem’s parables—it doesn’t speak for everyone, like a fable might, but it does speak for a lot of people.

At 14 tracks long, there are a few songs on Hardly Electronic that feel superfluous. But that’s a minor quibble, especially since we’ve been without new music from The Essex Green for a dozen years. ... And now, Hardly Electronic is here, and it more than makes up for lost time.

The production of Black Crowe Chris Robinson lends grit, but is never intrusive, letting the scruffy melodies and jigsaw-puzzle interlocking of these stellar voices do the heavy lifting.

What’s particularly striking here is how Rose matches credence with confidence. Her voice, a gentle and unassuming croon, gives her material a quiet caress, making them effortlessly engaging each time out.

If Last Summer shut the door on Friedberger’s former knack for erratic musicianship and off-the-cuff arrangements, Personal Record slides the bolt firmly in place.

With Actually, You Can, these four individuals have created a celebration of human possibilities and one of their best records to date.

Whatever: just?listen to the damn disc.

It’s a Giving Tree scenario, spun out with strings and a subdued power-ballad build, and it sets the stage for the worldly decay catalogued throughout (a)spera with the help of several gifted collaborators.

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.

Elastic Days is Mascis at his most playful and fun, further adding to one of the most accomplished back catalogues in the history of indie rock.

At 72 minutes, the album’s 16 tracks feel bloated and sluggish at times and the hip-hop contributions by A$AP Rocky and Playboi Carti are ill-conceived; reminiscent of Christina Aguilera’s tribute to a Marilyn Monroe poster, Back to Basics. But despite a handful of missteps, Del Rey continues to reinvent and redefine herself in new and captivating ways, and Lust For Life is just one more step in that profound and lovely evolution.

Drake’s consistent use of global beats and international artists carry the bulk of the weight throughout More Life. Elements of grime and British street culture, along with trap, Caribbean dancehall and Afrobeat give a warmth and freshness that keeps the mood brisk.

Inhabiting a space similar to Romy’s recent album Mid Air or Ibizan favorite Everything But The Girl’s “Miss You,” Sorry I Haven’t Called successfully melds confessional poetry with intricate dance sensibilities.

On this album, the music meets and sometimes exceeds those ambitions.

There’s a sense of self-affirmation found both lyrically and musically on this record as well; it’s as much about Grossi overcoming heartache as it is about his musical explorations.

This 13 track set sees the band tapping back into that essential ingredients of their core sound.

While expanding his sound, however, Nourallah doesn’t stray for too long from a core concern of his writing--how to move brightly through a crumbling world.

On The Hurry and The Harm, everything feels much more carefully crafted and well-thought-out than on some of his previous releases, so that every instrument has a very specific, and important, reason for being included.

A whisper, sigh, prayer and somehow catharsis, Roses balms life’s harshness.

There’s more consistent musical plasma coursing through the veins of II.

However you decipher the 1s and 0s, the songs comprising La Di Da Di are timeless vestiges of sound, and by that virtue alone are going to be around for a long time.

The music is possibly the duo's best, though it's a little uniform compared to their competing peak The Con, which had shrewder tunelets and weirder sonics.

It's more than just the counterpoint to electronic instrumental buzz-bands like Ratatat and Animal Collective; it's 68 minutes of intricate tension-building and release, with a keen eye towards the redemptive powers of contemplation--and nature sounds.

Though it rarely rises above a whisper, Van Etten's captivating vocals and Dessner's subtle production ensure that Tramp is never remotely sleepy.

It’s like the hangover lifted. He’s finally able to remove his sunglasses and nod to the light of true pop accessibility.

Tomorrow’s Hits, is almost unfairly possessive of a foretelling title, seeing as how vanilla some of the songs can come off sounding. The record, however, is an accurate chronology of a working band’s prolific devotion to feeding the muse.

It is, ultimately and unsurprisingly, a deeply angry and contentious album, yet one that glories in the act of musical collaboration.

Even songs which seem at first like throwaways take turns which end up redeeming their back-to-basics structure.

Lambert is an outlaw, and she’s also an album artist, and Wildcard proves she’s one who will be rebelling, experimenting and rocking the hell out for many years to come.

The music, however, remains sophisticated and rhythmically feisty (pun thoroughly intended) even when so thoroughly keyed down.

It’s their best album since The Suburbs.

Faith No More appears to have not only written a collection of songs that stand up to the lofty heights they set for themselves from past releases, in some ways they have exceeded them.

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.

The album won't blindside you or beat you over the head with anything - but it'll sure leave a mark.

If listening to Via makes you feel good, chances are Zedek is feeling good. Powerful stuff.

Catholic Action have broadened their palette far beyond the jumpy guitar pop of their debut. While adding faint touches of synth-pop, post-punk and art rock, they’ve managed to retain the exuberance that sets them apart.

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

No clutter, no retracing of steps, just 10 strong tunes that contrast but live together comfortably. In terms of the total package, it's right up there with Lerche's best work.

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.

Attractive Sin is a welcome throwback to an earlier era of underground rap.