Overall, as far as debut albums go, Look A Little Closer is a great display of how much potential Levek has.

Even when Georgia sings about relationships, love, romance and all that standard pop music fodder, her lyrics tend to double as tributes to the joy of dance.

Vasquez certainly isn't tiring of this, as he's fine-tuned his sound even further so it reflects its influences, yet still allows him to chase his personal muses.

Rose Mountain is less adventurous than 2012’s sprawling Ugly, but it excels in its compactness.

The Night Sweats are at their best when the music reflects Rateliff’s own distinctive take on a musical style that has saved him, in more ways than one, from a less fortunate life. Tearing at the Seams doesn’t always reach those heights, but the music is exhilarating when it does.

Present Tense marks a further refinement and features a band continuing to keep itself restless and uncomfortable.

The upside is that they remain a compelling and unpredictable outfit even two decades into their career, but the downside is that What’s Your 20 is more or less redundant. These songs all sound so much better on their respective albums.

Yes, parts of this album are just plain bizarre. Day & Age isn’t as genius as "Hot Fuss," but it has enough merits to keep its makers hit-makers, albeit odd ones.

If that debut was an all-you-can-eat buffet of tight power-pop nostalgia, Tarot Classics is the savory after-dinner mint you snatch on the way out the door.

Shannon and The Clams’ latest record is a rip-roaring listen.

It finds Cronin stretching himself as a songwriter, taking risks in the arrangements and writing the best, most personal lyrics of his career. Just as importantly, Seeker finds him embracing a sort of sonic abandon that was lacking in his earlier work.

They opt to confound their listeners with reams of noise and feedback, making for a series of soundscapes that have songs and static constantly competing for attention.

Even with a slower string of songs on the middle of Side B, Highway Queen shows Lane as a growing artist and burgeoning force for women in country music.

It’s a passionate and pointed collection of songs with a sly sense of humor and a certain lived-in wisdom.

The People's Key is a return to immediacy after the arguably overlong concept album Cassadaga.

Ultimately, Just Because sounds like an almost-redefined version of The Belle Brigade, which is an impressive feat for a relatively new band. It’s just a little surprising that such a sad record can sound so blissfully blasé.

It's an ugly, beautiful, totally fascinating Christmas album, made by the only artist crazy enough to tackle the season in all its sprawling absurdity.

In its own gentle way, Shade nudges the audience to view Harris as an all-around musician, rather than as the consummate mood-setter she’s long been hailed as. It’s as close to an attention-grabbing gesture as we’re probably ever going to get from Liz Harris—but if that’s what this album is, it’s an attention grab that’s well overdue.

Overall, The Man Upstairs is an exceptionally well-conceived and well-executed project from Hitchcock and Boyd.

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.

Hour of the Dawn takes advantage of this laid-back vibe, challenging listeners to simultaneously breathe easy and rock out.

One can be a grower: The sleepy and skippable "Worship" (featuring an obtrusive duet vocal from Jose Gonzalez) finds Brun approaching a more accessible vocal territory-one annoyingly reminiscent of Feist. But it's a mostly stellar experience.

Burch has managed to find common ground between desire and determination and meld them with steady assurance.

Holland’s fourth--and perhaps best--album (featuring contributions from collaborator M. Ward and guitarist Marc Ribot) foregoes the smoky speakeasy atmosphere of 2006’s Springtime Can Kill You for a more contemporary roots sound, which provides a more evocative backdrop for her signature vocals.

This album doesn't stray far from the formula of their previous work, but it isn't disappointing. It goes down smoothly and will keep your toes tapping until the very last beat.

Downhome but polished, Parton and producer Kent Wells create an often pop-country gem that empowers as it punches country radio's cliches with a freshness that says "real country is more engaging than warmed over AC and AOR with fiddles on it."

Sonically, this is Fucked Up's cleanest album to date.

Mering sounds like she feels cornered by the current state of things and unsettled about our future. It is a testament to her skill and vision as a musician that she can make such circumstances sound so good.

In a world where machined dance fodder, rap-deckled pop and lumbering rawk dominates, a genuine article of soul music-especially one where the thick bass, tumbling Wurlitzer and bright guitars set the tone-is a joyous noise, indeed.

Where Eno falters, Byrne picks up the slack. In a first for the notoriously skeptical artist, Everything that Happens is cautiously optimistic, maybe even hopeful.

Musically, it’s wonderfully bad; conceptually, it’s just wonderful.

When It Comes takes risks, and while it could stand to take some more, there is something to be said for letting the most calculated risks stand out the most, and between Gavanski’s vintage pop/folk prowess, notes of experimentalism, and some sonic diversity, there is little doubt that this is a step forward for the artist after a more guarded debut.

More than just revivalists, the duo plays these decades-old styles like they never went out of fashion, which makes Invisible Girl a satisfying and strange record.

Jackson Browne fans will be extremely satisfied with this set, one that Browne himself must surely be smiling upon.

A Swollen River, A Well Overflowing is playful at its core, taking familiar images and refracting them or replacing them with changelings.

Song-wise, it’s as damaging and heavy and dark as anything he’s put out prior, and sneakily supports the idea that Osborne is no one-trick pony.

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

On Home Again, the young Kiwanuka proves that youth and wisdom are not mutually exclusive and his insights and talents, albeit still a bit raw, suggest great things to come.

The ship does not capsize; The Rhumb Line instead drops anchor as a solid debut that beckons refinement and experimentation further down its course.

There is certain clarity in Strange Diary that keeps the album cohesive, although it can become stagnant at times. The album’s slick production wards this off almost entirely, setting a strong foundation for Fein to recoup her poise.

As an exercise in exploring the various strains of left-of-center country and roots music, Years is spot on.

The length of time it takes to unfold challenges waning attention spans, but by revealing Standell-Preston’s drawn fangs early, it turns the listeners into willing victims.

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.

Souvenir never feels nostalgic. It’s too fast-paced, with only one song extending past three-and-a-half seconds. It’s too brisk, mechanical and brittle to deal in memories. The album shines when it delivers those high-octane moments of rock. These are no souvenirs; they’re gifts for the present.

Love the Stranger, Friendship’s first release with Merge Records, hits like a call out of the blue from an old friend, touching on the passage of time, its disappointments and humble victories, and the struggle to stay kind whether or not the world returns the favor.

None of the 11 tracks need skipping in this solid entry to the crew's discography. Fujiya & Miyagi have handcrafted another installment in their ongoing British beach dance party.

Even with the burden of sloppy crossover tracks, Paper Trail has enough standout moments for T.I.’s throne to remain secure for now.

It does manage to strike a balance between the stylish sass of post-fame Porches and the elegiac sulking of the act’s early era. It seems like Maine has finally found a sound that will continue to allow him to headline large venues, without coming across as a sellout. All Day Gentle Hold ! confidently lays the groundwork for a sustained Porches return.

Barrie is now a glistening, confident synth-pop act with tinges of folk, and the warm yet tentative hue that clouded Happy to Be Here is mostly gone.

He's certainly comfortable with the material, and his worn-leather voice conveys an unexpected tenderness that adds spirited desperation to opener 'Stop the World and Let Me Off,' gritty regret to ''Til I Get It Right,' and aching vulnerability to 'Help Me Make It Through the Night.'...The Sadies know just when to step forward or back, creating a general bootgazer ambience.

When We Stay Alive represents that rewrite, but it doesn’t sound revisionist—it sounds quite honest, and often stumbles over its own pain and anxiety as it trips towards healing. These imperfections, though, are what give the record character and a sharp personality.

On their twelfth full-length studio album, Twelfth, the Old 97’s dish up another dozen cuts of jagged roots-rock that further cement them as masters of the tunefully twangy.

It’s when Veronica Falls stick to their comfort zone that the most memorable results arrive.

It’s not necessarily an obvious headphone album, but--perhaps due to the lack of vocals--there’s a vast space in which to get lost, found and lost all over again.

Where Pure Heroine was her global, future-forward debut, Melodrama is the red-eyed, no-rules afterparty, where the lost and loveless go for comfort.

At its best, The Ruby Cord is able to convey as much story via the timbre of Dawson’s voice as it does through his verbose lyricism. Dawson brings no shortage of compelling narratives to this record, continuing Peasant and 2020’s propensity for song-length vignettes that thematically snap together when put in sequence.

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.

With the help of producer Joe Henry, Loudon Wainwright III has been excavating his own past, and he’s disgorged some hibernating gems from his first four albums, revisiting ghosts that haunted him 35 years ago.

For the Recently Found Innocent is a fantastic-sounding record, the production bringing to life the small details that make it more than a retread or homage.

Most of The Road from Memphis sounds like the work of a band that's spent years together, rather than a leader and a backup band.

72 Seasons is the sound of Metallica celebrating the past while simultaneously liberating themselves from the impossible burden of living up to their former excellence. They could have done a lot worse.

This Land proves Clark knows his way around a soundbooth, too, not to mention the news cycle. He’s a restless artist in the best way, and if he keeps chasing those kinetic blues, there’s surely only more good to come.

In Heaven somehow manages to rise above its easy reference points, finding subtle ways to impress in spite of its occasionally obvious methods.

In a world of quicker, faster, harder, it’s intriguing when songs spread out, taking their time to get to the point or create landscapes beyond the hook.

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.

In truth, Thank You Happy Birthday is at its best when the band doesn't beat us over the head with its angst and instead focuses on simply making music that sounds good.

In a world of machined beats, tuned vocals and committee songs, this is what honest living sounds like.

Now more than ever, the escapist quality of music cannot be underestimated. Little Dragon heartily delivers on that front throughout New Me, Same Us, opening the door to a candy-colored world where the beats are chill and every word is sung softly by Nagano.

With Longtime Companion, Sonny Smith shows himself to be a stylistic chameleon, never shedding his skin to change its color.

Experiencing The Other Side of the River without knowing the primary work would be like reading the footnotes in a history book and skipping the main text. But check out this well-intentioned, albeit overstuffed, collection after savoring the easy pleasures of River, and enjoy a flavorful chaser.

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.

Here’s betting their sophomore effort significantly expands Dogleg’s sound. Or maybe they spin too fast and break apart. Either way, Melee is a worthy debut for a very promising band.

Ultimately, Sea of Noise is a powerful testament to the unflagging power of music borne from faith and conviction.

What saves the thing is, well, Moore’s style is so ingrained that to some extent this really will start to sound more natural with time.

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.

Even if four of these five songs on State Hospital are just castaways not included on the next year's record, this EP still manages to flow just fine on its own.

Euphoric at its best and lightest moments ("Fairlane" sweeps listeners up with a bright, infectious melodic arc), quietly ardent when pressed ("Dear Alice" mines memories in the name of saving what was), the lack of flash reflects what it means to seek one's destiny in a place where the dream shrinks more and more each day.

Mary Gauthier is a natural-born yarn-spinner, and her latest album--an autobiographical account of childhood abandonment and failed reconciliation--is quintessential Gauthier: tender and pained, yet ultimately harmonious.

This is an album that's best enjoyed with a sweating Red Stripe, at least 95% humidity and an abandonment of cares.

The singer-songwriter’s poignant lyrics get lost in the same tempo and sound found in his past three albums, offering us songs that lack distinctiveness and originality-and all we’re left with is a shallow perspective on Yorn’s troubled soul.

There’s plenty of meat-and-potatoes rock and blues here for you to chow on and wash down with your favorite domestic beer.

Five Spanish Songs is clearly more than a mere genre exercise--it’s a respectful, and very much tuneful, tip of the cap from one songwriter to another, which transcends language.

Our Country: Americana II and its predecessor, along with Davies’ 2013 memoir Americana, offer an outsider’s perspective on the beauty and peril of America, a land of confounding contradictions. Davies doesn’t judge, he simply tries to understand. Maybe seeing ourselves through his eyes will have a similar effect on us.

There’s a subtle, but detectable, undercurrent of joy here—not in the subject matter, but in the music itself, as if each song represents a little burst of gratitude shared among the musicians who made it. That Wilco can still summon that sense of buoyancy on their 11th album should be gratifying to listeners, too. It’s a sign that the band continues to grow and evolve, which makes these songs a fitting ode indeed.

The album’s best moments come from his willingness to push the envelope--which is promising for what’s to come.

While they still, ahem, swim in highly populated waters alongside Local Natives and king fish Sufjan, here Freelance Whales have made a strong argument for their crucial place in the current pantheon.

It's clear that Braid, after having been a band for more than a decade, have never sounded more like one.

Silver Bell is generally best when it’s quietest, when Griffin’s vocals don’t have to compete with a denser sound.

While the arrangements are lush, they don’t get too overbearing or massive to take away from the lyrics. Fans of artists like Elliott Smith and Grizzly Bear will likely enjoy Shauf’s music, but overall Shauf really comes into his own on The Party.

The sound quality is iffy, the track list is scattered and someone has a really annoying laugh, but there’s a sense of magic underpinning this inadvertent live album that captures Alex Chilton performing an acoustic set at the Knitting Factory in New York in 1997.

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

Uptempo numbers like the aforementioned are the strength of New York Before the War, though there are a few subtle moments that are equally rewarding.

The songs on The Ballad of Darren are measured and contained. In fact, the calm gravitas which pervades the record occasionally plods. Perhaps it’s a meta-commentary on the album’s subject matter, or, perhaps, it’s just hard to make new music for 30 years straight. Yet, there is a relief that is interspersed amid the LP’s gloom that arrives on more high-spirited, familiar tracks that are reminiscent of the group at their spiky-haired zenith.

Trouble sounds like Hospitality showing how the addition of a little more edge and disparity to their sound makes them no less inhospitable.

She makes daring moves on A New Reality Mind, but with a stronger push, the whole album could be a daring statement, too.

VanGaalen is very good at making eccentric, homespun indie-rock records, and with Light Information he has made yet another.

With Jump Rope Gazers, The Beths add new layers to the sound they began establishing two years ago, and those layers are as touching as they are revealing.

The album is split up between the predictable pop-punk energizers that made 2010’s King of the Beach a pleasure, and a new avenue of slower, resolute tracks that lean on their lyrics. Williams, though, is not exactly a belletrist, nor does he try to be, and the words do function, proving to be revealing, dark and honest.