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.

With its genre-agnostic, all-the-influences approach, Ricky Music is somehow Porches’ most cohesive album so far.

It’s primarily the tone and temperament that varies from track to track. It’s a superb sound, and that’s one of many reasons why ArrangingTime feels like time well spent.

Sure, there are a few moments of eye-roll inducing sap (the piano solos, dripping with emotive syrup at either end of “I’m not mysterious”) but, overall, this collection of love songs keeps the touchy-feely at arm’s length and sparkles with emotional honesty.

Like Stevie Wonder--who could throw together cloying ballads, funky grooves and reggae homages--Keys is willing to probe her oeuvre and now her own self for songs that resonate beneath the surface.

Chinese Fountain, while remaining true to the band’s “beach goth” essence, is blessedly direct, with sharper songwriting and engaging melodies at the center of every song.

While their symbiosis has helped make the Drive-By Truckers one of the most solid and successful indie-rock acts of the past 25 years or so, the band’s fans are the real beneficiaries. Even when the subject matter is as bleak as it can be on The Unraveling, the Truckers always have something to say that’s worth listening to.

After the Dream is full of evocative, abstract imagery.

If all of its parts can’t stand up to scrutiny, however, there’s conviction in the whole, enough to take Lamontagne one step deeper into the mystic.

Yes, he’s weird and he knows it. He’s wildly successful because of it rather than in spite of it. Teenage Emotions doesn’t have a defined aesthetic and feels like Yachty is still experimenting, and his refusal to rely on formulas is commendable for a 19-year-old overnight sensation.

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.

Despite its front-loaded tracklist and one song that sonically doesn’t fit (“American Canyon Sutra”), Tip of The Sphere is great for both the casually-interested listener or the seasoned listener looking for something to slowly melt into and later pick apart.

A deeply weird and deeply lovely record, albeit one that listeners should do their best to listen to with as few preconceptions as possible. A tall order, perhaps, but one that will help avoid disappointment.

Your reaction to No Waves--a titular nod to the extra-confrontational New York City punk-rock offshoot of the late-’70s--likely depends on your tolerance for passages of grinding noise and musical experimentation for its own sake. If that’s your thing, Gordon and Nace power their way through this 35-ish minute set with impressive ardor, and no shortage of ability.

Mostly, it’s just an intense record, one that beckons listeners to sit down with the liner notes and lyrics, much like the canon of poetry off of which it’s based.

Albums four and five are stocked mostly with inessential fluff that fans will cue up one time and promptly forget exists.... The true value here rests in the remastering. Page’s production on the original LPs remains unimpeachable, but these reissues give the tracks a subtle sheen.

The tone on History Books is less frenetic and more reflective. It’s the work of a band that has arguably outgrown the fiery intensity of youth without losing the passion that made the Gaslight Anthem so compelling in the first place.

With The Drop Beneath, Eternal Summers aren’t pushing the envelope in the same sense that some of their peers are, but that’s not a bad thing. They don’t need to.

Half of the tracks on World Of Joy don’t even crack three minutes. It certainly validates the album’s garage-punk ethos, but at the same time, it barely gives Howler enough time to prove itself on its second album.

Although the highs are as high and electric as ever, the softer, slower moments take a little bit longer to come around to, sanding down instead of expanding on the album’s scope. The best parts of the album, particularly in the first half, illustrate the different kinds of dread gnawing at Rosenstock in straightforward yet colorful detail.

Put together in one tidy and creepy package, Paranormal does the near-impossible: offering something of worth for fans of his ‘70s output, those folks that clued in once Alice popped up in Wayne’s World and those newly minted fans who were welcomed to his nightmare on his recent run of tour dates. There’s almost no other rockers of Alice’s vintage that could pull of such a feat.

All in all, Art History is a safe, solid debut effort from a band in the process of defining their sound.

The Hanged Man, despite some of its thinness and unevenness, is still a great record.

More weirdness would’ve given the album some welcome variety, though likely at the expense of potency. Given the facts on the ground, that’s a tradeoff our heroes just weren’t willing to make.

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.

This is an artfully conceived and executed, heartfelt and evocative work, and I suspect it's precisely the kind of album Garvey and his mates wanted to make, and in the U.K. - where it was released in early March - the reviews have been uniformly rhapsodic.

Vic Mensa’s new album, The Autobiography, is a lyrical, plainspoken hip-hop record that successfully taps into early-2000s alternative as it dissects Mensa’s personal struggles and larger social issues.

They highlight Mogwai's biggest stylistic trademarks, and little else-the ambient drone and the electric guitar crashes that break its spell, and the waves of sound that evolve from carefully crafted crescendos. So while the final cuts are cohesive, they're also tight-lipped-safe.

As good as they are stepping into that spotlight, it’s hard not to wish they’d plumb the darkness even further.

The opening half of Food for Worms is split between exhausting punk ragers and introspective indie-rock numbers. ... With Food for Worms, Shame does manage to reach new heights on the closer, a winding, Glastonbury-sized anthem entitled “All the People.”

Soundtracks are often merely time capsules of their era, and Barbie The Album captures the bounce, bravado and occasional bad moods of 2023 in technicolor.

Ultimately, Everyday Robots just sounds like another great album from one of pop music’s most fearless sonic chameleons.

The tape hiss and overall lo-fi production values initially make Don't Act feel like a backward enterprise, failing to build upon Pigeons' kaleidoscopic scope. But in many ways, this is the most accomplished collection of songs Temple has put forth, even if it takes some time to account for the awkward adjustment.

It’s All Just Pretend offers a steady balance of romanticism and reality, even if the music doesn’t stray past safe styles.

There are not a lot of surprises; White Reaper mostly stays in its lane, risking redundancy on some lesser tracks (“Daisies”). But the hooks are relentlessly strong.

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.

Even with a few skipable tracks, though, Of Monsters and Men bring an Icelandic exoticism and captivating energy to U.S. audiences on My Head is an Animal.

Whether all our efforts on this dying world will be for naught is an open question, but Silverbacks bear witness nonetheless on Archive Material, advancing their craft even as the ship sinks beneath their feet.

From a conceptual standpoint, Darnielle has achieved an exclusive analysis of the brooding would-be darkwaver, though the brilliance of the inside jokes could fall on deaf, pale ears here.

Lonerism expertly balances heady textures with effortless melodicism.

Lidell’s voice easily shifts from soul melisma to a more gruff, linear style, although several amped-up numbers (“You Are Waking,” “Gypsy Blood”) feel inert. Luckily, most of the album sticks to the kind of warped romantic confections and wild, simmering vamps he does best.

Her ability to make music feel tactile is one of her greatest strengths, and Perfect Shapes is tangible from start to finish.

Snapshot of a Beginner wants to have fun, whether through the swaying, airy scheme of its most danceable tracks or the up-tempo noodling of its energetic ones. Finding greater artistic value in the weirdness is a bonus.

Before you know it, 87 minutes have gone by and you’re not quite sure what to make of it all, but you’re ready to listen again. For that, Tool are to be commended. If nothing else, the band have given us an album that could very well keep us occupied until its next one arrives sometime around the year 2032.

Work sometimes lacks variety, but the mostly unrelenting, feel-good rhythms and sweet vocals are sure to get your head bobbing.

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

While inspired by numerous corners of art and creation, the influences seamlessly blend into a cohesive and thoughtful tracklist. The imperfections and hinderances embraced by the band allowed for their boldest project to date.

The project is much more avant garde than their previous records, with their greater abundance of catchy hooks and hits. They find comfort in psychedelia, ‘70s folk and the simple things in life. Five albums into their career, Grizzly Bear show that they still know how to nail the dichotomy of beauty and tragedy.

[Dr. Dog is a] more than capable rock band that puts out reliable, if slightly underwhelming records, and Be The Void doesn't make too strong an argument for the contrary.

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

Whether it’s Timony’s perplexing lyrical delivery, unconventional rhythms or some instrumental surprises, every song on Untame the Tiger induces some head-scratching, more often to its benefit than not.

Coldplay is always going to be warm, nostalgic, melancholy, pleasant, innocent and good. They’re as much a warm word and an arm around the shoulder now as they were when they first showed up.

Mirrorland is a southern hip-hop (specifically Atlanta) record through and through, and some of the references (“I’m flying down 285, but I’m so focused” from “Top Down,” for example) may go over the heads of listeners outside of Georgia. But its eclectic jazz and funk production serves as a great introduction to the new class of rappers on the come up since OutKast.

This sonic diversity isn't a new thing for Ty Segall, but the way that Goodbye Bread reveals itself shows a marked increase in thoughtfulness when compared to the San Francisco psychedelic songwriter's previous five albums.

Backwater might just reel in listeners strongly enough that they take deep dives into each and every track individually. And even then, Kllo’s mystery remains intact.

Genre-bending but with a common gothic ambience throughout, Gemma Ray is equal parts story teller and musician as she skillfully intertwines a diverse collection of 12 independent chapters in the form of songs that stand strong individually, but intensify when put together.

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

Loveless has a massive, powerful voice that she uses to great effect, though the effect is even greater, and hits even harder, when she blends it with a measure of restraint instead of going full-bore all the time.

It may not be his best record, but it absolutely reaffirms why his craft is so vital.

The singer has crafted an album that unfolds like a film: it’s brisk, self-contained and a little mysterious, and catchy enough to revisit again and again.

Antartica might fall short of the punk-pop immediacy of debut album cuts like “Motorbike” and “Goodbye Texas,” but it’s another fortifying garage punk record, hellbent on trying to shake you out of your shoes. After two punk stunners, this Los Angeles trio has every right to apply “caution hot” stickers to their guitars.

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

There might be more substance musically than lyrically on Sheezus. But even the album’s flashy pop is missing some of the bells and whistles of her previous work.

Shelter may be a bit low key for some people’s liking. It’s more a Sunday morning record than one to affect a party vibe on Saturday night. Yet, when bit of solace is sought in the twilight time that follows, this Shelter provides a most pleasant respite.

Everything is likable, and that’s the formula for successful pop. But ultimately, this is the kind of polarizing release that will see the indie purists drawing a line in the sand as to what they’re willing to call their own moving forward.

A solid collection of songs that show Veirs for what she is: a reliably consistent, sometimes inspired, singer and songwriter.

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.

What keeps every song on Touch so engaging is how they all change moods at the drop of a hat.

The Lemonade Stand is a good country album just about any way you spin it.

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.

Sure, it's beautiful on its own, but without any visuals (that is unless you create your own), LUX meanders while the listener potentially zones in and out.

At its peaks, it is capacious, melancholy and beautifully indicative of the human desire for connection and meaning. It is also, at times, simpering and molasses-y, when Savage has proven he knows how to succeed without shackling himself to those tropes. When it burns low, its ashes are suffocating—but when it flares, it blazes high.

The album is full of thoughtful, artfully crafted lyrics wrapped in memorable hooks that should stand the test of time. What’s missing is the experimentation that was Wilco’s hallmark until "Sky Blue Sky."

They’ve followed up a cult-fave album (or in this case, two) with an effort that preserves the band’s strengths while also showcasing artistic growth and illuminating a path forward.

Do Hollywood is a stylistically complex album. This fusion creates instrumentation that allows lyrics that would normally sound too simplistic to sound just right.

Plumbs current indie folk and country, with varying degrees of success.

There’s something about Griffin’s trilling pipes ricocheting through this vast and timeworn sanctuary that paints the album in an otherworldly, eternal hue as she dips deeply into gospel traditions.

While Beatopia is an imperfect record, it is a level up strong enough to show something great on the horizon.

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.

Morbid themes aside, Beneath the Eyrie is the most vibrant and alive of the three albums The Pixies have recorded since reemerging in 2004.

IGOR is a commendable, yet flawed album, one that further challenges what we can and should expect from a rap album in 2019.

Any new Total Control music is worth having in the world, even if, as Laughing does, it feels like the group is holding back somewhat.

Lyrically, Buckingham-McVie isn’t nearly as caustic or wistful as the band’s ’70s material, but the songcraft is still there all these years later.

In the end, California Nights has a powerful sound, and some of the catchiest songs Cosentino has ever written. It also lacks the celebration of amateurism that made Best Coast so relatable in the first place.

Bell House is a slight work--10 tracks in about 23 minutes--but its songs feel sturdy, as if they’re anchored by DIY ethos and a solid rhythm section.

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

The songs really serve as a backdrop for Randolph’s musical prowess. Designed to work for frat kids, fest-goers and other party people, in the end, what matters is the way he plays.

The slower, longer songs tend to drag. But at their best, Admiral Fallow will make listeners want to eat some haggis, chug a pint and channel their inner Braveheart-inspired Scottish nationalism.

The majority of I Had A Dream just doesn’t stick as deep, brushing past in a breeze of strained vocals and intricate arrangements.

The band’s seventh full-length is meat-and-potatoes arena rock polished to a gleaming sheen (thanks to producer Mike Elizondo), wrapped around huge hooks and intercut by Foreman’s incisive, discontented lyrics, which almost always manage to translate sentiments rooted deeply in faith to universally relatable choruses.

At times the album approaches the realm of an epic much like Explosions in the Sky and Arcade Fire are able to easily produce, but because of the compact feeling of the songs, the approach falls short at times.

It’s great headphone music.

The largely self-produced Balm in Gilead plies a folksy yet soulful jazz-country sound that showcases both her inimitable voice--with its playful meter and peculiar grain--and her studio prowess.