Even though it doesn’t do nearly enough to distinguish itself from the band’s earlier albums, it’s an enjoyable enough listen that it’s not too hard to excuse its flaws.

For Sigur Rós, Kveikur is their most gloves-off release to date and they land the punch.

Until Ex Cops stumble upon a niche and make it their own, their career is going to be eclipsed by listeners hearing influence over innovation in their music.

It lacks the game-changing element of The Earth is Not a Cold Dead Place or Those Who Tell the Truth. Instead of pushing into new universes, they’re content to find a quiet corner in one they’ve already built. That being said, the craft involved is evident, and there’s an assuredness and polish to the compositions; the fingerprints of a veteran group.

Alabama Shakes don’t rock the boat necessarily, but by refining the formula, they’ve proven they can succeed with a model that has become all too easy to fail with in recent years.

For The Future’s Void, she’s traded in the tarnished grace and drug-ravaged ten-mile stare of her past life, but it’s not always such a fair deal for the listener.

Because of its contemplative nature, Crawl Space functions best as a deep listen rather than a casual playlist; while pleasant, its concentrated complexity requires attention to fully appreciate Teicher’s vision.

Ratchet isn’t an unqualified triumph. But the album doesn’t have to be perfect to be a success. Its highs are high enough that its lows can be forgiven, or forgotten entirely.

Generally speaking, where Black Panther succeeds most is in these moments where Kendrick blends South African and American sounds together.

There are moments on Julia where he succeeds in creating the important and honest music he wants to make. Of course, when you’re using a shotgun, you’re bound to hit something.

Honest is a good deal more middle-of-the-pack for a post-Yeezus 2014 than its creator wants to admit.

Feist is sounding her most directional in a decade.

The Ooz is an Archy Marshall hash, the strange scraps of his brain stewed into something unrecognizable and delicious.

Beach House’s new record 7, lives up to all the hype you can heap on it and more. 7 is massive and intimate, dense yet understandable, fresh yet classic.

The best release from one of the most exciting artists of the 2010s.

Little Fictions is another solid entry in the Elbow catalog.

It’s a truly overwhelming amount of a somewhat good thing.

Tell Me How You Really Feel peaks midway, on “Nameless, Faceless”. The album’s lead single, with its descending guitar notes and a Margaret Atwood reference, finds Barnett employing old tools to tackle a newsworthy social ill. It’s breathless and gutting, a short and sweet examination of sex and violence. It draws blood, but so does the rest of the album.

The vocals on You’re Nothing, however, are much more emotive and indicative of a newfound acknowledgement of the singer’s vulnerability as a frontman. The result is anything but sappy.

Highlights are everywhere if you give them time to reveal themselves.

Drunk continues Thundercat’s slow ascent; his most ambitious work yet, one that wants you take it as a whole so you can experience getting drunk alongside Thundercat and stumble through the streets at 3 AM.

More than ever, Willner’s own soul is put on display through his repurposing of sound, and what results is both synthetic and organic, both detailed and blurry, further cementing The Field’s reputation in the electronic ether.

There are no wasted notes, no wasted time, and nothing but the impulse to listen again.

Only the opening stanza of “Waitress Song”--in which a major label signee fantasizes about escaping heartbreak by assuming a romanticized working class identity--is outright egregious. The rest is just innocuous.

Her signature honest, unpretentious vocals shine through on each track, conveying her struggle with each note she sings.

This is music that moves the body along with the spirit, a damn fine step in the right direction.

With We Are The 21st Century Ambassadors of Peace and Magic, Foxygen is a breath of fresh air, reviving a vintage style of songwriting in a new and creative fashion.

Impressively condensed to under an hour, Cashmere’s thrilling tale of two MCs stands as a worthy achievement indeed. Musically, it holds up in the same way actual cashmere holds heat: better than most.