Prima Donna may not stand up to the unfettered brilliance of Summertime ‘06, but it was never supposed to. Instead, it tells us just a bit about Staples’ scope as an artist.

With each album Real Estate has sharpened this process, making Atlas both immediately recognizable and their most interesting album to date.

My Krazy Life is in essence a retooling of GKMC, and YG comes out, unexpectedly, as a talented and believable vessel for the story that the album tells to express itself.

Though Body Music contains only one true misfire (the immediately forgettable “Kaleidoscope Love”), the album’s strongest tracks glow so bright that fine songs such as “Diver,” “Lost and Found” and “Bad Idea” can get lost in their shadow, at least on early listens.

All told, there’s more flaws here than there is greatness. But with each of Tribe’s albums up until now, it’s pointless to dissect it track by track when really, it should be taken as one, singular groove (made up of smaller grooves).

So what has five years changed? Not much, in the best possible way. More smooth soul commentaries on sensuality and longing, more time shaped melodies and movements. The differences between their Woman and Blood are the subtle groove changes.

Uchis’s voice possesses a bit of that wooden Winehouse timbre, but it comes out the same way Uchis does everything else, leisurely. Its slight lilt sometimes puts her out of tune, yet the imperfections play very much into Isolation’s outsider status.

No Home of the Mind fits the bill as the best ambient record so far in 2017.

It’s a better seasoned Feast of Love, yes. But when the wagon still has wheels, it’s hard to knock them for continuing to ride it. It’s still as smooth as it’s always been.

Overgrown is not the enigma that was his debut, but rather it is a first-rate album from a musician that isn’t all that interested in being enigmatic.

On Green Language, we witness risks. We listen anxiously as Rustie bets a Brinks truck on his emotional wherewithal, and that bet pays out exponentially.

Once a few months pass and the buzz has died down, this will no longer be a groundbreaking album about the complexities of modern relationships. It will just be another very good album.

As Speedy Ortiz prove here, sometimes it takes insightful, clever and slightly juvenile truths built upon a wall of screeching, occasionally discordant pop to have a good time.

It’s rare that a record comes along that so boldly states its own greatness, and it’s rarer still that such an album actually lives up to that promise. Wise Up Ghost does.

[“The Bus Song” is] Unpretentious and thoroughly enjoyable indie pop/rock; expertly crafted. Nothing on the album comes close to it, even though there are moments.

They’ve evolved certain factors of their sound and ventured into new territory, but AM is not so much a change of direction as it is an affirmation of all the musical elements that made the band exhilarating to begin with--inspired lyrics, screeching riffs and great melodies.

This is the kind of album you might find yourself less inclined to play all the way through than scroll through the tracklist and queue up songs at will, but there’s enough great music here that you could have a new favorite song every day.

It’s simply, as mentioned, unpretentious, unassuming, and crucially, good music.

This is a staggering return to form for the Glaswegian quartet, the sound of Franz Ferdinand coming home after a four year long absence--with the right thoughts, the right words, and the right album.

In the show’s context, this soundtrack is a solid A. Evocative, thrilling, and dynamic, it’s everything you could possibly want from a TV score. On its own, it’s one of the most refreshingly forward-thinking electronic releases of the year, even if the tracklist could use some cleaning up.

What makes The Healing Component most compelling lies in the confidence behind its explorations, Jenkins probing various subjects and, oftentimes, coming to less formal conclusions and more open-ended questions.

What Avalanche may lack in immediacy, it makes up for with the gloss and professionalism that coats each of its songs like a gossamer gown. The quality of Hannibal’s handiwork and the sheer passion of Coco’s vocals speak for themselves.

Like Wilson before him, Ocean has delivered a non-commercial pop curio that now and then slows down to focus on an idea long enough to form a “complete” song, or not.

The Electric Lady is mostly a classic R&B and soul album, sprinkled with some torchy jazz and gospel, and a star-dusting of Ziggy-era Bowie.

All in all, Parton and his collaborators cumulate a muscular and even touching evocation of simply being rattled by the rush--happily.

Acid Rap is the summer action blockbuster of mixtapes, where the audience need not dig much deeper than the surface to enjoy the best of what the production has to offer.

The songs rock and are well written and that’s enough.

It’s Album Time is a lock-tight demonstration of how crucial time is in the cultivation process. As a result, Todd Terje curated one of the most enjoyable albums that will cross our desk this year.

Seeds isn’t TV on the Radio’s strongest album, but it is a radiant reboot, a move forward and a reason to move.

RR7349 proves that Stranger Things was no fluke. Survive are clearly still in the process of perfecting their “analog equipment meets digital-age songwriting” sound, but for the first time in their career, I think they’ve come close to achieving that perfect harmony.

Space Gun is one of Pollard’s best. ... Unlike almost all the rest, there is virtually no filler here.

Although Beal has demystified his sound, the notion that Nobody Knows is more a passing sight than a rest stop is pretty unshakeable.

Slime Season 3, while still with its flaws, is the perfect introduction to those wondering just where the hell popular hip-hop has come, gone, and will soon go in the snowballing south.

Both Doris and The Sun’s Tirade are filled with sleepy beats, are overly long, and while Earl Sweatshirt sounded mechanical and detached through most of that album, Isaiah Rashad has yet to really develop his persona/presence.

For as commanding and affecting Burn Your Fire for No Witness can be while it plays, the album remains elusive when trying to call it to mind later.

Tales of You is all rather beautiful, but also rather quiet.

Time will tell if this record is a blueprint for a new way or something significantly less. For now, it remains one of the most compelling genre albums of the early year.

Beneath its well-produced cacophony, Girls in Peacetime Want to Dance is an emotional and intelligently bruised work.

Minor sonic updates don’t entirely compensate for the lack of deep cuts, but it’s hard to fault Depression Cherry for playing to Beach House’s well-established strengths.

Compton is an exceptional, big-budget rap album up-and-down.... Although fat definitely needed to be trimmed from this animal, it’s humbling to know Dre hasn’t let his ego get the best of him musically.

It is an album that needs to be experienced in its entirety, but in the age of remixes, the blogosphere, and Adderall, who will have the time or patience to dig into Impersonator? Those who do will find parts of it beautiful and rewarding, if they can stomach the emotional drain.

Aitchison intelligently pairs her clever lyrics against beats that push genres outward, her filling in the spaces with her hooks and gigantic personality.

As a whole, Lesser Evil can be a lot to take in: it’s hyperactive, unstable, and disoriented. Most of the time it feels like all three at once. Yet Doldrums’ ability to hop genres with ease, write catchy melodies, and--above all--sound like he’s having fun doing it renders his place unique in an overcrowded genre, and his debut a promising one.

For a band that creates as rabid of fans as Beach House, this b-sides collection is a welcome addition to one of the best independent catalogs this decade.

Fear of Men have arrived with a storybook in hand, one detailing personal pain with vivid, gentle clarity that should elevate it above any accusations of coyness.

The height at which Oxymoron’s target is set is not very impressive, but the precision and showmanship with which it’s hit deserves commendation.

Plunge is a worthy addition to Dreijer’s career discography, and fans of Fever Ray and the Knife are sure to enjoy it. It’s an energetic and erotic record that may very well soundtrack some of the freakier parties you attend this fall. Still, it doesn’t capture the full scope of Dreijer’s ambition.

The title may be a little hyperbolic, but what it lacks in realism it makes up for in groovy new-wave guitar licks, other-worldly instrumentation and production par excellence.

Taiga is better-produced and differently arranged than 2010’s “Poor Animal,” but it’s no more or less “pop.”

Nothing Was the Same is filled with beats that are a joy to listen to and Drake often has worthwhile things to contribute. But, more and more, his confidence is getting the best of him.

Lazaretto will likely have little impact on his legacy one way or the other, but it’s a solid addition to his catalogue.

While it’s no masterpiece, Pure Heroine is unique and engaging enough to keep the conversation going.

A harmless, infectious rock record that channels the sounds and concerns of a more innocent, less technologically complicated time.

Strangers isn’t bottled lightning like The Moon & Antarctica or The Lonesome Crowded West, nor does it contain a magnitude 9 single like Good News or Ship, but its unwieldy stature and combative stance compliments Modest Mouse’s storied discography.

While the subsequent inconsistency may hold The Worse Things Get back from greatness, it does make it honest, and when it comes to art I’ll take honesty over consistency any day.

The only issue is that some tracks are slightly overlong, and the trio of short interludes feel unnecessary--threatening to pull you out of the moment and stifle the gradually escalating sense of euphoria. This is a small complaint, however, given the consistently infectious hooks and melodies, and the manner in which it brilliantly and wistfully evokes rose-tinted memories of the lost Golden Age of dance.

Nothing on The Far Field is comparable to the sheer synthpop perfection of “Seasons (Waiting On You)”, but few things are, and Future Islands prove on this release that they have some serious staying power.

This can’t hold a candle to Late Nights: The Album (was anyone expecting it to?), but it’s one of the better mixtapes released this year.

What truly works is the band’s commitment to the skeletal framework of their music, Thomas’ authoritative picking coupled with Hamilton’s lilting voice, a sultry whisper that conveys desolation and wistfulness, both of which play major roles in many of these songs.

It’s light, jangly, and just right for the summer at the end of this wintry tunnel.

Where the first half of the album is strong but routine, the back half finds mixed but more interesting results.

It’s all bolder, fuller, and, well, better.

The main two highlights are the strutting “Mandy Cream” and the bass-heavy closer “The Magazine,” with rapid-fire handclaps coming in during the choruses and a sustained falsetto melody recalling Yes’ “We Have Heaven.”

The record is a bit too downtempo to be ideal party music, but it’ll make a killer soundtrack for your walk home from the party.

Despite the growth it signifies for Mount, and the candor with which he delivers it, Love Letters is so lightly sketched that it never fully engages on a gut level.

As it turns out, the Philly collective clean up quite nicely, and Sea When Absent is an involving, wonderfully creative mess.

What we have instead is a brooding, oddly sequenced, and scattered collection that defies easy categorization.

Ultimately El Pintor feels a like a blast of icy fresh air after a sticky, sweltering summer’s day.

It’s an album that gives as much as it gains, both in trap-flow intensity and emotional catharsis.

This album succeeds in ways You’re A Woman never could have, and for that, it requires commendation.

Shadows is no lark: it’s a gentle and undulating return to Dylan’s salad days.

Tremors manages the feat of being both invigorating and mellow, and no matter how many layers of sound in which the songs find themselves wrapped up, electronic or otherwise, they remain painstakingly personal and human.

As it stands, it’s a moderate success following her appearance on Disclosure’s Caracal and Samsung commercials.

Are You Serious isn’t perfect by any stretch, but on this record, Andrew Bird has compiled 11 good songs. Every track is well-produced. Every track has competent lyrics. Every track is melodically solid. Every track exhibits Bird’s impressive performing abilities (the things he does with a violin are incredible). Every track is individually memorable.

A widely varied and ultimately satisfying record.

In Roses is almost as delicate, but is a pleasant step up from its predecessor thanks to wormier melodies and heightened chemistry between co-vocalists Christopher Barnes and Ieva Berberian.

Three is perhaps Phantogram’s most incisive record yet, sustaining a very solid and concrete idea of what kind of pop it wants to promote.

Dark Sky Paradise lacks cohesion as an album, but on a track-by-track basis, it positions Big Sean as a wonderfully versatile rapper whose personality and style hold together even as he adapts to a range of contexts.

It’s not so much a new sound as it is a more robust, balanced sound--a beautiful chair perfectly placed in an already beautiful room.

It is certainly a solid and promising debut from a richly talented MC with the potential to help others with his music in the same manner his forebears inspired him.

They didn’t just retain relevance; they released the best album of their entire career.

Hesitation Marks proves greatness remains within Trent Reznor’s grasp.

This is the third Pains record in a row that has enough memorable songs to play almost like a career-spanning Best Of collection.

Critically, this may not move many needles. But to casual listeners, Wild Beasts are on a mission to refine their own definition. This is must-witness music at its very finest.

It’s more ambitious than her last one; better too. But I simply don’t think the formulaic songwriting is worthy of praise, nor the very notion of being more ambitious. Nor do I think the anti-septic production of the second half to be the best fit for her sound

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.

An unexpectedly weird, inventive and invigorating album that sounds absolutely nothing like The Strokes, and for that reason alone you should be really excited, and maybe even a little hopeful, to give this record a spin.

Jesso doesn’t have a perfect voice, but his flaws are less derailments and more idiosyncrasies. These pockmarks, along with strong and engaging composition, are what give personality to a record that could been another bland adult contemporary release destined for the sale bin.

Thug’s entire approach to his music has never sounded so polished and potent as it sounds on Barter 6.

Little Boots knows how to write a hook.

Fuck Off Get Free We Pour Light On Everything explores the moral murk of our times with glorious abandon.

There’s an unforeseen clarity in his compositions and vocals.

Gliss Riffer offers just enough hooky material to entice you and make you dance, but you still need to work hard to gain even an inkling of understanding into Deacon’s vision.

hese Days… isn’t the kind of sharp-to-the-touch effort that one associates with excellent rappers who eschew the mainstream.... It’s the start of a conversation; and one can only hope that he plans on finishing it.

While Merchandise hasn’t exactly figured out how to inflate their songwriting to match the scale of the giants who’ve preceded them, After the End still glows too vividly to be obscured by anyone else’s shadow.

All told, it’s another win in both artists’ books, but a mild one.

Twelve Reasons to Die is a straightforward concept album, and it’s very well done.

Here and Nowhere Else’s disposition for self-examination coaxes out a superior depth and nuance when stacked against Cloud Nothings’ previous works.