Matsson makes solid use of a band this time too, to flesh out the bare-bones folk-pop for which he has previously been renowned.

This is a good record, where two inherently different musicians who speak the same language get together in the same room and produce something that’s as amorphous as the cover and as emotionally charged as the album and track titles suggest.

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

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

Government Plates doesn’t strive to be a defining post-Epic statement, but it finds Death Grips fascinated with the possibilities offered by its sound and pushing it breathlessly forward.

As the trio continue to remould and refine their craft, Mess, an album fuelled by impulse, demonstrates their ideological core hasn’t moved an inch.

It builds on the promise of his mixtape, extends itself into new territory, and in the process reveals some of the shortcomings of Rocky’s craft.

Sunlit Youth does feel more indebted to contemporary indie bands like Young the Giant or Phoenix than their previous records, but it’s also a fascinating snapshot of the band during an inevitable transitional phase.

20/20 is a total blast. You have to hand it to Justin Timberlake. Few pop artists have the skill and bravery to make such a stunning mess.

What it really lacks then is quality control and what it requires is a good deal of patience but, despite the occasions when it falters, elsewhere it’s consistently good, and sporadically brilliant.

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.

There’s good reason to think that some of the more middling fare on The Way and Color is no more than growing pains.

It does not need your analysis. It only wants to be listened to in order to convince you, with its sweeping aural dreamscapes, that Postiljonen can hold their own among the heavyweights.

They have crafted a sound that is new for them and unique in its context, but that falls neatly into what we have come to expect from a trio whose power and creativity runs consistently unchecked.

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.

Like John Hughes crossed with David Lynch crossed with John Waters. Pom Pom recalls similar vibes in bursts, and at its best conjures even more striking colors and passages.

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.

Mine a little deeper, and all of a sudden, Another One is the most technically refined album DeMarco has produced.

This is an enthralling, stunning, deeply emotive album that perfectly marries understated electronica to sublime vocals and melodies.

It’s when Nightride decides to shift gears in the latter half that the outing gets really exhilarating.

Even in ending on a starkly depressing note, Heads Up is a strong, evocative record that solidifies Warpaint as one of the genre’s most creative and entertaining.

The blip-bloops and motorik groove of “Dear World”, could’ve easily slotted in as one of the better tracks on Hesitation Marks, and then there’s the contrast between hearing the digital diary entries in the verses of “The Idea of You” with the exploding choruses (aided by Dave Grohl). But nothing here is truly great.

It is a diffuse album, constantly but immeasurably changing its shape and diverting itself when you attempt to grasp it, like smoke. Warpaint’s epiphanies are minor, its surprises few, but the general immutability alludes to vision rather than a lack of progress.

Cheetah is still his best release since his return to the music scene. If you’re looking for something groundbreaking, you’re probably going to be disappointed, but this is still one of 2016’s best electronic releases, and a worthy addition to the Aphex Twin canon.

It is an album far less fun than her previous ones, but that’s the point: Allen’s a bit tired of fun, and isn’t afraid to admit that “fun” can sometimes be the source of your troubles.

Five tracks, two very good, three just good, and three remixes, one worth your while, and two that don’t fight to be heard by anyone other than fans of the band.

It’s a funny and effortless mixtape.

Wig Out at Jagbags lands locked and loaded, ready to please the Kool-Aid drinkers among us. You’re either in or you’re out, and you already know which side you’re on. For the thirsty among us, enjoy.

This might be their best album, in the sense that it feels more complete and narrative than anything preceding it.

The bottom line is this: Product is a great album, even though it isn't exactly surprisingly great. Many of Sophie’s best tracks, come to find out, are the ones we’ve heard since 2013.

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

For the most part, though, it’s a bloody great collection of songs. The Horrors do have a masterpiece inside them, and with each release it’s bubbling closer to the surface.

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.

As good as these songs are, their lyrical monotony can be punishing.

Though this cache of innovations is often depleted, when utilized correctly they wield enough ingenuity to distinguish Nilsson from the rest of the pack.

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.

Although a little too short for the grand mood it builds for us, it’s a beautiful summation of what Moderat’s visions aim to create.

Voices marks a more complete work from a duo fully in sync; in their element.

Ultraviolence, a collection of mid-century ballads spiked with blues-rock, is a stunning accomplishment. Its eleven songs whimper and howl, soothe and taunt, hypnotize and thrill.

Black Hours is a throwback, but it’s a throwback that could have benefitted from a few more forward-looking ideas.

Imperfect as it might be, the album’s relentlessness is also it’s chief allure. In reality, Eagulls sounds more innovative than it probably is due to the world in which it arrives.

It really only hopes to make you smile with smart twin harmonies and silly lyrics. On those terms, Leave Me Alone is a unqualified success.

Youth Lagoon’s sophomore record stands tall and sure-footed.

Overall, Mellow Waves sits nicely in Cornelius’ discography. Not as scene as Fantasma or exploratory as Point. This record uses the studio magic in a more utilitarian way.

There’s plenty of substance to be found here if you look hard enough.

Under the wing of producer Kevin McMahon, the duo was able to flesh out arrangements and let their music mature.

Disclosure’s second album was never going to be as huge and loud and groundbreaking as Settle. So rather than lamenting the loss, check out what you’re missing. Because what you’re missing is terrific.

Roosevelt listens less like a dynamic pop album and more like a static soundtrack that only becomes more and more significant as time goes on.

It might take you a couple of spins to fully appreciate Boo Boo. At times, it’s very slow-moving, and some of Bear’s experiments don’t land. ... Don’t let the more experimental qualities keep you from listening to the record, though.

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

As a whole, the transitions are a bit choppy and sudden, digging away at the coherence of the album.

Stuff Like That There is Yo La Tengo’s gentlest album by far. It’s also their least eclectic, which is to say their most samey-sounding. Summer Sun wasn’t dynamically varied either, but it had color and texture--pools of it! Stuff Like That There is just as consistent, but not nearly as rich.

It’s a hearty mix, but that’s not to communicate that Superorganism are just good curators, they also are fresh creators.

An easy criticism to level at St. Catherine is that it breaks no ground, that Mondanile can probably pen these kind of fuzzy and meandering ditties in his sleep. That might be true, but St. Catherine’s highpoints will hypnotize and hold sway long enough to keep you entranced until Mondanile’s next contribution.

Love is Free makes a seriously compelling case that the EP should be the standard form of pop-music communication. Robyn’s latest is all killer, no filler, and leaves you begging for more.

Uptown Special exhibits a long-playing cohesion missing from his prior output. The sense of free-wheeling fun, however, is largely absent with the exception of the record’s funky A-side trifecta.

The songs are intricately built but they also feel distinctly impermanent; little snippets of soft static open and close a number of tracks, like the songs are coming in and out focus.

Ultimately, the bigged up production doesn’t suit .Paak’s soulful tendencies, which are further lost in his switch to rap. There are a few highlights, sure, but not nearly enough for an artist who I would’ve placed bets would be the next Big Thing.

Poliça flirt with greatness often enough to make Shulamith more than worth your time, but it’s not as brave as we’d like it to be.

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

No Age may not have delivered another knockout, but An Object compensates for its shortcomings by being a mature and often moving album, a first for the duo.

All of Weber’s best qualities as a producer are on display on The Triad, his fourth album and first in six years. But The Triad also reveals a previously unforeseen Achilles’ heel: the guy doesn’t have a clue what to do with vocals.

By Death Grips’ standards, the first disc is significantly less dynamic than the second.... Jenny Death represents another step forward for Death Grips, a group that seems to have walked over the horizon and out of sight albums ago.

Moth is a breezy, immensely enjoyable pop record that provides just the amount of pep that you’ll need to make it through the winter.

It’s a heartfelt, narcotic odyssey through the seductive pleasures of lava lamps and black light posters, a kind of escapism that comes in the same strange, silk-screened colors as the novelty lighters and t-shirts one might find at a backwoods southwestern gas station.

Tomorrow’s Hits carries on the classic rock torch, for better or worse.

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.

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.

While Wolf’s Law has a few lulls, such as the syrupy, “The Turnaround,” and some of the prog moments like “The Leopard and the Lung,” run too long, the best moments shine.

His chillwave sensibilities remain, but they’re bolstered by more direct elements from the popular hip-hop and disco funk sounds of today.

FIDLAR will make you want to pound a case of the cheapest beer you can find with these guys, it’ll make you want to crank it up as loud as it will go in whichever of your friends’ cars.

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.

Crosswords, as a collection of loose leaves, doesn't have the weight of Grim Reaper but that also means it doesn't have the pressure. Crosswords is something you can just consume without trying to wring every inch of intent out of it.

While of Montreal aren’t exactly strutting 2007-style again, their tweaked, re-energized sound has them strutting nonetheless. And that’s what they do best.

El Camino was the sound of The Black Keys flexing their muscles as they reached for that sword, but Turn Blue is the sound of The Black Keys baring their soul and testing the parameters.

The campy Scooby Doo spookiness that inspires Slasher Flicks’ aesthetic is so charming and irresistible that Enter the Slasher House regularly succeeds despite its faults.

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.

In the absence of the chill-ed out R&B and funk that defined his early sound, Toro y Moi’s newest album just doesn’t stand out from an increasingly crowded field.

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.

Planetarium demands repeated listening, the passages and movements make individual songs stand out less as it is not completely obvious when one track is ending and another is beginning. The record almost sounds modular in the vein of Brian Wilson’s technique on Smile.

MCIII is, in the end, the perfect sunny day album.

This record’s closest counterpart is last year’s Currents from Tame Impala. Temples can’t quite reach pop solidarity like those Aussies, but they come close enough.

It’s bizarre, and at times beautiful, but overall it leaves a longing for some direction, some movement in this exploration of the abyss.

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.

Ghettoville’s return to some of the musical qualities of its 2008 predecessor gives new richness and power to Actress’s work.

They are engaging, but ultimately don’t have the same replay-ability as the classic Bevan stuff.

Given a dearth of hooks, Tomorrow’s Modern Boxes demands a decent set of headphones to appreciate its foremost asset, technical construction.... Tomorrow’s Modern Boxes disappoints most when it approximates ordinary song structures.

Too True proves that Dum Dum Girls are as relevant today as they were six years ago because they know that evolution is the key to survival. This is their sound, the sound of today, and they wear it well.

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

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

By scaling back from the overambitious sentiments of albums since 21st Century Breakdown and returning to the simple yet effective power chord structure of earlier Green Day, the trio manages to make Revolution Radio both personal and timely for a country going through the same sense of dislocation they themselves have all too recently experienced.

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

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.

Taken solely as part of the Broken Bells discography it’s their best effort yet: a textured, kaleidoscopic pop record that crackles with imagination, and hints at the sign of something brilliant to come.

Bankrupt! doesn’t inspire the covetousness of their early material, but rather it takes its natural place as an album to be consumed en masse by Phoenix’s hefty fan base.

Making music this fuzzy and wonderful is a notable feat. Making tunes that make you want to jump into a time-travelling DeLorean and materialise in yester-year, desperate to reenact the same wanton mistakes that you made the first time round? That’s a real achievement.

Here, Sampha sounds comfortable and confident, showcasing his vocal prowess rather than merely living with it.

His third record perfectly distills Passion Pit’s mission statement to a mixture of musical nostalgia and energy that coalesces quite well with larger messages of accepting the past in order to embrace the future.