It's a more expansive, more ambitious and more accomplished Raime than we've heard before.

Most of The Edge Of Everything is top-tier drum & bass with an experimental bent.

By faithfully spotlighting the range and craftsmanship of Japanese computer game music, Diggin In The Carts pays effective tribute to the place from which that pride stems.

On Restless Idylls, Lobo has cemented Tropic Of Cancer as her own, crafting a signature sound that is sleek and addictive.

With Signals, Wen has nearly perfected the claustrophobic grime sound he started sketching in 2012.

Though Malone's music can often feel still, one thing's for certain about Does Spring Hide Its Joy: it'll move you.

Oh No is an inventive and enjoyable pop record that only falls short of Lanza's own standards.

Immunity is a journey to be savoured, revisited regularly in the knowledge that some new landmark will emerge each and every time.

On the most fully realized vision of the Fever Ray project yet, Dreijer unspools some of their best lyrics and pop songs since The Knife's 2007 smash "Heartbeats.

Part of the reason why LXXXVIII is so enjoyable is all these callbacks—it's catnip to a diehard Actress fan. There's a few new wrinkles on there, sure—the jazzy chord changes, the piano, the almost formless ambient sections—but mostly it's what he does best.

From its rumbling lows to its ethereal, resonant highs, Tomorrow Was The Golden Age is one of the simplest and most beguiling albums of its kind since Stars Of The Lid's landmark run on Kranky in the '00s.

The LP hops between ideas and experiments in the tradition of the rock music double-album, and even within individual songs things are rarely straightforward.

Free from spatial or historical associations, these songs now feel modern and ancient at once. The album's undulating textures can distort familiar surroundings and plunge the listener into heady contemplation. It's a defining work for Davachi that once again demonstrates her uncanny ability to draw new and arresting shapes and feelings from familiar materials.

Sirens' darkness is matched by its delicacy.

Guerrilla's rough kuduro is an impressive leap for a mature style. But its most remarkable feature is the artist's unflinching embrace of a distressing legacy. As a memorial to his family's story and Angola's past, Guerrilla is more than a mark of respect. It's an act of love.

In her latest album, Analog Fluids Of Sonic Black Holes, she relies on a reconfiguration of negro spirituals, scattered jazz and roiling punk vocals to embark on an arresting travel through time with lucid narratives of black protest. ... While preserving the erratic nature of an arresting live set, her productions appear clearer and more controlled than on previous albums.

Stott's latest marks a new stage on this journey into the pop unknown, but it feels like he's not quite there yet.

It may be dreamy and easygoing on the surface, a chill album to set the vibe of a room. But it's filled with deep moods, careful details and weird, intense rhythms. The best way to hear it is to slow down and appreciate each little thing passing by.

It's pretty introspective in places, and the concept—something about a mega-corporation and virtual reality—might be Smart's way of leading his music off the dance floor and allowing it to take on fluid new forms.

On EARS, Smith emerges as a novel, naturalistic and, yes, pop-savvy voice wielding an instrument known for esoteric experimentalism.

The album's wordless songs are almost as riveting as their counterparts.

Jaar's samples might not seem obvious, but 2012-2017 can feel generic. Most tracks are just looped soul samples fastened to heavy kicks. They might be uplifting if they didn't feel so utilitarian.

Even though we get Cox at his most nakedly audible on Parallax, however, it still feels like he's putting on a show, or imitating someone else.

The result is an album that feels personal but also universal.

Tranklements recalls Robert Hood's Motor: Nighttime World 3: both exhibit a confidence and composure perhaps unique to veteran producers.

He may be trading more in the glow of nostalgia than the shock of the new, but he can still deliver the goods.

It's her most capital-A ambient album, without the sometimes harsh interference of her favored found sounds and field recordings. Yet at the same time, it's so quiet that it slips into the edges of comprehension just when you've determined you're going to get to the bottom of it. All the better to listen to it again to see what you missed—and then again, and again and again.

What does it feel like to be alive in a digital age, overloaded and confused, but excited, too? What perspectives are possible now? Piteous Gate is a captivating attempt at putting those feelings into sound.