Cottrill, who performs as Clairo, raises the stakes on Sling, her compelling, sharply-focused and musically adventurous second album.

Uniting these different moods, and the different styles in which Mayer dabbles, is the effortless warmth in his voice, which never puts too much weight behind his heartbreak or his happiness. He sings like a man who knows his place in the world.

Vince’s knack for combining brevity and sly wordplay, together with Kenny Beats’ restrained production, make the album particularly lucid from start to finish.

The more upbeat, jazzy “Stones of Silence” on which Beth shows off the full Patti Smithiness of her voice is a welcome moment of invigoration on an otherwise sleepy album.

The rapper’s signature self-awareness has matured into some of the more compelling rap music being made today, and as such Call Me If You Get Lost proves to be Tyler’s best effort to date.

On Dark in Here, the playing is finely wrought enough to more than live up to the storied recording space it was created in, understatedly textured, somber, and graceful (aided by session greats like organ player Spooner Oldham and guitarist Will McFarlane).

Gems like “Headlights” and “Seasonal Affective Disorder” were drenched in delicate, heart-wrenching beauty — and these songs are in short supply of that. But Williams makes up for it with tracks that showcase her sharp songwriting over maximum guitar distortion.

Planet Her proves, undoubtedly, that her creativity doesn’t hinge on his contributions. Of course, Doja shines so brightly because of her voice. Her flow and singing are elastic, swift and often purposefully silly. She straddles multiple worlds at once.

Like many Modest Mouse records, The Golden Casket sounds cluttered and that’s likely how they want it. They never define what “the golden casket” is on the album, but too often, it seems like the phrase might be a metaphor for their own hermetically sealed instincts.

Taylor has grown immensely as a melodicist and arranger (he self-produced this album) in the ensuing decade, and the LP, which features contributions from longtime companions like Josh Kaufman and Scott Hirsch, is full of the collaborative warmth of recent Hiss landmarks like Heart Like a Levee.

Home Video is her greatest work yet — a cohesive and poignant collection of tales from her teenage years in Richmond, Virginia. These stories are woven like a quilt, with several dark patches reminiscent of her hero Bruce Springsteen’s The River.

Culture III surpasses the sequel, and lives up to the greatness of 2017’s brilliantly concise breakthrough Culture. One could argue that every song has a different MVP.

Some cuts have strong hooks and others don’t, though the duo’s chant of “I need medical” on “Medical” stands out. Eventually, it starts to sound like an 18-track blowout that’s taking a bit too long to wrap up. All in all, The Voice of the Heroes isn’t bad.

What the album could use is a few more drink-clinking splashes of summertime fun, but despite the usual army of A-list writers and producers, there isn’t really anything here to rival the sticky, inescapable punch of “Sugar” or “Moves Like Jagger.” A little more escape might’ve been welcome. But whether it’s trying to be light, serious, or somewhere in the middle, Jordi can only get it done in half-measures.

For all of the group’s abundant signature moves on No Gods No Masters, the record never feels like a nostalgia bid. That’s because after 26 years, Garbage know who they are and are comfortable with themselves.

As songwriters, Tucker and Brownstein are in much stronger shape than on The Center Won’t Hold. ...

The original Déjà vu presented CSNY as a united front even as the group was already fraying. This excavation tells the other part of the story: four men working together and, at the same time, starting to drift into their own separate, occasionally colliding worlds.

The moments here that feel most genuinely lived-in are the ones where she opens up and demonstrates her unique genius at articulating the real life hope, fear, disappointment, and ambivalence of an inveterate romantic who wanders through life always on guard against getting burned by her own desires.

Pleasantly ornate pop with classical flourishes. [Jun 2021, p.77]

Pure indie-rock sunshine. [Jun 2021, p.77]

Deals with similar themes [as her debut], yet with even more depth and confidence. [Jun 2021, p.77]

Like a Maroon 5 with some vulnerability beneath the pop sheen. [Jun 2021, p.77]

Japanese Breakfast’s latest LP Jubilee is the project’s most ecstatic-sounding album to date, although one glance at the lyrics will tell you that Zauner isn’t done excavating the thornier aspects of dependency, devotion, and longing.

On When Smoke Rises, his voice is most often smooth and restrained, making the sparse moments of emotional trilling even more poignant.

Landing somewhere between a posthumous tribute and a completed album, Exodus feels like a view of DMX as a product instead of DMX as an artist.

The avant-rockers’ follow-up is even more unnerving and gloriously surreal — like gazing into hell through a kaleidoscope.

Her take on “Standing in the Doorway,” a moody standout from Dylan’s 1997 comeback Time Out of Mind, retains the ethereal, “Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowlands” throwback vibe of Dylan’s recording but on her own terms.

Over a tight twelve tracks of nimble songwriting and outstanding composition, J. Cole continues to muse on the themes weaved throughout his discography: life and death, success and lack thereof, the divine and the mortal. He does this with personal and interpersonal anecdotes that are interesting but safe, as he leans into his passion for rap and sport and away from his predilection for social commentary.

Just as “Deja Vu” and “Good 4 U” proved Rodrigo was going to be much more than a one-and-done phenom with a viral hit about careening through heartbreak, Sour confirms this is just the start of her story, where she expertly rides the wave of teenage turbulence and emotional chaos down any road she chooses.

The biggest feat here, though, is how Afrique Victime feels upbeat and hopeful from start to finish. There’s no real sense of worry or anxiety in the love songs, and Moctar’s calls for unity are set to a loose soundtrack of unpredictable guitar. This is how free rock & roll should sound.

While Brown's easygoing, singing guitar is the clear star throughout the record, something feels off overall, since the renditions here rarely live up to the originals. [May 2021, p.75]

The best moments on Daddy’s Home highlight those jagged borders and contradictions. Clark’s howling vocals and delightfully angular synths on “Pay Your Way in Pain” make it one of the strongest album openings of the year.

Ear-bleed guitar glory and woolly-headed grandeur from J. Mascis and Co. [May 2021, p.76]

The best is from Phoebe Bridgers, giving the bright, synthy "Seize the Day" a sad-girl makeover. [May 2021, p.76]

Most of these [80s metal] sonic and lyrical allusions immediately give way to the kind of crisp, automatically catchy power-pop you’d hear on any Weezer album. ... Unsurprisingly, it’s the bright, smiling, spandex-y pop side of metal he loves, not the macho misanthrope side — there’s a reason the record is called Van Weezer, not Weezer Bloody Weezer.

Like Portishead if they spent a weekend in a Nashville studio. [May 2021, p.76]

On the vast majority of Latest Record Project, he’s resorted to presenting off-the-cuff emotional reactions (and similarly tossed-off arrangements) as though they’re finished products. The result is a sometimes amusing, sometimes frustrating, sparsely thrilling, and largely unlistenable collection of rants and riffs.

The lyrics strain to demonstrate cleverness (the opening line of “Little Did I Know” rhymes “Shakespearean” with “experience” and “delirious”) or simulate personal experience (“History” quizzes a new lover “At what age did you have sex?/Did you have a teenage phase with cigarettes?” she asks her lover). But the overall effect is neither personal nor universal.

Put this record on and see how long it takes to utter your first joyful expletive.

The record feels like a culmination of all her experience, suffused into an album that threads decades of music and heritage into a thrilling, organic whole.

The most uncanny, and most impressive, thing about the record might be that the pair sound even more focused, and more comfortable in their unforced eccentricity, than they did on Superwolf. There’s really no one else out there making songs like this; let’s hope we don’t have to wait another 16 years for more.

The only downside, if there is one, is that with so much happening at once, She Walks in Beauty is best taken in small doses to appreciate its majesty.

Yachty is a great ambassador for Michigan rap, but as Michigan Boy Boat illustrates, he’s far from the best practitioner of the style. He is the protagonist of the mixtape, but he isn’t its anchor.

Thanks to all the cheeky winks and nods that the Who dressed the record with, it transcended mishmash status. Now this exhaustive, super deluxe edition box set is showing the genius at work behind The Who Sell Out.

While Greta Van Fleet excel at erecting houses of the retro-rock holy, they struggle a bit at the basics - like memorable songwriting, and especially lyrics. [Apr 2021, p.72]

Some of the best music can be raw while remaining widely accessible. Roadrunner: New Light, New Machine is Brockhampton’s best effort to balance these approaches; their hard times and brash raps go down more smoothly than ever.

The new versions somehow sound less slick than the original. Her voice feels lower in the mix this time around, but for the most part she’s gone to extreme lengths to mimic the polished Nashville textures and soundscapes of the first Fearless. ... The final half-dozen originals — all previously unreleased — are revelatory glimpses into Swift’s working process.

Sure, there are the big choruses, bigger guitar riffs, and smart-alecky Nielsenisms that their die-hard cult craves, but at the same time, songs like “The Summer Looks Good on You” and “Light Up the Fire” sound like Cheap Trick by Numbers.

Sting is in smooth sophisticate mode. [Apr 2021, p.73]

All that conflict and drama might be a little too overpowering if not for Lee’s abiding faith in the power of a nice hoo. The album’s best moment is also its most self-assuredly poppy.

It's her incisive songwriting that makes her fifth LP a treat. [Apr 2021, p.73]

Eighty-year-old sax great Sanders pushes his sound to its most heavenly extreme. [Apr 2021, p.73]

Ultimately Dancing with the Devil… The Art of Starting Over delivers on the promise of the first half of its title, and skimps on the second. She’s been through hell, it’s clear. But her music isn’t clear about how she wants to begin again.

It’s the cheekiness and humor of Deacon that really shines, without sacrificing the complex theatricality that has made Serpentwithfeet such a standout project.

This compilation is a welcome reminder that Cornell was so much more than his scream.

He’s a convincing rap sage; a captivating spitter offering his nefarious experiences with an abundance of awareness of their nuances and influence.

While it may not have as many grandiose showpieces as its older sibling – no nine-minute “Venice Bitch” to be found here – Chemtrails is every bit as sharp and prescient of a cultural artifact from pop’s premier Cassandra.

He’s certainly matured as a singer, and navigates these songs impressively, but that doesn’t mean he’s developed much of a vocal identity. He’s only as good as the songs he sings. Fortunately, the album closes with two huge, very different ballads that are perfect for him.

At 10 compact, differently beautiful songs, Driver is the work of an artist entering the springtime of their brilliance, as good as singer-songwriter indie-rock can get. It’s the kind of record you can’t but feel lucky to live in.

Her EP is a captivating flirtation with the Latin music world. Selena en español is a revelation worth revisiting on a full-length project.

As a whole, 77–81 presents Gang of Four’s brilliance while putting it on context.

On Obviously, they’re still oddballs, but in the best way. At a moment when pop strives for lo-fi, solitary-world intimacy, the jazz-pop-whatever band refuse to think small. Fully living up to the water imagery in their name, they’ve made their first truly abashed yacht rock record — with all the hooks, musical interplay, sophistication and sometimes dodgy lyrics of that genre.

Offers the same disco-metal dreck he's been peddling for 30 years. [Mar 2021, p.73]

Most of the arrangements here keep things simple, generally leaning on unamplified sounds to complement Lynn’s country-as-grits voice. ... Lynn’s journey hasn’t always been an easy one. What’s amazing is that, 60 years into her career, that experience is still feeding her creatively.

June has never sounded more fully and thrillingly herself than she does on her latest album, The Moon and Stars: Prescriptions for Dreamers, which merges pop ambition, folksy open-heartedness and blues wisdom.

Aims for the cosmos but lands in an indie-pop Twilight Zone. [Mar 2021, p.73]

The band's eighth album is an arena rock of the mind, tempering the strapping anthemics of hits like "Sex on Fire" and "Use Somebody" for songs that stretch out en route to arriving at a serene kind of swagger. [Mar 2021, p.72]

A clunky mix of late-Nineties easy listening and 2000s emo pop. [Mar 2021, p.73]

His warbled ballads are teeth pulls, but his crisp, catchy alt-pop zone outs remain undeniable. [Mar 2021, p.73]

The music often seems to float away before giving you much to grasp onto. [Mar 2021, p.73]

Tones down the guitar wizardry of previous releases to show off her formidable pop chops. [Mar 2021, p.73]

Largely, Cooper and longtime producer Bob Ezrin know what they can get away with on an Alice Cooper record, and when they hit their stride, it’s a lot of fun. Figuring out how to do that seems like an artform unto itself.

As on Weld, Way Down in the Rust Bucket showcases a reconvened band that sounds newly motivated after increasingly sluggish and creaky shows in the Eighties. They’re not yet the smooth-galloping machine they would become on the full-blown tour, though. What we’re hearing is the musicians feeling their way.

For as sparse as it sounds, there’s great depth to Carnage.

What results is a fully realized artistic statement without a skippable track, even if a few songs trail off a bit toward the end — almost as if Baker knows the rush of cathartic energy has left everyone involved a little exhausted, including herself. And that’s just fine, because this is enough reality for a lifetime, let alone one record.

What Music lacks is a great hit to pull it all into focus.

The lyrics on the eighth THS album are as vivid as ever, and the guitars ring true. [Feb 2021, p.73]

The result is both illuminating and one-dimensional in equal measure. ... Despite a handful of missed landings, Tyron still admirably inspires the kind of mosh-pit energy that feels nearly romantic in an era of closed venues and social distancing.

One of several vague meditations on the trappings of technology and social media (see “Cartoon Music”) that don’t quite hit in the same way as the rest of the free-flowing, exuberant record. But for the most part, Tasjan! Tasjan! Tasjan! is a triumphant progression, merging all Tasjan’s varied strands of his musical DNA into a genuine tour-de-force.

There’s something about the way she presents her diary entries that makes her more than just an exhibitionist. She’s not afraid to sing about her innermost feelings, things people would never say out loud. In fact, she sounds comfortable belting out about how broken she is, and it’s that courage that makes the mood of the record complete.

As a quarantine-driven detour on Williams’ artistic path as a solo act, Flowers works as a side project, although its commitment to confessional storytelling and stripped-down production the whole way through will make it appear one-noted against Petals.

Ignorance, solidifies the 36 year-old as one of the most audaciously inventive auteurs working in the broad singer-songwriter tradition. This ten song collection broadens the Weather Station’s sonic palette by foregrounding fluttering flutes, crisp orchestral sections, and, most importantly, a propulsive rhythm section.

His whispery falsetto and meditative grooves will draw you in. [Feb 2021, p.73]

The mood is more celebratory than maudlin, but the father in also floors you with his grief. [Feb 2021, p.73]

The only thing the trio still hasn’t mastered is ending its tunes, which they often cut short like film cues. ... If his intent with the Lost Themes albums was to assert his authority over the copycats who’ve crossed his path in recent years, he has succeeded.

A misfire that will only make you miss the brothers' harmonies even more. [Feb 2021, p.73]

Drunk Tank Pink really takes off when the assault gives way to a groove, a la art-funk gods ESG or Liquid Liquid. [Feb 2021, p.73]

Listening to On All Fours is like wandering in a cool thrift shop. [Feb 2021, p.73]

Like Akomfrah’s Data Thief, Madlib sees the connections between the past and future. On Sound Ancestors, he manages to give us a sense of what those connections feel like.

Cuomo’s habit of describing how he feels, instead of fusing his emotions directly to the songs (as lyricist Tony Asher did with Brian Wilson), gets in the way of OK Human becoming a breakthrough.

The Foos’ 10th album is upbeat even by their uniquely well-adjusted standards, returning to their core Nineties alt-rock sound minus any gimmicks, detours, or shenanigans. From the first track, “Making a Fire,” the album is brighter and more optimistic than anything they’ve ever done.

The record reaches its peak with the one-two punch of “Tightrope” and “River Road,” delicate closing statements and two of Malik’s best songs to date.

Dangerous is most affecting when Wallen’s husky, emotive voice does the heavy lifting. ... The flaws of Dangerous, apart from being 17 songs too long, is that Wallen does not always seem up to the heavy task of pumping fresh life into well-worn topics.

Though brief, with a runtime of just over 30-minutes, the EP shows Sullivan crafting a complete constellation of love and loss.

Written partly during lockdown, the record features some of the least-annoying songs about the pandemic recorded since the initial outbreak in 2019. And that’s heavy praise, considering some of the truly treacle-shellacked tracks that oozed into the zeitgeist last year.

Playboi Carti—Gen Z’s answer to Nosferatu—performs emotions, toggles between them, and disguises them with a disquieting ease. He has never been more enigmatic.

With Side B, it’s more of the same.

Deliver typically gray tales of Trump-era American demise. [Dec 2020, p.70]