Whatever voodoo made their unapproachable sound so damn fun and cathartic is completely gone. In its place is a something altogether darker and uglier, but ultimately more brilliant and enrapturing than ever before. You Won't Get What You Want is Daughters finest moment and everything I’ve wanted.

All the characteristics of JID's music appear in full force: the attention-grabbing beat switches equalled only by his effortless changeups in flow, absolutely absurd rhyme schemes and storytelling chops, and features that range from fantastic (Earthgang on their fun shit, a more fired-up Yasiin Bey than we've heard in the better part of a decade and a disarmingly beautiful cameo from James Blake) to the banal (21 Savage and Lil Durk, sounding exactly like you'd expect them to). ... Fun, idiosyncratic and personal.

The league Big|Brave are continuously uncovering is one of their own: not explicitly inviting, but altogether demanding and utterly rewarding.

UGLY is a headlong tumble into deep waters, careening sharply off the edges of decency and screaming out for meaning as it goes, arse over teakettle into the unknown. Follow it down if you want, just untie that rope around your waist before you do: this is the kind of fall you take at terminal velocity or not at all.

At its best, Overgrown brings to mind Frank Sinatra's iconic In The Wee Small Hours, a record that acts as almost a thematic analogue in its lonely tone and ultimate embrace of love as a painful yet beautiful emotion.

This is much more of a traditional rock record than anything else Frank has done, and that’s a good thing because it means that it’s probably the most consistent album he’s made.

The Electric Lady is also a dazzling artistic statement, a fiendishly clever endeavor that oozes enough feminine charm, wit and charisma to endow dozens of regular pop starlets with.

Material Control doesn't cater to anything except the next rush of adrenaline, the next high. ... This is a Glassjaw album, through and through.

Right now I'm pretty content with digging The King of Limbs as I'd dig any new record: enjoying the personality that comes from the record itself and not the name behind it. And guess what? Radiohead makes good music. As if you had any doubt.

Centipede HZ is a reaffirmation. It reminds us that Animal Collective plays interactive, now and forever.

So once more, the Dodos feel fresh, a little bit more thoughtful, and every bit as happy to get us tangled up in ourselves. Of course there's color to No Color. It's just this time there's black and white and grey as well- colors they've never used before.

Broken Bells is the crown jewel of each musician's discography and is a necessity for fans of either one.

It's excellent, to be honest. Jay-Z sounds relaxed and comfortable in his legacy on the mic: he's not feeling as pressed to perform as he did on Kingdom Come, and the MC just lets his talent flow effortlessly.

Visions often feels suspended in the best way possible, both in time and space.

Even if Strange Mercy is like a blender with its top blown off, it's undeniable how convincing St. Vincent has become.

Devotion does something remarkable in making the universal--love, heartbreak, and yes, devotion--feel specific, simply because Jessie Ware doesn't sound like she's lying.

Everyday Life is bold and exudes confidence, and it never wanders into long, forgettable stretches the way that both Ghost Stories and A Head Full of Dreams did.

It’s a waste of time to recount highlights though, because this whole album is essential, and to skip from one point to the next without experiencing the journey along the way is sort of the opposite of how Golden Hour deserves to be listened to.

The entirety of Blue Sky Noise blows away anything else that Circa Survive have ever done. It is immense, it is challenging, and it will make fools out of those who doubt it.

What makes this effort so different is its ability to transcend those mere qualitative descriptions and transport one’s mind to its most emotionally darkest corners--even if it has to clear away some of the cobwebs that we attempt to veil our pain in.

Hours upon hours of material is present for listeners, the hardcore and the uninitiated alike, to indulge in; the five-pound box provides listeners with a potentially new outlook on this underappreciated era of King Crimson, and is guaranteed to be worth the price of entry just for the fleeting mellotron strains of “Lizard” alone.

For all its musical precedents (first and foremost, this is an auspicious, brilliantly-executed dance album), what makes Dear Science so hefty and relevant is its beating heart.

They sound like they'll probably end up being one of the most enduring bands of our era.

If Hymn to the Immortal Wind does anything, it establishes Mono’s place among post rock’s top dogs, and for this reviewer, easily gives them the title. Everyone else is just generic or something.

It’s Ben Howard doubling down on ambiance, creating a collage of moments both fleeting and everlasting while choosing the art of the craft over the simplest path to accolades. It may take more time to appreciate, but it’s a masterclass of songwriting that will likely dictate the future direction of his music.

Gemini, Her Majesty easily manifests as the album you expect and deserve from a group of consummate pros like the Rx Bandits.

This is very lush, star-lit country music that is practically breathtaking in the moment while transcending the typical boundaries of the genre. It's about time.

Sleigh Bells have not sounded this rejuvenated or fun since they first appeared on the scene over a decade ago. Their core spirit and whatever magic it contained is back in full force, and it’s arguably more potent than ever.