Built for repeat listening, this will keep on giving. Don't you just hate it when the hype is right?

D&B&G is delicate and unaffected but clever and soulful--a balm and an inquisition.

The perfect soundtrack for early summer, and all the possibilities it holds.

You might even argue that this and its predecessors, My Name Is Buddy (2007) and Pull Up Some Dust and Sit Down (2011), represent the most cogent work of his long career.

At what point does a child prodigy turn into a talent so exceptional that we no longer talk about age? Sarah Jarosz’s third album answers that question in style (though just for the record, the banjo, guitar and mandolin supremo is now 22).

A genuinely empathetic production, then, which does not pull up many trees.

Rokia rocks, and it's a fine and bracing thing to hear.

Her debut is an accomplished, glossily shimmering thing.

The material is all Mehldau's and quality varies from the standing ovations of the opening and closing tunes to lesser tricked-up vamps, but bass and drums groove superbly throughout.

The songs are mostly shaped in her traditional chord-to-chord method, their melodies looping behind the tempo of the guitars and, for once, in a spirit of uplift.

Blacc proves he’s more than capable of stepping into the spotlight for his first major-label album which features 60s soul, folk, retro pop, R’n’B and even country.

It's sprawling, overdue and not for everyone, but at least it's not a play-it-safe comeback with the hot producer of the day.

Old Fears is the sound of a quick, keen mind at work and play.

The Instagram of albums, which is to say a source of instant nostalgia, its 70s- and 80s-inspired cocktail of disco, house, lounge, samba et al, could be merely kitsch but is elevated both by the meticulousness of its production and the sinuous seductiveness of its melodies.

An unexpectedly enjoyable late addition to a formidable body of work.

The result wears the weight of its history lightly, with the exception of "The Departed", a solemn tribute to lost Stooges.

A passionate, heartfelt, serious, dogged effort, pregnant with reflection and as wise as you could hope for.

This is heartfelt, sweetly sincere and as good an album as BPB has made for some time.

Throughout the exquisitely mournful Violet Cries, Rachel Davies issues Cassandra-like predictions of woe and mayhem, while Thomas Fisher's filigree guitars shimmer like sunset on a lake.

"I wanted", Ocean wrote, "to create worlds that were rosier than mine. I tried to channel overwhelming emotions." Mission accomplished, and then some.

The result is an album of solid country virtue.

Some might call it Kylie for hipsters, but it's quite lovely for that.

A compelling experience.

It's deeply engrossing and rings resoundingly with cultural and historical truth.

Every once in a while, the results can be more enjoyable than the main event (see Stephen Stills' Manassas). And this may be true of CRB.

Blunderbuss does, at times approach his finest work. But it doesn't do anything he hasn't already done.

It can be plodding and takes a while to get going, but also occasionally reaches soaring, festival-fields-at-dusk heights.

It's tender, touching and not nearly as miserable as its subject matter suggests.