Welcome to the desolate wasteland of Destroyer.

Central to Birth of Violence, the Northern Californian's stunning voice and insular lyrics tie everything into one clear, bewitching vision.

Clocking in at just half an hour, their third LP streamlines sonically, but the bulldozing remains.

The dark synth pulse of opener "Roseate," driving mad as Gika trills into an effervescent falsetto, sets a tension that flows throughout

The Devil You Know: smart, joyous rage for our times.

An eerie, whimsical sheen coats jaunty guitars, arty baroque keys, and choral intonations, with delicate lyrics skewing surprisingly funny at times as they warp the burdens of addiction and the lovelorn.

This solo debut makes all the right moves to sail past retro on its way to timeless.

Fever hinges on bouncing beats and an inspired brand of feminism.

Armed with a gorgeous warble that sounds like a gothic Chris Isaak, Peck soars over the sparse arrangements, which prove a natural complement to all the reverb, tremolo, and twang.

Steeped in vivid details of a queer romance, Forevher partners jubilant pop with its ideal mate: physically charged songs of electric devotion.

Galvanizing at heart, Fender's bow burns with sharp conviction and intimacy.

The only misstep comes from spoken interludes about WWAY Health, an unnecessary framing device for a smart, textured zigzag of songwriting.

Produced by Grammy-winning producer Ricky Reed (Twenty One Pilots), the troupe also trades in the lo-fi blades of Too for a polished maturity without sacrificing any edge.

The 17-year-old sensation takes pop iconography and musical status quo and lacerates it, opting out of femme fatale for tomboy cargos and goth macabre, and sleek soundscapes for creepy eccentrics.

Buoyed by intimacy and sincerity, Assume Form channels Blake at his happiest as each song plays out like a sentimental billet-doux.

The 31-year-old bares herself and parlays stereotypical insecurities into liberating strengths, hurling bombs of empowerment.

Childers walks the line of down-home idiosyncrasies and smooth popular jams with a star-making perfection.

Each track is full of Laurel Canyon vibes – vulnerability, grief, acceptance – and melodies you'll never get out of your head.

The Alabama Shakes mainspring's first solo release showcases R&B borne of a dark, introspective place, grooving like a 35-minute scream into a pillow.

Help Us Stranger moves garage-punk polymath Jack White from the Sixties to the Seventies. And from the sounds of things, he, Brendan Benson, Jack Lawrence, and Patrick Keeler did it in Z/28 with an 8-track player and a hash pipe.

Co-crafted with Steve Earle lieutenant Ray Kennedy, and eight of 11 tracks guesting a Crowell crony, not all the material connects ("Deep in the Heart of Uncertain Texas"), but the pairings prove pure.

The album brims with delicate moments like the title track and standout "Victor Roberts." In the former, plumes of electronics caress empathetic lines with genuine emotion, while the latter introduces new associate Victor Roberts with crystallized observations of childhood trauma and grimy electricity. Exhibition of vulnerability and invincibility, Ginger blood-lets an emotional palette where wounds are finally left to heal.

Despite easy-listening atrocity "Lost in the Night," Let It Roll sparkles with more gems than the locals' custom suits.

No need to reinvent the wheel when it rides so smooth.

Daniel recently told the Chronicle he intended the band's new compilation for folks with a "passing familiarity" of the band, and that's where it hits its mark. Here's your gateway LP to Spoon, not a comprehensive overview.

The scion sounds most at ease on the album's back half, which burns with guitar solos.

Picking up both pace and vigor after Prick of the Litter, McClinton finds a Second Wind going all the way back to 1978, his voice still ragged but right and, here, full of piss and vinegar.

Although his hard drawl torques easier melodies like Elton John's "Country Comfort" less effectively, Dayton's growling makeover of Jackson Browne's "Redneck Friend" and the laid-back dance hall turn of the Cars' "Just What I Needed" crackle as smart and surprising interpretations.