By midway through the album’s opening title track — its rolling banjo, accordion, and bagpipes atop raging punk chords as Al Barr and Ken Casey stake out an us-versus-them ethos — they’ve practically ionized every molecule in the listener’s body until all that’s left is the rush that the band intended. Although it may be schtick, it’s a really good schtick, and the Murphys are damn good at it.

In keeping with the New England Conservatory alums’ track record, its peaks are so high and so satisfying (and come frequently enough) that the band isn’t sunk by the competent if uninspired jazzy lounge-funk that it falls back on when it runs out of ideas for its songs for grown-ups raised on thinking-person’s pop music from the ’70s, ’80s and beyond.

Each of those sessions turns out to have a distinct sonic character. The Helsinki tracks have an urgent, constructed intensity about them. ... In contrast, the Paris songs, which make up the bulk of the record, have an organic immediacy that encompasses both the jazzy and the poppy. ... The two collaborative songs offer yet another change-up.

The record is a celebration of life and a reminder of how rock ’n’ roll can help transcend grief and loss. The E Street Band sounds rejuvenated with Roy Bittan’s piano work and Charlie Giordano’s resounding organ swirls and swells driving the songs and echoing early E Street magic.

A highly enjoyable love letter to pop and the people who make it.

It’s an ideal album for this decisively odd moment, its homemade feel (much of it was recorded in her house, with percussion partially supplied by objects around her home) and sense of awe giving it a defiant energy. ... A thrill ride.

nyone who comes to “Ode to Joy” expecting Beethovenian rapture and millions embracing will likely be perplexed by this enigmatic 11-song collection. The album is mostly slow and muted. ... You have to listen hard for the joy, but in the end it’s there — the kind of joy of that’s hard-won and never fully shakes off the difficult and broken world from which it emerges.

An 80-minute prog-metal fever dream that proves the band is back and better than ever.

The result is a dreamy record that makes good use of its stylistic freedom. It effectively subs the chaos of loving and growing for the more one-dimensional foils of Swift’s past, squashing any fears brought on by the first pair of singles that she’d tell this as a one-sided story.

Now with her debut album, Immunity, Clairo has found her sound, one more elaborate and fitting for the lyrical prowess that made “Pretty Girl” such a hit. The album hits a gorgeous peak with the fifth song, “Bags.”

With graceful lyricism and intense instrumental juxtaposition, Levy manages to surprise listeners only two tracks in. ... It’s a showcase of Levy allowing herself to feel and explore as many emotions as she can, no matter how they manifest.

In rethinking them together, this just might be the band’s most unified piece of work. The ability to harness such rich diversity in sound is what makes this band stand out.

While it chafes against pop-musical expectations and outright defies them at times, “Madame X” does embrace that planet-altering ideal lyrically as well as musically, making it Madonna’s most compelling album in years.

“Western Stars” finds Springsteen in character study mode with finely detailed storytelling about broken (sometimes literally) men on a quest to find meaning, renewal, or maybe just a bit of love. At their core and stripped of their orchestral flourishes and diverse musical dynamic, most of the songs here would not be out of place on his dark, acoustic efforts, “Nebraska,” “The Ghost of Tom Joad,” or “Devils and Dust.”

Throughout this album, co-produced by Kempner and Gabe Wax, the emotions the frontwoman describes are commonplace but rarely so well articulated, with such matter-of-fact gravitas. ... Some songs, especially shorter tracks such as “Company” and “Sneakers,” feel like they should have been expanded and developed more.

It’s an entertaining assortment of Jones unrestrained.

blast it loud and blast it proud. This is a summer album. It’s as colorful and sweet-tart as a cone melting in the sun, rolled in crunchies and glitter.

Whatever the distance between image and actuality, Springsteen always told the truth to us about the things that mattered. In Springsteen on Broadway, that truthfulness adds up to an honest self-portrait.

The 1975’s frequently dazzling exploration of life in the iOS era, frontman Matty Healy turns the mic over to--who else?--Siri. Narrating a strangely touching fable about a man in love with the Internet, the bot contributes one of a great many moments on the album.

Her approach on this follow-up is more measured and introspective, her lyrical concerns more complicated. ... An album most appealing in its straightforward sincerity.

[Posthumous albums] run the risk of being hobbled packs of demos and half-finished ideas. But with the right guidance, they can also be effective final chapters of a career. This 10-track collection of rarities, arranged by Bradley’s friends at soul-revivalist labels Dunham/Daptone Records, proves to be the latter, with the love and passion Bradley exuded in life fully preserved and present.

Inevitably, there’s some repetition--no fewer than 12 different attempts at “You’re Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go,” for example. What’s exhilarating is the chance to eavesdrop on the evolution of the songs as Dylan grasps, bit by bit, for the emotional center of each one.

More than just another tapestry of gorgeous guitar-scapes to get lost in, it’s the fullest portrait yet of the human behind that Cheshire Cat grin.

There is no successor to “Zula” on C’est La Vie, but that doesn’t make it a lesser album. The album is bookended with two expansive instrumentals; Fleet-Foxy harmonies and gently cycling guitar propel “Black Moon : Silver Waves,” and closer “Black Waves : Silver Moon” lifts high on rolling percussion and Houck’s keening falsetto. The rest of the songs occupy the flexible, fertile territory of not quite country, folk, or rock.

It’s a refreshing, empowering record that embraces finding identity in a lack thereof.

Shorter seems uninterested in cashing in on his well-earned legacy; he has instead crafted the most ambitious release of his career. Of course, ambition and excellence don’t always track exactly, and that’s the case with some of the music on Emanon, particularly the suite.

Weed Garden is both a wonderful bonus in relation to "Beast Epic" and an enchanting collection that deserves to be valued for its own plentiful merits.

Even without backstories, the songs speak for themselves. Michael plays keyboards and wields his clarion tenor like a flaming sword. Tanya’s voice is sinuous and muscular, with a raw edge that was wrapped in layers of reverb on her earlier work but now packs an invigorating punch as she tears through high notes.