A singular listening experience, Kannon is best consumed at extreme volume and with an open mind.

Arriving toward the end of summer, Another Self Portrait feels perfectly suited for the type of reflection that accompanies autumn.

First Aid Kit's lustrous new album revels in its passion.

Brad Mehldau is back in his comfort zone with Live in Marciac, a solo set of two CDs and one DVD recorded at the jazz festival in France.

With Med sud, the band proves its indie-pop potential while remaining rooted in its unique brand of spaced-out alt-rock.

Why Make Sense? is another branch of the band’s tree, an album of infectious pop riddled with bigger questions and dilemmas that ripple well beyond the dance floor.

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.

“Highway Anxiety” shimmers with melancholy and evocative locomotive persistence; “Gone Clear” travels from Tyler’s intricate fingerpicking to a barrage of chiming bells and back again.

On paper, a sentiment like that drips with bittersweet nostalgia, but not when Haggard is delivering it. There's a resilience in his voice.

You won't glean much more about those people and places than you knew going in, but Clark's strange angles and fanciful settings pack a visceral punch.

Often built around little more than the words, DeMent’s homespun warble, and a piano sometimes fleshed out by stringed instruments--is closely aligned to DeMent’s best work.

Plant has glossed all of this as “trance meets Zep,” but it’s more: a kaleidoscope that shows he still has much to say.

Finger-lickin’ good.

Her patience has rewarded us with a work of rare, unvarnished grace and power.

Its songs are more impressionistic, brash in their knotty arrangements and assured in their execution.

This 11th album is slighter than the group’s finest records yet there are enough emotionally true narratives here brimming with soul and bruised wisdom.

Zedek’s voice, neither conventional nor wholly tamed, serves her ends potently, its warp and grain enhancing unvarnished solidity.

Magnificent.

Gore brings together light and dark, airy and grinding, in a way that makes these seemingly disparate qualities seem like natural allies.

This is Cliff's first studio album in seven years--and he indeed sounds reborn.

The shimmering War & Leisure, the singer’s fourth LP, finds him operating in a similarly creative groove [as on 2015's Wildheart] but tamping down wolfish eroticism in favor of breezier, tropical vibes.

For longtime fans of Blur’s alluring blend of pop smarts, rock edge, and electronic flourishes, The Magic Whip is close to a slam dunk, as the quartet conjures the vibe of its ’90s glory days without veering into rehash territory, making it a good ambassador for potential new listeners as well.

A welcome throwback to the raw energy of early Kill Rock Star bands, this delirious debut still boasts enough cheeky vigor to sound fresh and new.

From jaunty opener "Feba" to dense finale "Rotin," the eight songs have distinct identities but share groovy, spacey production and a mystical-futuristic feel.

This may be the best record this Carter girl has ever made.

Embryonic is not as strange as "Zaireeka,'' the Lips' play-four-CDs-at-the-same-time experiment, but it's up there. On the other hand, Embryonic is completely absorbing. It grows on you in a way that the earlier records simply cannot do.

Pusha T is at the top of his game with sharply defined autobiographical tales and defiant, self-aware verses. He often dazzles with his smooth, cold-blooded flow and connects on virtually every song.

The entire set speaks directly to the struggles and fears of an America desperately searching for some meaning and uplift. Staples and Tweedy have crafted a record with heart and grace, but also some toughness--all of them necessary if the goal is transcending troubled times.

Put some headphones on, find a good window to stare out of, and let time stretch to the horizon; A Deeper Understanding will reward your patience.

Subtle hints at emotional undercurrents enhance the potency of Friedberger’s lyrics.

The Tufts-bred pop rock quartet is still interested in layering varied instrumentation- banjos and synthesizers, warped electric guitars and clanging bells--to achieve different textures, Easy just feels a bit cleaner and less symphonically ambitious. But that doesn't mean it's less diverse.

This time out, there's a conceptual framework laid over the proceedings in the tale of the dearly departed, and fictional, Cornelius Larkin.

You hear him at the peak of his powers on the title track, whose acoustic soul reels in the band and lets Bradley tell his story, one wounded sentiment at a time.

Casual fans looking to prolong the artful mellow of the gently plucked art-folk and strutting orchestral pop the precious singer-songwriter Sufjan Stevens laid down on previous records might be lulled into a false calm as this record opens.

It’s a pleasure to report that country music’s ultimate good guy has once again crafted an excellent collection of new music with his 18th album.

On his 12th official album, the 38-year-old's impressive work habits have both loosened and deepened his craft.

“Flux,” with its sharp focus and even sharper songwriting, could be a sign that the world is ready to focus — even if its residual chaos makes one need to let out a scream now and again.

There are no "eureka" moments on Offend Maggie but plenty of small epiphanies.

Sound & Color makes clear this success was not a fluke. This is the sound of a band that’s in it for the long haul, amplifying what worked the first time, and stretching in new directions to challenge both the performers and their listeners.

When the fireworks gently pop and fizzle out in the last breath of EMA’s new album, it feels like the only way to close such an emotionally visceral set of songs.

It's fantastic.

The time away has done the California-spawned group good, as the conversation is familiar--intricate instrumental phrasing, pristine harmonies--but also full of fresh energy that lends everything from the buoyant gospel bluegrass of “21st of May” to the joyously bleary “Rest of My Life” an air of excitement.

This deeply introspective album is vast in scope while retaining the intimacy of a concert-hall recital.

Decade-long hiatus or no decade-long hiatus, Bloodsports finds Suede in exactly its element.

He has a great voice, but most songs on this follow-up release fall into the sugary commercial country column.

n album of movement that reaches toward the sublime.... Ratchet meanders a bit near the end, but its haze also mirrors the slow awakening that marks the end of a night spent reaching for dance-floor ecstasy.

He doesn't escape middle-aged insularity; he just makes it fun.

Co-produced by Plant and critically revered singer-songwriter-guitarist Buddy Miller, Joy is a mostly covers grab bag stitched together by Plant's sweetly urgent croon and finely crafted layers of sepia-toned instrumentation and vocals.

April, the third Sun Kil Moon album by Kozelek and friends, has several such sweet spots, the kind we hope will never end.

While drummer Mikkey Dee shines on an unexpected cover of the Rolling Stones’ “Sympathy for the Devil.” That efficient if unspectacular borrowing aside, this potent record ranks among the year’s best.

His formula-defying sixth record probably won’t provide his breakthrough [in the United States], but it’s an undeniable creative triumph.

The Chicagoans' sophomore full-length is tightened and scrubbed clean of a few of the layers of reverb that doused their debut, bringing to the forefront an ambitious and dexterous level of songwriting that belies their ever-so-slightly-post-adolescent ages.

It builds a rich sonic arch around Young's voice and guitar, bottling the essence of what makes him such a compelling singer-songwriter at 64.

It’s a short, casual release, so much so that it’s easy to miss just how expertly crafted these songs are.

With Tassili, Tinariwen reasserts its leadership through a return to roots - setting aside electric guitars and leaving off the female singers who added drive and bustle to previous albums, and going lean and acoustic in sessions recorded under a tent in the Algerian desert.

With such a sweeping sonic palette, it's a pleasant surprise that the record doesn't crumble under its own auspices.

If it is indeed her swan song, it’s a triumphant sendoff that reiterates what a singular figure she has been in rock music. It’s among her broadest work, spanning intimate ballads (“Love More or Less”), apocalyptic art songs (“Late Victorian Holocaust”), and harrowing blues (“True Lies”).

Older songs such as Young's "Are You Ready for the Country?" and Buffalo Springfield's "Flying on the Ground Is Wrong" sound made for this setting of shorter, tighter robust song arrangements. "Southern Pacific" and "Motor City" are nice revivals from "Re-ac-tor." But it's the batch of previously unreleased material that justifies the album's title.

The Book of Souls is a triumph, packed with instantly memorable songs and riffs, vocal heroics, triple-guitar fireworks, and vital, committed performances.

As in most dreams, it seems to make perfect sense when you're hearing it.

This new album, their first in four years, is a fine return to form, Emily Saliers and Amy Ray trading lead vocals and reclaiming their pristine harmonies without much fanfare.

This album offers a 12-song slice of unpretentious, lovely Americana. Her songs didn’t vie for my attention or seize it; instead, I felt like I was settling into their embrace, unrushed. My heart rate slowed. Erin Rae’s lyrics are wistful and sometimes personal.

Lloyd complements Williams’s plaintive growl with his own tenor saxophone cries, in some cases the obbligatos becoming an ongoing commentary. ... “Blues for Langston and LaRue” shows off Lloyd’s buoyant flute work. The Lloyd/Frisell duet on Thelonious Monk’s “Monk’s Mood” is capacious and endearing. And the album closer, Jim Hendrix’s “Angel”--with just the trio of Williams, Frisell, and Lloyd--is a spare and apt benediction, dispelling darkness with the faith of art.

Condon's lyrics and his singing are nondescript at best, but Beirut retains a ragged majesty that can best be described as, well, French.

Anyone who doubted that Green is one of today's most commanding vocalists simply needs to hear how he negotiates moods here and turns phrases with subtlety, wit, and style. Killer stuff.

Nearly every song on the new Courtney Barnett album has something to recommend it--a familiar melody that takes distinctive turns, a lyric that grows deeper with each listening, strong backup from a band led by Barnett’s rough-hewn guitar riffs.

Praise & Blame may not inspire much panty-hurling but it might cause open-minded music fans to reappraise Jones's interpretive gifts.

The singer-guitarist's mien is again that of a siren dressed in black mourning and white lace, beckoning lovers and loners through the misty moors.

Nearly half these songs are the original demos, which explains some of the austerity that makes it such a compelling listen from a band that's still at the mercy of its muse.

Everything in Between is a triumphant leap forward from an already solid foundation, and one that cements the duo as one of this era's incontestably exceptional indie-rock acts.

Ten exuberant, tender, casually elegant tracks later you realize - much to your surprise, if you're like me--that the pairing of the grizzled country star and the suave jazz master is an unmitigated, ear-tickling success.

He makes his points quickly and it feels like a small but potent dose of reality.

Director's Cut is a fine addition to her gorgeously ethereal repertoire, but it's mainly for Bush completists.

The music is positively spectral, as if she's set up her sound board in the spaces where her absent lover, unborn child, and grandmother used to be.

LaMontagne plays exquisite lead guitar throughout, backed by James on celestial harmonies that boost the psychedelic mood even higher. The resulting album is soothing therapy.

Parker is in fine voice, and despite a few vague lyrics the songs are strong, especially when guitarist Brinsley Schwarz adds his distinctive punctuation.

Jordan exudes a level of confidence that’s all her own, never once flinching at the opportunity to reveal her feelings and insecurities, and it’s her insight and level-headedness that take her music beyond catchy earworms.

It's a dark, personal record that holds big promises for the future.

Call it emo for adults.

Jones and company sound at the top of their game.

The result? Another record--and a good one--very much like the records Parker has been making for the past decade.

Bakersfield gives us two current masters paying homage, not through note-for-note reproduction, but by putting their own reverential take on the music of two country music titans.

There’s true beauty in this disc as Dico soulfully and honestly negotiates her way through the vagaries of love.

Worthy is another finely curated set of songs.

Galactic backs each act with professional, jazz-influenced ease and, on some songs, a hedonistic, dance-rock pulse a la Prince, all the while keeping its Mardi Gras flavor.

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.

[Silver Age is] an album not just reminiscent of but worthy of comparison to his best '90s material.

It’s not easy packing so many different styles of music into one song--especially ones that don’t stray too far from home in terms of baseline mood--but it certainly helps when so many of them fall between the five-and seven-minute mark, as on the sixth album from British act Elbow.

If there’s an elegant groove hiding in a lost soul record, Oddisee’s found it, from the horns of “Contradiction’s Maze” to the bells of “Counter-Clockwise.”

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.

Where In Rainbows was mellow but brisk - an album that felt on its way somewhere - these songs are eerie and insidious, creeping like shadows - and, often because of the haunting voice of Thom Yorke, the occasional chill.

Maybe too spirited at times; without the madcap intensity of Hanna’s best work, too much is simply frenzied.

The disc is a blueprint of how to polish without compromise.

In exciting displays of versatility throughout the album, Segall grimes it up then unplugs, freaks out then holds back, wails then moans--all in utter confidence.

Her vivid miniatures of complicated intimacies and everyday inadequacies slip between the cracks of country, folk, and rock, and they're as graceful as they are unflinching.

It’s hard to say what is more ferocious on Anna Calvi’s new album: her voice, her guitar, or the interplay between the two of them. Together they launch a formidable assault on One Breath.

They aren’t bad songs, but Tin Star is more interesting when Ortega turns her lyrical glance elsewhere.

Songs don’t unfold in expected structures; they erupt, recoil, and then ride some jagged riff into another direction entirely.