These 14 songs are sun-kissed with playful psychedelia and a sense of stardust.

The Invisible Way is as spare, heavy, and lovely as anything Low’s ever done, but it feels essential; there’s an extra beauty to the bleakness of these songs.

On the Roots' superb, inky-black tale of paranoia, 2006's "Game Theory," the walls were closing in. On the equally gripping Rising Down, the group's 10th album, out today, the walls are getting demolished.

An album as lean, mean, and gritty as the cover image of someone behind a steering wheel, peering into the rearview mirror with windshield wipers in motion.

Even outside the context of the movie, the songs are compelling portraits of dashed dreams.

This isn't pop music in her sister's obvious, melismatic, and melodramatic mold; rather it's pop music for people who didn't know they were looking for pop music.

Statik serves up Action's verses over superb beats that should keep hungry fans satiated for months.

The result is an album that is every bit as engaging as ear-candy as humor.

Freedy Johnston last released an album of new music in 2001 (he put out an engaging covers collection in 2008), but the years since have yielded a gorgeous pop record.

Not only does the trio turn over new delights in familiar numbers like "Gloria's Step" and "Turn Out the Stars," but it even unearths "Song No. 1," an Evans composition he never recorded.

Terminology aside, it’s a sprawling, star-studded release, and an impressive achievement--one that signals a new level of ambition for Drake.

With his fourth album Swanlights, Antony Hegarty has created his most arresting set of songs to date.

Wenu Wenu lacks touches that give a Souleyman show its full charisma--the shouts to and from the audience, the presence of poet Mahmoud Harbi, who whispers to Souleyman the next line to sing, and Souleyman’s hipster-pleasing visual identity — a wiry chain-smoker in red keffiyeh and shades. But the production by Kieran Hebden (Four Tet) is smart and clean, and the songs offer range.

It’s Album Time is mostly instrumental, and devoted to sustaining one long groove that touches down on disco, lounge, and chillwave.

His fifth solo record, after a four-year absence, is his most focused and affecting effort, accenting his funk-soul side and melodic instincts.

Simply stated, here’s the experimental-listening event of the year.

Amazingly, "Beyond" picks up where 1988's "Bug" left off, with only slightly more streamlined polish but with the old love of volume and excess still sweetly intact.

With Norwegian noise artist Lasse Marhaug producing, Hval walks a tightrope over melodic, sometimes lush pop music surrounded by dissonance straight out of a horror film.

The man's wordsmithing is even headier than his beautiful songs.

The band has never sounded more relaxed, with a lived-in confidence.

This album is his best yet with his own band, a potent dose of rock and R&B instead of the lighter jazz and world music of past efforts.

This marvelous album will resonate with sons, daughters, parents, spouses or those mindful of their mortality. In other words: everyone.

The earworm riff of java paean “Kafe Mania!”; the huffy boom-bap funk of “Life Is Suffering”; the TV-metal urgency of “Learning to Apologize Effectively,” urgent synths nicked from Bon Jovi; the claustrophobic electropop revamp of “I Don’t Want to Set the World on Fire”; the power-pop jangle of “Plastic Thrills”--it’s all irresistible.

It is, first and foremost, a guitar album, full of extended compositions that display the inventive, intricate embroideries of his fingerpicking.

A couple of the meandering instrumentals fade into the woodwork, but in general In Prism proves a formidable (if long-overdue) return to the studio.

There's not a lot of replay value in Björk's new mode, but it still works humbly well and the computer visuals go a long way toward expanding on the fragile, chamber orchestra feel of the music.

The Hope Six Demolition Project might derive its title from a Housing and Urban Development program designed to “transform public housing,” but the bleak picture Harvey portrays on this stunning album gives that title a second, and more ominous, meaning.

The indie troubadour spins out his trademark blend of vintage country-folk that begs to be played on an old turntable and heard through the screen door. Fortunately, great music transcends its medium.

Wolf Eyes’ travels through the depths of noise and despair sound like they end up at a place where the gates read “Abandon All Hope,” but the group’s ability to put across its artistic vision with such totality should inspire at least a flicker of optimism.

Nudged out of retirement, the singer-guitarist has returned with The Unfairground, his first album in 15 years and best in more than three decades.

Steel Train is among those bands whose members weaned in the '90s and are now busting out their coming-of-age anthems. The band handles the job well on its new self-titled album, capturing the angst and uncertainty of young adulthood with freshly rendered details.

If this is as close as you get to hearing Waits live, it’s an illuminating snapshot of an artist whose concerts are increasingly rare and compelling.

There's enough ingenuity on Coexist to remind us why the xx was a game-changer three years ago; with any luck it will end up a blip on a resume of more inspiring releases.

Clancy's Tavern is dominated by songs of a different stripe, most of them about losing love or trying to cope with its loss.

The sultry singer [Bobbie Gentry], who had a hit with "Ode to Billie Joe," is part of this essential new Light in the Attic compilation that explores a fringe strain of country music.

As for “Sweet Reward,” a marvelous moment-in-time narrative sketch delivered by the murmur of Doe’s voice, and “Rising Sun,” where a reverberating guitar line gives way to a singer sounding like a Sonoran Sinatra amid the song’s slow, swirling rise and fall--at moments such as those, Doe simply is making some of the most striking music of his career.

It’s a stark, sinewy affair that foregrounds the punk-rock lifer’s voice, a finely weathered instrument, all knowing vibrato and bemused sneering.

Backspacer, the band’s ninth studio album [is] one of its most cohesive and satisfying in terms of brevity, crisp production, and a sharp focus.

It's casual and compelling, the work of a musician who simply wanted to record some songs on her own terms.

Distortion isn't an easy listen, with its strict, difficult palette. But it's an endlessly fascinating and provocative one.

His first solo production, the brooding music on Skelethon is often as intoxicating as the stentorian rhymes.

On his latest effort, Saadiq creates a seamless, supremely melodic set that evokes '60s and '70s soul.

On S/T II, Akron/Family strikes a balance between chaos and composure that feels constantly at risk of tipping fully into one or the other.

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.

Middle Cyclone is by far Case's most quixotic album, and that's saying a lot considering the abstract ideas behind her last studio album, 2006's "Fox Confessor Brings the Flood." Yet it's also the most revealing and rewarding work in a 12-year recording career that has seen Case evolve from an alt-country siren to a singular songwriter as capricious as a weather vane.

Most of Little Hells is musically quite simple, giving the sense that whatever Nadler has to say rests entirely in her sound, not in the songs themselves

The headiness doesn’t always work to Dupuis’s advantage; for every song on Twerp Verse that gets its point across with fresh, memorable language, there’s one where cutting through the thickets of wordplay feels more exhausting than enjoyable. Still, when she gets the balance just right, as she does on the creepy sexual-harassment story “Villain” and the romantic-dysfunction anthem “Backslidin’,” she’s one of indie rock’s finest lyricists.

Desolation becomes part of the landscape, the canvas on which Drake puts his words front and center. Guests appear on occasion (Jay Z drops by on “Pound Cake/Paris Morton Music 2”), but no one draws focus quite like Drake.

Patty Griffin has got religion, or at least the urge to sing about it, on her transcendent new gospel record. When she bends her raspy, gale-force voice to the task, it sounds as if she was born to do it.

Brain tickling aside, this is a supremely enjoyable, stylish, and modern-sounding record, which isn't easy to pull off for a guitar band with a tendency to look backward.

At 16 songs, the album can feel disorienting, but it's further proof that for an Englishman, Costello has become an improbable - and invaluable - ambassador of America's overlooked musical past.

Rather than indulging the impulse to ride grooves this mellow off into the sunset, the band keeps one eye trained on the meter (most songs clock in under three minutes), while the other drifts off into the clouds, like on the ’60s-era antiwar singalong 'People Say.'

Full of feel-good, sonically textured Americana jams about peace and love, Nash’s latest batch of songs make for a satisfying, if somewhat one-note, late addition to your summer vibes playlist.

The 15 tracks on The Real Thing feature a slew of styles and producers--among them Scott Storch (DMX, 50 Cent), Adam Blackstone (the Roots), Om'Mas Keith (Jay-Z), and Shafiq Husayn (Jurassic 5)--all gathered in pursuit of a mission outlined on the album's gorgeous, abstract opener, a meditation on open-mindedness.

Shape Shift With Me is a sharply penned love letter both to the idea of romance and the people who engage in it, brimming with deep yet concisely expressed emotions that can only be worked out through top-of-the-lungs bellowing.

"The Reminder" features Feist free from the polished confines of her previous effort. Instead, she opts for a more organic approach punctuated by subtle electronic elements, soulful vocal harmonies, and glam-rock guitar riffs.

The driving finale, 'Home,' finds her asserting, "Let's live in the glory," and hitting a magnificent buoyant piano bridge that says as much.

The duo has left the cartoon buffoonery behind and drill down on making a rattling, raucous record.

Depending on your susceptibility to this cut-and-paste style (and probably your age), it could be either the best thing, or the worst, you've heard all year.

“All That We Have Is Now” sets the tone for a casually stately blend of happy-go-lucky tracks that build to the Little Feat-ish “Never Forget to Boogie” and the mock-bravado of “Don’t Be Shy.”

If anything, these new songs are bolder showcases for the ensemble’s talents.

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.

Like its predecessors, it mimics the rhythms of a new relationship - it’s up one minute and down the next, loving in places and wounded in others - and it’s a rich and rewarding album, but only after multiple listens.

The crowning achievement, though, comes with a fantastic slice of raw Southern soul, 'Humble Me,' that sounds like it came straight out of Muscle Shoals circa 1969.

Ingredients from those progressive forays ensure that the new tunes sound fresh even as the album is marked with such Sonic signatures as artful contrasts and angular arrangements.

As always, Wilson loves to toy with melody and phrasing, a penchant that often yields delicious results.

The debut from the once-anonymous LA duo of Rhye--Danish electro-soul producer Robin Hannibal and Canadian vocalist-producer Mike Milosh--floats with ease on this wave [of R&B experiments].

Their catalog is crammed with albums that replicate the unbridled joy and communion of their live shows. Remedy is the newest one to do that.

If not quite a renaissance, Illuminations at least suggests Groban is finally ready to let some more light in.

Singer-songwriter Josh Ritter is moving fast on his eighth album, but he never puts a foot wrong. The 12-track collection, produced by Trina Shoemaker over two weeks in New Orleans, is positively giddy with wordplay.

The years away may have recharged Staples's batteries, but the music itself sounds much the same, which is a good thing.

Covering the likes of Joni Mitchell, Patti Smith, and Nina Simone on last year’s “Mockingbird’’ seems to have rubbed off on her. “Crows’’ is a striking album.

That theme stays consistent, but our heroes are far from complacent. Indeed, much credit goes to 7L, whose inventive productions provides cannon fodder for the rappers to blast apart with witty punch lines, clever metaphors, and agile flows.

There is a new energy and focus acting as the perfect foil to Hot Chip’s lyrics, which have always been remarkably clever, particularly in the emotionally stunted realm of dance music.

The production creates a Joe Henry feel of gently deconstructionist pop--warm and relaxed even as the instruments occasionally struggle against their leashes--giving the album's best material an extra spin.

Sukierae explores a variety of sonic avenues, but on balance stays in a contemplative, acoustic place with melancholy waltzes, hazy finger-picked ballads, and dreamy remembrances carrying the day.

As usual that pep is paired with tunes that seep into your brain with the stealth of Mann's own beguiling murmur and lyrics that range from poetic to narrative.

This is a more basic, stripped-down affair, yet Copeland's vocals are no less powerful. Boy, has she got a set of lungs.

While the glorious noise that band is known for is largely absent from “Under the Hunter,” Ó Cíosóig’s steady hand makes even the superficially tranquil explorations of sound in these songs to seem alive with curiosity and movement.

Years of Refusal is Morrissey's third album this decade, and it is easily his most vital and engaging and maybe even heartbreaking since 1992's "Your Arsenal."

No Time for Dreaming is a searing testament to the power of perseverance.

Ripatti's restraint is still his strongest suit; he's not so much leading the way as lighting it.

The duo’s self-titled debut’s greatest strength is the pair’s hand-in-glove harmonies. Coupled with Mann’s gift for a pop melody and Leo’s penchant for spiky, urgent guitars, the end result is a best-of-both-worlds situation.

Fifth album In Our Heads features its share of cerebral hip-shakers but the group has enough other moves to keep things varied.

Popular Songs, the trio’s 16th album, is another pleasing installment of cleverly assembled songs that unite homage and originality.

The album is a beguiling mix of acoustic and electric blues, with harmonica legend Musselwhite weaving in and out like a roadhouse virtuoso.

Underneath is crisp, clean, smooth, and smart.

At once spacious and intimate, Barchords is an album as suited to a brief romance as it is to a long drive.

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.

This is the rare debut that’s smart and disarming and instantly catchy.

Adkins remains unmistakably country, even when, from time to time, he throws a little blues or rock into the mix. No doubt that has something to do with his unmistakable baritone, which sounds undiminished here.

Tthese renditions make this whole more than the sum of its estimable parts.

Little Bird is a gem, and easily Chambers's most accomplished work to date.

The music, accordingly, is languorous and minor-key, the guitar work of Matt Mondanile chiming and tuneful in the manner of the Strokes. Nostalgia is carried along by the wind, along with the smell of salt water and hot pretzels.

The variations will be more palpable to longtime fans--a bit more chunky, melodic rock, a little less alt-country--than to anyone just discovering this rousing band.

On her new album, Harris has meticulously written and chosen a group of folk and country songs that support the nuances of that voice perfectly.

[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.

The Quins’ voices give songs like “Faint of Heart” extra dramatic heft, while adding anxious shades to the steely-eyed façade of “Hang on to the Night.”