Minor Victories is the work of intimacy and candor. It goes beyond a one-off project and instead becomes a contained piece of longing and hurting. The cohesion behind it all should be the envy of any band whose members have the luxury of being in direct vicinity of one another.

Mystery has forever shaped the mythology behind The Strokes, and they’re rarely so forthcoming. Which is why Casablancas’ peculiar transparency is one of the more alluring accomplishments of Future Present Past.

Gearing up to be the next EDM crossover talent, Flume’s sophomore effort, Skin, showcases a producer at ease with all of the sounds moving tickets at America’s major festival events: hip-hop, indie pop, and EDM.

Goodness does more than remind of existence, it makes the promise of a new day, and even the everyday, feel more alluring.

Good Times! is better than it needed to be. Unlike the tossed off albums by most legacy acts, there’s real heart and energy to this, not to mention some rather great tunes. But what it likely won’t do is connect The Monkees with a modern audience.

While Holy Fuck once felt like an absolute anomaly, it’s interesting to see that their brand of electronic music has become something of a trope. Even more interesting, though, is whether they’ll continue to push farther into dismantling that and forge into even newer territory. There are hints of it on Congrats, though that’s balanced by the feeling of too easily slipping into a familiar groove.

Plenty of artists can make up for tired phrases in their musicality. Thrice even did it themselves on Identity Crisis, elevating the largely overdramatic lyrics through loud/soft contrast and brain-rattling thrash. To Be Everywhere has no such energy, relegated to medium pacing and chord progressions that usually find the bass and guitars linked together in a monotonous crunch.

This is the sound of a band learning to work together again after nearly half a decade apart and finding that they aren’t as rusty as they might think.

While it may not be her strongest album, it’s an interesting new direction.

With its gritted teeth and threats of violence, “If This Tour Doesn’t Kill You I Will” sets the tone for the rest of The Dream Is Over, a feral animal of an album that frequently lashes out without warning.

The pop star is putting out fine records, but it’s hard to escape the feeling that her ludicrous potential remains unfulfilled.

There’s a sense of positivity throughout that recalls the lighter works of contemporaries like CFCF or early Baths. Utilizing that warmth, Gold Panda is able to master restraint and thoughtfulness.

If I’m Honest starts with a barnburner about lacking suds (“Straight Outta Cold Beer”) and ends with a call to Jesus (“Savior’s Shadow”). It’s a trajectory seemingly dictated by Country Albums For Dummies.

Pile might celebrate the moodier, grittier side of rock music, but it does so with enough of an ear for a good hook to make you want to embrace the weird.

I Still Do, a sleepy, cover-heavy, forgettable batch of tunes, will fit pleasantly soundtracking Sunday morning coffee with a newspaper--and if you’re not old enough to be up on Sunday morning or reading a newspaper, it’ll likely be a hard pass.

The main issue with the set lies in the fact that while those two tracks are immaculately produced, they don’t quite have the spark that made those early singles memorable, and the other two tracks are largely forgettable.

Eleven years is a long layoff, but Head Wound City sound just as peerless and hard to pin down as they did more than a decade ago.

Strangers‘ ambition is its greatest asset, and because of Nadler’s own ambition, there is reason to believe she could get better still.

Even with misgivings about the lack of length and focus, this mini-LP makes fairly clear that Adult Jazz are in a transitional state. Earrings Off! is too small to be called a sophomore slump, and it introduces new elements to the band’s repertoire that could easily play well with the best aspects of Gist Is.

Heidecker’s still a little green as a singer. He’s not bad at all--quite pleasant, actually--but throughout In Glendale, he sounds unsure of himself, never going full vibrato or exhibiting the same commitment as his Laurel Canyon forefathers.

2 stands as yet another superb showcase of songwriting and musicianship from a beloved icon.

The Dessner brothers manage to curate a kind of open-ended question for each artist regarding how their individual musical language translates the work of The Grateful Dead.

While Coloring Book successfully channels the musical conventions of African-American church tradition without sounding dated or pastiche, the album also subtly chronicles black history and uses it as inspiration for artistic freedom.

On Kamikaze, as on their 2013 breakout album Blowout, the band comes across like the Adderall-fueled offspring of The Beastie Boys and proto-punks The Heartbreakers, both groups defined as much by their attitude as by their actual music.

Skip A Sinking Stone is Lee’s most mature, thoughtful work yet, filled with complex reflection and meditation. That sense of calm also serves as the record’s biggest drawback, as it lacks the dramatic tension and sweeping heights that made songs like “Golden Wake” or “Advanced Falconry” so direct and impactful.

Teens of Denial takes its power from its absence of blind spots, its lack of Freudian suppression. Toledo looks long at himself and us, a sort of nauseous survivor of modernity. Sometimes just the looking itself is enough.

Kvelertak are able to traverse across sub-genres and pull from dozens of influences within four minutes and still maintain purpose and direction confidently.

Dylan may naturally be better at the brooding that Shadows required, but these types of decisions equally prevent Fallen Angels from matching its predecessor.

Should I Remain falls much closer to earlier Islands’ efforts like their 2006 debut, Return to the Sea. Indeed, the band acknowledges this new record as a “spiritual sequel” to their first offering. This fact does nothing to assuage the feeling that it’s a slightly rehashed assemblage.

The strongest thread running through the many sounds of Taste is Thorburn’s voice: a shot of whiskey in the hot cocoa sweetness of the record’s often upbeat tunes.

Absolute Loser isn’t an experimental, mind-blowing fusion of genres. It doesn’t veer away from Fruit Bats signature sound. Instead, it serves to remind us that Fruit Bats have grown their sound, cultivated it, broken it, and rebuilt it, yet the core remains the same.

Reclaiming his own identity, Skepta is now properly equipped to amplify the sound just above its dank, underground incubator.

They [the songs] all sit well next to each other, but that feeling of “next to each other” rather than “supporting each other” can be difficult to shake.

None of the songs on Detour are without at least some merit, though a few are without any discernible marketplace value, save niche kiosks along I-40 or the occasional road tripper’s Spotify.

Without the raw energy of their first record, at first listen, Ullages was certainly a surprise. At first listen, it may sound weak, empty, a little too delicate. But after a couple more spins, the songs had begin to reveal their strengths. Moreover, they show that the still­-new band is willing to try new things.

Many of these tracks certainly evoke something older, plucked straight from a dad’s record collection, but Down in Heaven carries some of that mustiness. The record ends up being too careful, even occasionally uninspired.

While the vast majority of the album serves its purpose as a re-education of sorts between Van Dither and the listener, these tracks ["Wrong," "Nail (Skit)," "Crumble," and "Toots"] drag with self-satisfying excess.

Death Grips pride themselves on constantly shifting and progressing from one release to the next. That unfortunately sometimes outweighs cohesion, but Bottomless Pit is tighter, more daring, and catchier than that.

Waiting five years to hear previously released tracks is worth it precisely because Radiohead finally feels connected enough to perform them with meaning.

As a shoegaze record, Tired of Tomorrow‘s production is too metallic, its chord progressions sometimes bordering on pop ­punk. But as a post-­hardcore record, its guitar parts are overly­ simplistic and its vocals are sleep-inducing. It’s got one foot in each camp, but doesn’t benefit from either as much as it should.

While it’s tempting to peg this as a breakthrough, it feels and sounds more like an expertly crafted transitional album. Oh No acts as a refinement of Lanza’s previous sound while gently nudging pop as a whole into a more complex and subtle future.

Her construction techniques have always made for gigantic sonic treetops, and even better, the wind that rustled the entire forest. But when concentrating on placement rather than scope, simple additions don’t go as far.

As with anyone complaining of love lost between pleas for it to return, it begins to become tiresome — no matter how smooth your voice may be. But Blake manages to make a whopping 17-song album transition seamlessly, holding your attention thanks to a careful execution of space between those very keys.

Bates sounds separate from Gibbs; their aural love affair falls flat. Bates will have to soldier on behind Big Black Delta, and hopefully with more time and experience he can break through and deliver the kind of emotional overtures he’s only just hinted at.

Whether working in strands of hip-hop, house, funk, or whatever next might come to mind, there’s something inherently glowing about his beats. All those genres are jammed together into a single album, just like they are within Celestin; he finds joy and fun in them all.

For so long, ANOHNI had felt like a supernatural force, of this world but able to see a thread of love and hope through all the sadness. By expressing the grimmest realities, that thread becomes harder and harder to find. But ANOHNI’s music makes that struggle all the more powerful.

LUH’s debut is certainly over-the-top, and purposefully so. Hoorn and Roberts strive for catharsis repeatedly and find it. They avoid the placid, disillusioned platitudes that can befall music like this, earning the catharsis they strive for.

Despite the similar aesthetic to what’s come before, mundanity refuses to set in. This is another great Aesop Rock album to add to the pile--another TKO to further solidify his underground king status.

Paradise is White Lung pushing their limits and coming out bloodied, hungry for more. It’s a record full of disease, doubt, dumpsters, and death, with the band rising above it all and reveling in their filth.

White Hot Moon may occasionally sound like a band still figuring themselves out, but at least they’re letting their contradictions shine instead of hiding them under the lampshade.

Given all the resources he has, the album may have been too big to fail, but he’s still maintained enough of his unique talent that it’s unlikely anyone could have done it better.

Although Zombie’s B-movie-in-a-blender lyrics come up short, Electric Warlock at least stakes a claim at being his most musically heavy album since 1998 solo debut Hellbilly Deluxe, or maybe even White Zombie’s Astro Creep: 2000.

When it works, Delusions of Grand Fur makes a case as Rogue Wave’s strongest album, an expansion of sound anchored by the omnipresent sweetness of Rogue’s voice. But where it falls short, the ghosts of Permalight and Nightingale Floors loom ever larger, a haunting reminder of the growing distance between the band’s sterling Sub Pop debut and current quagmire.

Lemonade marks Beyoncé’s most accomplished work yet. It is the perfect combination of the sharp songwriting of 4 with the visual storytelling acumen of her self-titled record. Here, we see Beyoncé fully coming into her own: wise, accomplished, and in defense of herself.

They do a serviceable job in a handful of styles, and that’s nothing to sneeze at. Methyl Ethel could be your next favorite band, but they just have to pick what band that will be.

There’s something to be said for organics, but that conversation isn’t happening here. Become Alive compensates by pinning three powerful songs to its tracklist, but the rest feel like scraps unintentionally left on the inspiration board.

The Ship finds Eno’s music again foregoing the linear conventions of music and creating a kind of shapeless yet directed sound experience instead. More than that, the album is one in a long series of evidences that Eno’s limitations remain as near mythic as the man himself.

Katy B is a master of capturing that oceanic feeling when individuality melts away, and every soul rises and falls together on the wave of the beat.

Waltzed in from the Rumbling is a strong effort from a band that’s been around a while, making this kind of lovely indie ­rock since it was topping the CMJ charts in the mid ­2000s. As other, bigger names wandered in the direction of disco (The Arcade Fire) or electronica (Sufjan), Plants & Animals have continued to hone their sound, and this new album is a testament to that work.

Until the Horror Goes could probably use a little more of this resignation.

Much of his work lives in destruction and rebirth, and embracing that helps to make Too Many Voices his strongest record since his 2012 breakout, Luxury Problems.

The four remain honest with their work, and the work rises to the challenge as a result.

Always Strive and Prosper doesn’t play to Ferg’s strengths. It feels more like album made by a big label committee, carving up a talented rapper piece by piece and stripping away everything that makes him special.

Boucher chose to confront his feelings through song, and he did it for himself. The fact that he decided to share it with others seeking solace through sound is a gift.

It’s therefore best to view You’re Doomed. Be Nice. as a collection of anthemic slogans rather than anthemic songs. Upward-looking phrases tend to pop out from the complicated arithmetic.

Despite its shortcomings, Nocturnal Koreans is a decent collection sifted from the excess of an even more solid album, which is certainly enough to keep Wire moving forward.

Taken on its own, it’s a fine if not slightly disappointing work. But looked at within his prolific catalog, it paints a picture of a musician who will never stop experimenting and will likely continue to make music until he physically can’t anymore.

While there is nothing groundbreaking about Blind Spot, there doesn’t need to be. It sounds like Lush in 1994, right at the top of their game. Truly the only complaint is that there are only four songs.

By challenging their listeners and pushing themselves, they manage to sound fresh by refusing to settle. Watching them work through their identity as a band offers a promising take on what an assured statement in the future would look like.

It’s hard to imagine how someone whose last album was an opera could out-do themselves, but Rufus Wainwright has achieved just that with Take All My Loves: 9 Shakespeare Sonnets, to be released via Deutsche Gramophon on April 22, 400 years after William Shakespeare’s death.

Unassuming and minimal in its execution with a whole that’s greater than the sum of its parts, Sleep Cycle establishes itself as a captivating journey inwards towards a destination that’s as comforting as it is reaffirming--and likely what a lot of us need for a good night’s sleep.

By orchestrating an album meant to embody the difficult experience of the advantaged world talking about the atrocities that surround us, the majority of the project lacks a clear stance beyond what has been readily called “poverty tourism.”

Crab Day marks a considerable step forward, appealing to existing fans while also announcing a huge period of growth.

The 13 songs on Nosebleed Weekend communicate angst, anger, and regret by turns, but that feeling of comfort rests like a soft pillow at the very bottom of the mix, giving the trio enough confidence to explore corners of their sound they had never thought to unearth before.

While he may not be breaking new ground here, Morby shows that there’s plenty of resonance yet to be mined from familiar tropes while also finally finding a distinct voice within.

His legacy was going to live on whether The Diary was released or not. This just broadens the scope of the legend and gives us even more to appreciate.

Although this is a solid step towards solidifying an already tight presentation, it could go deeper. There is still a disconnect between Ebert’s philosophy of childlike adventurousness and community-building and the songs themselves.

If there’s one knock against Santana IV, it’s that it might be a little too overstuffed, with a tendency to occasionally wander into the realm of the self-indulgent.

SORROW feels like a half-hour pummeling followed by a 24-minute healing session. And maybe that’s the point. Separation--and the grief resulting from it--is never an evenly balanced journey.

Beam and Hoop convey their emotions sweetly, offering their own imperfect glimpses of an old theme told in new ways.

Written for one lucky baby boy, A Sailor’s Guide to Earth also welcomes the unmarried, infertile, abandoned, and middle-aged with unconditional love. If Father’s Day is just another Sunday, let Simpson be your proxy.

This is a no-frills type of record that prizes style over substance.

Falkous and his mates also keep the musicality lean, groovy, and (mostly) accessible throughout Peace & Truce.

Parquet Courts may have just released their most realized, independent, and articulate album yet.

Gore could be the Deftones’ best album, but you can earnestly say that about any album they’ve ever created and make a strong argument. If anything, it’s the most modern, and a statement that style and substance are not mutually exclusive. Gore has both.

A new Woods album will not always be occasion to reinvest, but they’ve become the perfect example of a consistently rewarding band worth checking in on every other year or so.

The Dandy Warhols aren’t doing anything new on Distortland, and they still sound as dispensable and indispensable as ever.

Luckily, Hecker has impeccable taste. Very few composers can achieve this kind of beauty or this kind of experimentation, and yet Hecker does both, time and time again.

There’s an indelible charm to these songs, and they’ll trigger a smile if you open your heart and dismiss your preconceptions.

Three Men and a Baby just happens to be one such experiment that doesn’t land with the blunt force fans might be used to.

Painting of a Panic Attack may sound bigger and thematically a little more mature, but any fans who were worried that happiness on the West Coast might change Hutchison’s relationship with his art can breathe a sigh of relief.

The album rarely manages to break free of its ’80s-lite inspiration, its tricks little more than emulations--not innovations--of the source material.

Mostly, it feels like The Lumineers are talented songwriters, wary of repeating themselves, who know what they want to say, and are still figuring out how to say it.

Atomic succeeds because of the band’s willingness to dive into their muse and experiment. It’s why they’ve achieved such high status in the sub-genre. By taking on a subject larger than themselves, Mogwai are able to lose their identity in telling such a tragic story.

Psychopomp brims with well-defined hits and emotional strength.

What the album lacks in singularity, it makes up for with a stronger sense of urgency. It’s louder, it’s heavier, and it’s jammier.

It’s the Big Joyous Celebration is remarkable for its scope and its granularity.

It’s a shame to see Nokes not stretch her limits, and there are times the band would benefit from being bolder or angrier.