They [Ghostface and Wu-Tang Clan] are truly a hip-hop enigma, and Apollo Kids is just another piece of proof.

This complete command over their craft really sets these Orange County natives apart, resulting in the kind of record that grabs you at first listen and becomes more meaningful every time through.

Women are all over A Thing Called Divine Fits, but at its many hearts the record celebrates "a very brotherly" relationship.

The Idler Wheel succeeds in creating a singular world more daring than any of Apple's previous records and one of the most daring pop records in recent history.

With each album, her willingness to push the envelope in both halves of the equation grows, as if she trusts her audience to in turn trust her enough to follow her further along the path.

Director's Cut can be seen as new work, because some of these songs are very different to their earlier versions in tone and scale; both sets of work are equally brilliant, but here there is even more clarity of purpose,

They’re challenging listeners to look at music and dance with a completely renewed lens, to forget what was normal and move on with an urge to protest what’s formulated. Admittedly, that’s a frightening and difficult feat, but also unforgettable once accomplished. One might use the same descriptors for Psychic.

The service Temporary Residence Limited have done in making these nearly lost classics available again is downright admirable, turning out a set that's a must-have for post-rock fans.

Sleigh Bells take one of the most confident and surefooted steps forward a band could take for a follow-up album, eschewing the storied sophomore pitfalls in favor of a sharper, fuller sound.

This album redefines Swans by gathering the best of its past and re-centering the music on impulse and interplay, built with a preternatural sense of how long to let a section develop before moving on to the next idea

Equal parts futuristic space jazz fusion and hip-hop that does well to bridge the seemingly disparate corners of Thundercat's sprawling resume, Apocalypse is one of those rare modern jazz records that's remarkably unpretentious without having to cheapen the daunting complexity jazz is noted for.

The succinctness of the record creeps up on you, making it dissolve through your fingers in an unexpected way. But, maybe that’s part of the appeal, the desire for more that it leaves behind, a heightened hunger for baroque-tinged indie pop.

Anyone can recreate a sound, but Yuck succeeds where most bands fail by digging under the surface to capture the spirit and magic that made the music of their beloved idols possible.

Where Post-Nothing melts into a hazy dream, Celebration Rock does exactly what it claims to do-it burns on and on like the best sort of party.

What makes Parallax a fully realized album is, in contrast to its compact musicality, the expanses and voids Cox explores.

While looking for 50 Words For Snow, she has found 50 other original ways to express herself effortlessly, creating another intriguing piece of work.

Where Minaj is fantastical and over-the-top, Haze is understated and raw.

R Plus Seven might be the first album to crystallize the simultaneous joy and terror inherent in a life of constant connection and constant surveillance.

The album's use of vocal samples, something less prevalent on Resurgam, feels incredibly fresh, and produces some of Fever Dream's best moments.

Their sense of naked honesty makes them so vulnerable that it is hard to believe they put it down on record, but that is part of their intriguing beauty; their willingness to fall is because they are pushed by the hands of true experience, and they also create the softest of musical landings for themselves and us.

Sacrificing recklessness is different from sacrificing passion, and New Moon cements The Men as one of the most exciting rock acts today, no matter who they’re listening to or, most importantly, who they’re redefining.

Every number attempts something at least a little differently, and succeeds for the most part.

Time, life, death, religion, New York City, and New York money are big topics to tackle in a 45 minute pop album, and Modern Vampires doesn’t even attempt answers to the questions it raises. Instead, it’s content to expound upon the Vampire Weekend aesthetic in inventive, imaginative, and undeniably successful ways.

While instrumental, the recurrent use of a glistening fanfare motif, present across the album's six tracks, gives these pieces a much stronger sense of cultural and biographical identity than most vocal music.

While the highs last time around ("Slow Burn," "This Ain't A Scene") still feel a bit higher, Twenty Five, even while it grasps at noise and disorder, comes together as a fully formed, mature statement of an album.

Its ambrosial melodies and austere instrumentation edify his canon of work, which has long been rewarding for its risky sensibilities and perseverance. Yet that’s what makes Wakin so curious; it’s Vile’s most derivative record to date.

Mountains is a simple name for a band. But it's also an utterly mysterious one that stretches implications across eons. In the right setting, Centralia just feels that deep and rich.

Richly arranged, masterfully sequenced, and full of brooding, Push the Sky Away combines the stately beauty of The Boatman’s Call and No More Shall We Part with the intensity of Grinderman/Lazarus-era Cave while managing to sound like neither.

Though Biophilia is hardly easy listening, even by Bjork's challenging, outlandish standards, there's little doubting it'll stand as one of the more rewarding albums of her storied career.

Musically and lyrically, Achtung Baby sounds as fresh and relevant as it did 20 years ago.

All We Love We Leave Behind stands tall within Converge's discography as yet another glowing example of how to make art out of aggression.

Shields growls and purrs in ways Grizzly Bear has never before.

It's pretty impossible to be disappointed with the result here: crisp remastering of the original 10 songs, plus 18 Gish-era tracks, demos and live versions, many of which are being released officially for the first time here.

Despite all of the weirdness, this is a band that deserved to have their story told, to receive mass attention rather than merely cult status, and this box set should achieve that.

Even as he’s celebrating the wonder of America and all its spoils, there’s an undercurrent of razor cynicism that belies the joy. That’s the fun yin and yang that makes Americana such a rich listen.

Mean Love is all about precision, be it in the form of a buttery vocal hook, an elastic bass line courtesy of Ish Montgomery, or a poignant lyric co-written with Greg Lofaro. In other words, it feels like this journeyman has finally arrived.

While 20 tracks seems exhausting, to the contrary, he captures our attention throughout, especially with his clever zingers. His pen is sharper than the last time.

An album that blends rather seamlessly with the group’s fiery six-track debut EP.

It’s clear that Rogers took her time to create a project that encompassed her journey thus far and is bursting with energy and daring you to dance. More so, she doesn’t stray from slower, emotional ballads like “Past Life”, a track that bears a resounding similarity to early Stevie Nicks, proving the duality of her craft. If anything, this record is a formal announcement: Maggie Rogers is here to stay.

Ti Amo isn’t a perfect record; things sag slightly when the tempos drop, and the tracklist doesn’t quite have a year-defining hit in the caliber of “Lisztomania” or “1901”. However, while it may not be an instant classic, it also feels like required listening for a summer that seems destined to be sun-drenched and scary at the same time.

He’s proven mastery over his craft and shown that he can work with just about anyone and still put out some of the best product on the market.

Ice Cube’s social consciousness makes Everythang’s Corrupt a refreshing release. From beginning to end, Cube’s maturity as an artist shines; the songs in which he acknowledges his achievements feel well earned because the primary focus stays on social injustice.

With No Shame, Allen has eschewed making an Irish exit from her days as a party girl and instead delivered a eulogy that gracefully buries the past while continuing to seek the sunshine of the future.

This album doesn’t change the Melvins narrative, but it’s certainly enjoyable, big, and full of muscly, headbanging jams.

Even though Hozier doesn’t bring anything immensely innovative to the album, Wasteland, Baby! is still a delightful experience that radiates with feeling.

The album finds a way to weave together multiple emotions, sounds, and genres and shows off Frangipane’s versatility as an artist while still acting as an incredibly cohesive and seamless album. She explores more ideas in one album than many do in their entire career. Do not underestimate Halsey.

There are too many impressive performances on Surf to focus on just one man’s achievements, and Chance has to be proud of that.

Part of the success of After the End lies in its seamless and smart sequencing.

The return we have all been waiting for, and it does not disappoint. Let’s agree never to part again for so long unless the reunion promises to be just as joyous and refreshing as Automaton.

It’s a welcome addition to a genre that has become so occupied with spacey, bare-bones operations and overly simplistic results.

Though brief, a tardy reprise of the adventurous sound that opens the release is an exciting display of The Internet’s true brilliance, which finds them absolutely nailing every transition and avoiding the anticlimactic ending suggested by a number of the preceding tracks with a pair of stone-cold bops.

Sleep Well Beast certainly takes the air out of the hopeful balloon that swelled on Trouble Will Find Me, but if there’s ever been a time to wallow in lush, masculine melancholy, it’s now. This beast isn’t going anywhere.

Instead of trying to recreate the heightened catharsis of Lost In The Dream, A Deeper Understanding suggests a viable path forward from that turning point, a journey blown out to widescreen proportions that breathes new life into a familiar sound.

First Demo is a remarkably cocksure case study of a landmark act planting its earliest musical seeds.

A welcome return that’s more solid than it should be, yet less varied than you might hope.

Lux Prima is a beautiful little album: Ambitious, dreamy, and short enough to leave you wanting more.

RR7349 is a more complex affair than Stein and Dixon’s work on Stranger Things and for obvious reasons, above all being the involvement of Adam Jones and Mark Donica.

There’s an excellent three track run from “What if…,” an energetic song that samples Ol’ Dirty Bastard’s “Shimmy Shimmy Ya,” into mid-tempo standout “Safety Zone” before a touch of Hope World familiarity returns in the optimistic “Future.”

Rammstein’s untitled seventh studio album marks a triumphant return, and lives up to Kruspe’s desire to present the band beyond its reputation as a magnificent live act. There is a key focus on melody amid the grandeur and forcefulness of the music, along with thought-provoking lyrics (translated from German) that deal with pain, passion, controversy, and sensuality.

All of these techniques--the streamlined mixing, the honeycombed harmonies, the poppy sci-fi synths--build a sonic unity made all the more bright when surrounded by the irreverent lyrics.

It’s sad and sweet and lovely and brutal.

It’s rich in slow-burning ambiguity, and it may be vibrant and clean, but it doesn’t entice dialogue quite the same way his past albums have.

She took her time, creating a project that shows how much she absorbed between then and now; in fact, Modus Vivendi is the marrow she sucked out of her experience.

Groove Denied is the sound of Malkmus truly untethered, and once you get past the initial jolt of its radical stylistic change, you’ll recognize it for being the great album it is. Don’t let the ascetic nature of the arrangements fool you. Malkmus is trying to blow our minds, and he succeeds spectacularly.

As inscrutable as it can be at times, Giannascoli never betrays his purpose, making Rocket his most developed and accomplished album yet.

While it might be easy to dismiss an EP as a lesser body of work, this five-song set makes the case that Van Etten is in a period of songwriting where all her music is essential, regardless of the package it’s delivered in.

When you listen to 1000 Forms of Fear and hear the real pain in her beautiful, guttural vocal hiccups, it doesn’t feel like a voyeuristic experience but, rather, like an old friend’s new hurting or your own past mistakes.

Seeker is an exciting and treasurable return for Cronin, as the four-year hiatus since MCIII has resulted in some of the best songwriting and musicianship of his solo career. Sure, some of it blends together after a while, but every piece of the puzzle earns its place as well.

Blackstar is a battle cry against boredom, a wide-eyed drama set in a world just beyond our scopes. It doesn’t get more Bowie than that.

This is a moody, angry, and soulful export from what modern anthropology insists is a happy-go-lucky area--Denmark.

Hardly a cookie-cutter pop voice, she’s brash but not abrasive and can be sultry without being hammy. Those songs showcase the versatility of her croon, while also updating the pop ballad form with Vindhahl’s metallic, glitchy production.

It’s not as fun as 2007’s Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga or 2005’s Gimme Fiction, but it’s just as punchy, while also sticking with the ambition that made Transference arguably so intriguing despite its muddled demeanor.

Free Love is an album you wade through, one that carefully encourages you to move with it and move through it, challenges your existence and presses you to feel, then drops you off lightly just a few feet away. It’s a true testimony to the fertile partnership that is Sylvan Esso.

They’ve always done an exceptional job of bucking irony and sticking to their own earnest agenda, and this latest effort is no different; you’d be hard-pressed to find anything within a stone’s throw of a radio hit among these nine tracks, but you will find a smooth, almost flawlessly cohesive whole.

By nature of confronting so much gloom Okovi can weigh heavily on listeners, but the brighter numbers mixed in make it easier to soak up.

Violence Unimagined doesn’t precisely deliver a standout track, but it promises an exciting and surprisingly subtle turn in the band’s legacy of brutality.

Dudu is a welcome gesture of support from kindred souls. Consumed in moderate doses, it raises the spirits.

Polo’s previous album, Die a Legend, was meticulously crafted but unrousably lethargic; all the beats sounded hungover. The Goat has more pep in its step.

Likewise is a gorgeous solo debut from a unique singing and writing voice, a record that quietly gets under your skin and stays there.

Putting aside all of the work Kelela has done to hit her stride in the mix, she is ironically most brilliant when the producers lay out.

Navigating between crestfallen country ballads and rollicking rockers, Something More Than Free showcases Isbell’s musical diversity without sacrificing a pinch of lyrical precision.

As an album, it’s effective and objectively good, but somewhat slight in comparison to their previous iterations. That being said, their sincere, youthful reverie combined with well-honed production and arrangement skills that could have only come with age makes for a truly sweet and satisfying addition to the Quin sisters’ catalog.

Though informed by the blaxploitation soundtracks of the ‘70s and the label-driven hip-hop soundtracks of the ‘90s, Black Panther: The Album is very much of its time: a well-produced and incredibly cohesive album with the loose swagger of a curated playlist.

Lush is one of the most engaging and relatable indie rock debuts in quite some time.

It should come as no surprise that follow-up b’lieve i’m goin down... finds Vile continuing to self-deprecate, amble, and sigh, despite the new tier of success. Neither should it be a surprise that all those qualities remain entirely charming.

Offering sanctuary to anyone with a soul full of longing, At the Party with My Brown Friends is a beautiful affirmation of our common needs and a reminder that love is possible.

A fascinating look at a day in the life of an artist at his absolute pinnacle.

The record’s highs validate Spaltro’s position as one of indie’s storytellers to watch while its lows only make you feel like she tried to cram two records’ worth of tales into a single disc (and perhaps capitulated to a few bland arrangements along the way). Even with those flaws, Even in the Tremor is a welcome return and a real-time reminder that imperfection can be beautiful, too.

The good news is that her songwriting is stronger than ever. Along with co-executive producer A.G. Cook, Charli XCX has put together a delightful album of high-end pop confections. Charli packs in plenty of wow and proves to be more than worth the wait.

Mammoth WVH is the sound of a young musician forging his own path and a very strong beginning to Wolfgang’s musical journey as a solo artist.

As the album comes to a close, its success lies in the honesty and purity that went into its creation.

Even if the method of delivery is not the most effective, it’s a positive thing for both artist and listener to be pushing further, trying harder, and exploring uncomfortable, new terrain. Ignoring that would be a mistake.

Soft Sounds… isn’t quite as playfully subversive as Zauner’s big-rig guitar solo on “Everybody Wants to Love You”, but her work as Japanese Breakfast continues to draw its energy from transgressing both the expectations of herself and her audience.

There’s little that’s playful inside Superunknown. It sounds more like Black Sabbath running for their lives, about to crack under the pressure, but then, at the last minute, escaping--and thriving.

It’ll make you remember that weird, wistful emotion that isn’t quite sadness but isn’t quite anything else, either. Because, while their music may sound as fresh as ever, American Football’s message these days is clear: time takes everything.

As with most of the LP, the instrumentation and lyrics are equal parts memorable and evil. Let’s face it, memorable and evil are two traits any fan would want from a Rob Zombie album.

This LP is loud, clanging, and communal, but also, in its own way, dreamlike. There’s something warped at the core of these songs, as if they’ve been yanked through some kind of wormhole and have reemerged into our world as aliens. And, for the most part, that makes for some fascinating listening.

It’s a tricky record that is perhaps more keen on being interesting than outright entertaining. Nonetheless, the experimentation on The Nightmare of Being is certainly worth celebrating.