It’s often messy and sometimes masterful, with the two records reflecting a revitalized band that’s found the footing that eluded them not in youthful disquiet, but in the complexities of getting older.

It’s often messy and sometimes masterful, with the two records reflecting a revitalized band that’s found the footing that eluded them not in youthful disquiet, but in the complexities of getting older.

Grohl’s music has cried out for, well, coloring and shaping for so long that it matters more that he’s finally sculpted an objet d’art, rather than Another Foo Fighters album.

Nearly every song on Luv Is Rage 2 comes with a distinct enough hook to break up the limited set of things it does and subjects it ponders.

After a decade of shaping the musical world in various supporting roles, Batmanglij’s first proper solo record is a quiet revelation that places his talents front and center, the key to unlocking just how instrumental he’s always been, and will hopefully remain, for years to come.

Blue Chips 7000 is wholly listenable, and it’s possible to imagine longtime Bronson fans calling it a comeback even if they have trouble recalling titles. But it’s a holding action whose worst quality is that it leaves you worried about him repeating himself again.

The strength of this album, and the 14 that precede it, is the immense healing and soothing found in the sheer beauty of Amos’ vocal delivery.

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

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.

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.

Cozy Tapes Vol. 2 has a loose family vibe. One gets the sense that almost anyone who dropped by the studio as they were recording had the chance to make the album. As such, the album’s not a show of force, it’s a party.

Whereas LCD’s previous album, This Is Happening, felt coherent as the project displayed a love of disco, American Dream feels happy sampling from many of the band’s established recording styles.

Brand New manage to reinvent themselves while also recapturing the essence of what’s made them so special and enduring.

For an outfit who’s claimed groove-rock for two decades, it’s a relief to hear what they sound like with a beat you can dance to. Now let’s see them keep it going.

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.

The band’s growth as a cohesive unit results in their most accomplished album yet. Painted Ruins is a wondrously complex adventure that rewards attention and patience yet is never inscrutable.

Rainbow, as a comprehensive work, feels much more organic and of this earth than anything by dollar-sign Ke$ha.

No matter how deserving Lana is of accreditation, and how close she is to true vindication, less than half of the tunes on Lust for Life are worthy of Born to Die, Paradise, Ultraviolence, or Honeymoon, despite the handful of very promising singles that would make you think otherwise.

Reznor and Ross held something of themselves back on this EP, and while it doesn’t completely upend the great work that’s here, it does open up speculation about how it could have been even better if it had their full attention.

While her songwriting hasn’t quite made the same leaps that prior records have shown, Out in the Storm offers a unique perspective: that of someone happier and stronger for the pain endured.

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.

Public Enemy’s message hits hardest when the lyrics remain open for listeners to step inside. A couple presidential putdowns are enough (no need for another “Son of a Bush”), and the small handful of times the album stumbles are when the focus narrows to micro grievances like calling out Kanye and Kim for being “a spectacle instead of spectacular” (“Yesterday Man”) or pointing out the negative effects of social media on millennials (“SOC MED Digital Heroin”).

Sheer Mag is a band that’s unafraid to feel, whether it’s desperation, rage, or overwhelming love. Over the course of an urgent debut, they let their guard down and embrace their emotions, showing the rest of us that we could all afford to as well.

Funk Wav Bounces isn’t the kind of album that’s going to change the conversation in pop music, but it doesn’t want to. All it wants to do is sit by the pool, release, let go, and have a good time.

4:44 is a breathtaking cycle about a man wrestling with his moral failings in real time, not always winning, trying to live his Mondays closer to what he preaches Sunday as he prepares for 50.

As a recorded artifact, the album falls short of providing a greater realization of the band’s honest potential, losing its better threads in a clutter of noise too loosely woven together to enhance the intended tapestry.

Generally, they stick to their formula, sweeping hooks buoyed by gang vocals and commanding horns, making for an album that’s predictable yet reassuring.

On his new album, Big Fish Theory, Staples continues to perfect his brand of nuanced nihilism while exploring new sounds that should put the music industry on notice that the future is now.

OK Computer never stopped sounding timeless. In its new form as OKNOTOK, unreleased songs feed off beloved B-sides, forming a web that supports the concrete themes of the original album so as to make its points even sharper.

With Ctrl, SZA proves that the cult following that ballooned with the release of her 2014 mixtape, Z, was not some flash in the pan, but a deserved wellspring of attention from an adoring fan base whose faith in what she had yet to produce helped to produce the project that could eventually stand as the best thing she has ever done.

Even without the willful innovation, the record is important evidence to just how strong and poignant his songs are in skeletal form. Wilco is nowhere to be found here, but Together at Last is still a very good Jeff Tweedy record that should hold over fans until his band’s next musical flight of fancy.

Lorde’s overreaches and missteps are just as charming as the incisive parts, so she must be an icon. The board-manning Jack Antonoff’s over-reliance on synths and clicks limits what she can do with this new maximalism, and her insistence on, well, melodrama will occasionally mar her best writing, which remains in the shadows. She’s not a liability. But she can be a forest fire.

There’s no formal breakthroughs on Trouble Maker beyond the astounding economy, unless you think the harmonica on “Buddy” or Clash-goes-“Ring of Fire” chords on “Telegraph Avenue” makes this the band’s folk-punk album.

Free from the weight of living up to the Grammy-winning behemoth’s history, this 40-minute collaboration shimmers and contains the cheeriest laments about unrequited love you’ll ever hear.

When the record does stumble, it’s because he’s trying to juggle too many ideas at one time as opposed to a lack of effort. Mostly, City Music succeeds at displaying Morby’s strength as a rocker, and along with Singing Saw, the two together paint him as an artist truly coming into his own.

For those who already believe, it represents a promising comeback that, while never fully hitting the marks set for it by time or the band’s own peers, points to even more inventive, invigorated music on a horizon that likely isn’t another two decades away.

If Berry leaves the world with any last thoughts on Chuck, it’s that his vitality and relevance will continue to endure.

Every listener will have to individually cherry pick the songs that work best for them, but these are the ones that best deliver on the possibilities of the album’s premise.

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.

Ultimately, she knows the pitfalls of dating more than one gender better than anyone in pop, and those moments of insight are when Hopeless Fountain Kingdom truly stands out from the pack, but it’s also reassuring that Halsey (who tags herself “alternative” rather than “pop”) conceives herself as an album artist first.

Lenker doesn’t always do pretty things--she can most certainly craft a beautiful song, but she’s canny enough to know that the ways in which we subtly alter our lives to be more aesthetically appealing often obscure a far more interesting truth.

Challenging throughout and at times jarring and inscrutable, Crack-Up searches for a resolution just out of reach.

Is This The Life We Really Want? is easily the most accessible of Waters’ solo work--a distillation in many regards of the anti-fascist, anti-imperialist, anti-greed messages he’s been broadcasting since Pink Floyd.

Lil Yachty the pop star shines on Teenage Emotions, and the wide range of styles with which he delivers his message of youthful exuberance shows a growing artist. ... Filler tracks such as “Dirty Mouth” and “Moments in Time” derail the parade of energy Teenage Emotions delivers, leaving the record with too many skip-worthy moments.

Altogether, this is the sound of the former King of the Beach aging gracefully. Or as gracefully as this punk can manage.

With everything under one roof and no vacancies in sight, the 25th anniversary return to Singles is a pleasant one. It’s a humble reminder of a time when soundtracks could rule the roost and yet also serve a greater purpose.

Black Origami is an album that, like its predecessors, will be savored and analyzed for the rest of the year. It’s a lock for best albums of 2017.

Despite the uneven results between that last track and the album’s superlative opener, Goths is a record that grows on you.

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

No matter its rocky moments, After Laughter exhibits the enduring trait that makes Paramore so appealing: Even when the situation is dire and emotions are running high, they tell it like it is with smiles on their faces. You’d be forgiven for missing the seriousness on After Laughter for just how much damn fun it is.

This album is a pure nostalgia play, and it’s going to score plenty of airplay on KROQ as a bridge between that station’s modern alt-rock staples and the ‘80s groups that once served as its bread and butter.

While the arrangements show collaboration, the lyrics sound like the work of the lonely mind. Powerplant is full of the solo enterprise of watching.

So much of In Spades recalls what makes the Whigs so much fun. It’s unapologetically brash, soulful, seductive, and more sophisticated than naysayers might care to admit. What prevents the record from nearing the realm of Gentlemen or Black Love really begins and ends with Dulli’s vocals.

From beginning to end, even in its moments of resentment and self-doubt, Pageant is shot through with empathy, kindness, and sincerity.

These nine songs have the potent rumble of a muscle car revving its engine as a show of strength balanced with that poignant ache that country music does so well.

Slowdive delivers nearly everything their fans desire in a return: familiarity, innovation, and vast atmospheres to get lost in.

One of the greatest accomplishments of No Shape is how it provides a lush, seemingly endless musical playground in which Hadreas’ stunning, one-of-a-kind voice can push past any limits and shine in new and unusual ways.

With more daring songwriting and cleaner studio sound, Mac DeMarco has created the most polished version of his signature sound we have heard to date.

Granted, the majority of Pollinator isn’t nearly as compelling as its singles, but it’s Blondie, alright: older, wiser, and confident enough to make music that’s true to their identity.

While The Possum in the Driveway may not be the type of album every Mulcahy fan has been anticipating, they can be assured that it’s yet another worthwhile stop on a journey that seems to have many miles left to go.

Guppy lures you in with fine-crafted honey, before blindsiding you with a sudden downpour of vinegar (or piss, take your pick). This is why they call it “power pop.”

“No Wolf Like The Present” tips off the festivities with loads of frenetic energy, but it never leaves reality, and that goes for the rest of the album. Oddly enough, this restraint warrants some of the record’s finest moments, and when the Texas rockers aren’t twisting and distorting their music like a rubber band, they get lost in the ether.

With a bit more focus, Humanz could have been an essential part of Gorillaz’s narrative. Instead, it’s a scatterbrained frenzy of emotion--which is what’s to be expected of anything immersing itself in the chaotic, logic-free nonsense of the world post-election.

Feist is back, and, for the first time, it feels like she can finally feel the warmth that everyone has felt in her presence this whole time.

On “DNA.”, Kendrick slices himself down the middle, spills his guts, and mines the finer points of all of his moving parts over an 808-heavy production from Mike Will Made It. The combination may sound to purists like it should not work on paper, but it is absolute fire, and they reprise their magic again on “HUMBLE.” and “XXX.”, challenging rap’s own perceptions of itself and what value really boils down to from the Hot 100 to the underground.

It swings between biting and sublime, with occasional moments of triteness; but when Meath and Sanborn get it right, they get it very, very right. In a live setting, even the trite ones will bang, and maybe that’s all you can really ask.

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.

The 12-song project is the Brooklyn native’s most well-rounded release to date.

Ultimately, The Far Field serves as a reminder of how skilled Future Islands can be when everything locks into place, and even if it never reaches the highs of Singles, it more than holds its own.

By peeling back the layers of his persona, Ghersi breaks himself down in an attempt to find rebirth, trying to reconcile with his past and present. The result is his most daring and enthralling record yet.

The result is her most vulnerable and honest work to date.

From the incendiary solos of “Word to the Wise” to the evocatively personal/universal lyrics (“The throne of maladies/ It’s right in front of me/ Your malignancy”), Emperor of Sand proves cathartic for the listener and, hopefully, for the band members as well.

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.

Contact just finds a way to pull it off without sounding like she’s on the verge of collapsing--which, for the sake of everyone’s well-being, is a surprisingly good meeting point. There’s just a small space left unused that finds listeners wanting more.

The album spins best when Misty is picking a fight with God or observing human nature as a screwball play, all while honoring the fact that people were given a raw deal in concept, not just execution.

The music on the record seamlessly ebbs and flows while not sounding repetitive, and Alison Goldfrapp remains one of pop’s most charismatic, if underrated, singers. In all, Silver Eye has a little bit of everything for fans of either the band’s uptempo electronic or reflective folk-ambient phases.

The Wild is a worthy addition to Raekwon’s extensive discography and should comfortably take a position near the top of most fans’ lists.

Personality reigns, because a cursory glance at the album’s tracklist would have you believe this is an absolute clusterfuck--after all, there’s a track by Irish comedy hip-hop duo The Rubberbandits right smack in the middle. Yet such eclecticism happens to be its strong suit, and winds up embellishing the strengths of its younger selections.

Heartless continues the successes of Sorrow and Extinction and Foundations of Burden, while also incorporating familiar but tasteful sonic flourishes from adjacent genres.

For 44 minutes, Mann slips into the skin of someone walking an emotional tightrope, and it’s an act she pulls of with grace and conviction.

The singing and melodies are massaged with a care unheard in the prior Drake discography; this album flows as improbably as The Life of Pablo, with more assured lyrics and smoother sequencing, to offset the lack of a certifiable genius at the helm.

A Crow Looked at Me stands as a remarkable example of the restorative power of music, an intimate display of love, daring both in concept and execution.

[Britt Daniel's] big statement is his Body of Work, of which every fine part adds up to a greater sum. Here comes another one.

This is a band cruising in their own lane, the road smooth as Teflon.

Semper Femina does not reach the soaring intensity and edged elation of Once I Was an Eagle, nor does it carry almost any of the freaked-out electricity that propelled Short Movie and allowed it to stand as a worthy successor to Eagle. But it is a strong, elegant, and self-assured album that, in its creative arrangements and lyrical world building, contains remarkable complexity and depth in terms of both skill and concept.

On Everybody Works, Duterte’s timid, but not terrified. Like any sophomore album, it constitutes a bit of a departure, but at this juncture, she has every right to experiment.

While gentler than its predecessor, Salutations is his bulwark against the tide, a warm record that offers calm in the cacophony, comfort in the struggle, the darkness amid the hope and the hope amid the darkness.

While his most definitive project remains 2015’s Dirty Sprite 2 for its balance of Future’s innate melodic sense and especially effective trap records, HNDRXX comes in as a close second.

Drunk is what we’ve come to expect from Thundercat, which is to say it’s a welcome release. On his third album, he embraces his sound, stereotypes and all, so that teenage humor lights up otherwise overly-heady bass.

An unprecedented two-and-a-half-hour journey into the typically guarded Merritt’s life, the album is as revealing as it is resonant.

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

This latest release shows they will continue delivering the brand of technical death metal they helped define without compromise.

She’s not pushing the envelope so much as crinkling it a little bit, so she can curl up comfortably inside.

Though there are near misses on Crystal Fairy (like the riffs that don’t quite reach heavy metal territory in “Secret Agent Rat” or the teeth-gritting introduction of “Under Trouble” that does more to incite annoyance than apprehension), the album succeeds far more than it falls short.

As a solo project, Dirty Projectors works well. As significant of a shift as this album is from past Dirty Projectors’ records, the detailed production and arranging work shows Longstreth put all of himself into making it.

Even though the record is layered in angst, Showalter has an inner fearlessness that has allowed him to take accountability for his actions. While Hard Love isn’t a clear solution for Showalter’s problems, it’s definitely a step in the right direction.

There’s something to be said for the potential for personal growth inherent in traveling without a destination, and every song here is the sound of Julie Byrne making peace with her restlessness.

I Decided. is a fresh statement that proves Big Sean is continuing to evolve.