Between Rahman's "Slumdog pop" on Mahiya (deluxe edition), Marley's melodic island jam, Miracle Worker, and Stone's vocal acrobatics fluttering around Jagger and Stewart and adding big choruses to Energy, the album's all over the place and never dull.

They easily incorporate traditional folk elements like Nick Drake with contemporary indie rock and cinematic string arrangements that often soar above many of their songs' humble openings.

This EP, a teaser of what to expect from the full-length album scheduled for January, sees the vocalist reining in some of his more histrionic tendencies while expanding his palette of influences and sounds.

Puberty 2 is full of isolation, anxiety and loss, with the idea at its centre that happiness eventually becomes sadness and despair. Mitski switches between airy minimalism and bursts of loose, wild rock as she navigates these tempestuous waters.

In getting their own group back together, the Internet have delivered their most fully realized project to date.

It's not quite perfect: his voice is the star of the show but is occasionally buried under the clever beats and production. But that's a small complaint about someone who's looking more and more like one of the most exciting artists to emerge this year.

Brutally beautiful.

It feels way huger than the work of two people, with dense, textured songs that sound like a remarkable collision between two distinct personalities.

He has a slightly Bob Dylanesque nasal whine on some songs, but at other times he slips into a soft Harry Nilsson croon, and fills his lyrics with vivid imagery and storytelling.

There can be a thin line between ambitious and pretentious, but this record dodges the latter gracefully.

Monica’s highly anticipated sixth album is rich with songs about self-validation, love lost and subsequent recovery, and doesn’t let up on that thematic gas pedal until the last tune.

It’s a more introspective, political and mature sound, but no less fun.

Compton is easily his most introspective album.

The whole album is rich with memorable hooks, as opposed to just the singles.

This time around they sound slightly more connected to genuine dance music, while at the same time stripping away some of the atmospherics to allow more of their subtle pop sensibilities to surface.

The contrast between the adrenaline rushes and nihilistic machismo and the score’s cold serenity is strangely intoxicating.

Fans of Chad VanGaalen will find much to love in Black Mold, the Calgarian’s electronic instrumental side project that reveals just how fertile his imagination is (in case we needed further proof).

Though the music is breezy, Kenny's sage, unfussy meditations on life and love add welcome weight.

This batch of 80s-pop-inspired tunes is packed with earworms and remarkably filler-free.

It's frequently ridiculous and makes you a bit embarrassed for the folly and bravado of youth, but the guy has an uncanny knack for that perfectly evocative couplet and addictive hook, which is why his supporters are so vocal.

A must for anyone still heavily rotating Moon Safari.

A streamlined slab of silky, soul-soaked rock music, Seeing Sounds succeeds in capturing the best experiments on their first two albums while injecting new-school sequences into the mix.

If you thought no one made albums like this any more, they don’t so enjoy The Hard Way.

The overwhelming headiness, relentless heaviness, behemoth riffing, technical proficiency and epic scope of Crack (at least three listens are needed before it all sinks in) should be enough to prove that these guys are the Rush of extreme metal.

She creates layers of dark, self-indulgent, eye-popping music that holds up against her previous hits and is, in some cases, even more satisfying.

The departure of founding member guitarist/bassist Gwil Sainsbury hasn’t left them uninspired.

It’s weighty, sure, but give yourself over to this album, see it through, and you’ll be rewarded generously.

Virgins is not a particularly pleasant listening experience, but it is undeniably emotionally powerful, and a worthy addition to his impressively unique catalogue.

The various producers behind this all pull their weight, but as usual the star is Blige’s husky voice and that charming mix of vulnerability and over-the-top diva confidence.

I Blame You is mean, raw and instrumentally tight, with splashes of surf and punk. Froberg and Habibion’s twangy guitars effectively interweave in highlights 'Fake Kinkade' and 'Pine On.'

An infusion of their earlier hazy laid-backness would've add more variety, but Tiger Talk is still an enthusiastic, confident follow-up from a band well on its way.

Monds-Watson is startlingly accomplished for her age, showing a deft hand at songcraft.

Overall, it could use more joyous highs to balance out the lows. But still, his classical piano chops mean there’s never a dull moment--even with eight-and 10-minute tracks.

Kiss Land is proof for the unconvinced: the Weeknd is a star whether he wants to be or not.

While this album might not be their most mind-bending, its hooks and idiosyncrasies prove that after more than two decades, TMBG still know how to have fun.

Near the album’s close, the psychedelic insanity of Ka Re Ha Te Ta Sa Ki is a whirlwind of pounding drums, circular chanting, spasmodic guitar noise and violent soloing that perfectly exemplifies Smile’s fusion of panicky, heavy abrasiveness and lush, melodic and dreamy sprawls.

The moody synthesizer soundscapes of Tomorrow’s Harvest reveal their rewardingly intricate layers and details with repeated listens.

The goofier bits and sloppy sunshine pop moments are really what make this an interesting and complete album.

At times the Crosby, Stills & Nash-­inspired harmony bits come off slightly overbaked, but if Oldham is angling for a summery feel-good sound that will go down well with Americana fans without alienating his sad sack indie rock fans, I’d say he knocked it out of the park.

Assists aside, Land of Talk continue to showcase Powell’s singular musical vision, sounding a hopeful, tuneful note in her long-awaited return.

There's still nothing particularly radio-friendly here and plenty of weirdness to go around, but more than ever the free jazz influences and pulsating drones seem designed to serve the song and not just enhance the listener's physical sensations.

A natural progression from the delicately beautiful and strangely funky shoegazer dance pop of his last album, Swim.

Singer/lyricist George Mitchell sings clean and fairly melodically, but with convincing disaffection.

Reg has matured a lot, and Jet Black is easily the most dynamic and upbeat record of his career.

Even when they get quiet and contemplative, there’s a raw urgency that keeps the energy visceral.

Its intriguing combination of 70s Bowie glam, James Brown soul and Outkast weirdness can't really be taken in after one spin. True rewards come from repeat listens. Finally, something worthy of the hype.

They have returned to (non-mariachi) form and then some.

It's difficult not to fall head over heels for Saadiq's hard-working showman ethic, especially when he threatens to take the party past the three-minute pop format (which he rarely does, unfortunately).

The 16-song record (some previously released) never feels bloated: the tracks could be love letters by the Harlem native to all the cultures jamming in the Big Apple.

Post Tropical’s lush horn arrangements, rare but welcome returns to guitar fiddling and overall sense of restraint keep it warm, woozy and with one toe still in the folk realm.

He’s stepped outside of his comfort zone of Long Beach City-inspired beats, and the result is his best offering in years.

Where the band’s double-drum rhythm section was once their most forceful sound, here it’s just another element in an impressively rich palette.

Antisocialites doubles down on Alvvays’s strengths while also helping the band carve out a stronger identity within their well-established sound. By highlighting the band itself, Alvvays one-up their exciting debut.

Building on the connections between slow hip-hop rhythms and double-time footwork beats, Archives is a further exploration of some of its predecessor’s roughly sketched-out ideas.

Accompanying his gruff voice with a bleary-eyed strum, he's probably more potent and alive on Serenade than many would expect.

Jackson wouldn’t want us to call it a comeback, but it sure sounds like one.

A Swedish Love Story's brevity is basically a kind of pop tease, but the upbeat (or "posi," as he put it in a press release) vibes make for a stirring and enjoyable listen.

The songs are about working through the pain of love, but what comes across on record is joyous.

There's not much on proto-punk legend Patti Smith's 11th album, Banga, that would have sounded out of place back when she first started blowing minds in the 1970s.

There’s no better way to describe the music than impeccably Superchunky.

Here, Jamie Stewart and his crew of arty innovators use the penchant for sonic deconstruction they honed last time round to take their project of disemboweling pop songs to a new plane.

The deeply personal and overtly political are indivisible on Give My Love To London, an album that is harrowing in its bluntness and beautiful in its subtleties.

It's quite an impressive feat to combine goth rock with trance pop and still keep all your cool points, but that's exactly what Toronto's Trust have managed to pull off with their debut full-length.

Somehow they’ve managed to become both more accessible and more unique.

Battles have a fascinating, distinct sound of their own; they don't need Gary Numan crooning overtop.

Olympia, Washington's Wolves in the Throne Room have made their most accessible album to date.

This stripped-down effort forgoes the high-profile collaborations we've come to expect to create an unstrained, repetitive thumpathon that fits right into their catalogue.

Recorded, like their last album, without guitarist Bruce Gilbert, it contains many other ingredients that will sound familiar to long-time fans, namely an emphasis on erudite, sometimes snotty lyrics and big, heavy riffs.

Each is gently strummed, sparsely drummed and deeply crooned by Brett. Rennie takes care of the lyrics (and a few sweet harmonies) and deftly avoids love’s clichés.

It’s exhilarating, cheeky, Pavement-influenced indie rock that’ll leave you exhausted – and maybe anxious – by track 15.

His latest--entirely produced by long-time collaborator No I.D.--reveals an enlivened emcee, the same forceful voice who gave us classic albums such as Be and Like Water For Chocolate.

It's experimental and improvisational but familiar. When she puts her psychedelic soul spin on the trappy drums of today (what she calls trap&B), it's the sound of an artist embracing change and all the new possibilities and complications that go with it.

The album is chock full of solid songs.

While they’ve obviously raised production values for Merriweather Post Pavillion--the sound of guitars has been eclipsed by a sampledelic woosh and gurgle--Animal Collective fans will be relieved to find the group keeping a safe distance from mainstream pap.

There’s still a tendency toward icy detachment, but considering their affection for almost overwrought instrumental embellishments, the restraint serves them well.

Indecision and infighting have rarely sounded this solid and inspired.

The quality of the recording and performances makes for a brilliant soundtrack.

Gunn excels at unrushed, meditative songwriting, but this album also finds him giving stronger form to his dreamy creations.

On Trouble Will Find Me, they’ve perfected it, knowing when a hook should explode and when to hold back and let Berninger’s signature, sombre baritone take over.

The result is murky, hazy, psychedelic and endlessly replayable.

GBV fans should definitely check this one out – there's a lot to like.

It requires a certain level of self-denial to hate Fall Out Boy, as in, "No, I don't like huge hooks, soaring choruses or wild-eyed expressions of youthful ambition." If so, congratulations, you're 800 years old. Or a Joanna Newsom fan.

Brilliantly catchy.

Y Dydd Olaf’s beautifully layered sounds and rhythms convey a tightly conceived sonic world full of endless ideas, even if you can’t understand the lyrics.

It has some of the year’s best country songs, plus a groove-heavy take on the Bee Gees’ classic To Love Somebody.

As its cover and length (the usual eight songs) suggest, Near To The Wild Heart Of Life is unquestionably a Japandroids album. Some may yearn for more of Celebration Rock’s high voltage, but by changing gears they’ve added more depth and variation to those shout-along choruses we love so much.

The disc has plenty of amped-up, distortion-filled moments (Ride, The Easy Way), but the band throws in more than few twangy, laid-back tracks (She Loves The Sunset, The Beautiful Thing). Infectious tunes and, most important, variety, make this another great disc in the band’s solid career.

Unless you’re only listening for Bejar, Whiteout Conditions should not only satisfy but also open your mind to just how versatile the New Pornographers can be.

The melodies sound effortless, but there’s complexity under the surface.

It feels like a bunch of friends jamming on a farm, even if there are still a few electronica elements here and there.

The less experimental C'mon is confident and warm, suggesting that the band let the reverberant setting dictate the tone.

Without a fluke hit single or prime placement in a big-budget Hollywood film, the Heavy’s disc, which easily outclasses The Odd Couple fiasco, may fall between the cracks, but that Swaby character has serious potential.

There’s a sense of playfulness on I Don’t Wanna Die (In The Hospital) and NYC – Gone, Gone that’s missing from Cassadaga, and enough catchiness to keep radio stations happy (even if said track happens to be an ominous ode to a dying boy), but it’s on the achingly simplest of songs where Oberst’s familiar splenetic growl returns at last.

At first, the complete lack of restraint and overflowing musical ideas make Busting Visions feel a bit like an unfocused mess, but once you get familiar with it, it seems absurd to complain that they've crammed a dozen golden hooks into every single song.

Banjo, flugelhorn, tuba, cajón, accordion and tablas all prop up Stephin Merritt’s distinctive bass and dry-humoured lyrics, which, fans will be glad to know, remain in top form.

Stelmanis brings a more musical sensibility to the formula, even if it's still miles away from mainstream pop.

There’s a constant push and pull between the sometimes ridiculous aspects of classic hard rock and his more serious artistic and political concerns, and while it’s often unclear when he’s joking, that tension is exactly what makes it all work.

It's the kind of warm summer record you put on without much thought, and that's a large part of its charm.