Most impressive is how the band synthesizes diverse instruments and rhythms without appropriating or grasping for novelty.

With the fast-maturing Stone gaining greater control of her powerful pipes and a recent breakup adding to the underlying sexual tension while stoking the creative fire, the craftily reconstituted 70s R&B concept works exceptionally well.

Bejar’s singing with admitted half-fluency in another language is no barrier to enjoyment. Actually, it removes an element of his style that can frustrate some of us.

Younger rap fans may be puzzled by Buck 65's throwback character sketches and references to Allen Ginsberg's Howl and Bettie Page, but those who yearn for a more literate approach will find lots to dig in Situation.

It feels like she’s made no effort to censor herself musically or lyrically, and that naked honesty makes this disc stand out strikingly.

Like fine wine, Bill Hader or Gillian Anderson, Greys are only getting better with age.

It's consistently catchy, and produced with a broad enough vision so that it doesn't get repetitive.

Daniel Lopatin's newest Oneohtrix Point Never album is one of the more unique, powerful recordings to come out this year. It's uncomfortable but distinctly compelling.

The album evokes images of oceans, lakes and rivers in not only the album art, song titles and lyrics, but also in the overall atmosphere. Songs fluctuate like water, varying from tumultuous and joyous to still and tranquil. They flow with ease.

Sequels rarely outdo the original, and despite The Game naming Kendrick Lamar his successor years ago, The Documentary 2 and 2.5 prove he's far from over.

There’s a reason why this Toronto band is capturing the imagination of critics and fans all over the world: they’ve reinvigorated the form and stretched its limits in genuinely novel ways, and for the most part their experiments actually hit their mark.

Being authentically emotional also serves to reframe their earlier material, revealing that there've always been some truly moving sentiments hidden under the sonic reference points and clever wordplay.

The slower, sentimental ballads can veer into maudlin territory, and the spoken-word Reprise seems utterly unnecessary, but such minor missteps are easily overlooked when the rest is such a satisfying listen.

The result is incredibly potent and human.

Full of 80s college rock and 90s indie rock feel-goodness, the band’s debut album Football Money will no doubt fool throwback slackers into adopting this band as their own.

It's never clear where these songs are going, but the result always satisfies.

While they could tone down the synth on their next effort, this disc definitely lives up to the hype.

What sets Lemonade apart are the ways it continually highlights the fine line between empathy and anger. It’s a line Beyoncé walks with supreme confidence.

The best tracks are the most pointed, because they go beyond technical style and really delve into each rapper's head.

Back To Black is just a darkly rockin' good time, which will hopefully spark a new trend away from R&B's sickening slickification.

Some may argue that there’s nothing here the Ramones or Jesus and Mary Chain didn’t do decades ago, and there are obvious similarities, to be sure. However, the decidedly female energy the Dum Dum Girls bring to the table puts them in their own category, inserting some welcome softness and subtlety into the genre.

Wrist is yet another excellent record from mainstream hard rock's only real hope.

In some ways the change in direction makes you feel closer to him than ever – especially if you can digest Impossible Soul, a 25-minute dissection of failed love at the end of this already lofty 75-minute charmer.

If you’re able to tolerate the graphic descriptions of rape, incest, drug abuse, dismemberment and felching (Google it), the reward is an incredible amount of introspection, and top-shelf production by Dr. Dre throughout adds to the replayability factor.

Stellar 12-minute opus 'Time Flies' teems with Pink Floydesque arrangements and moving lyrics, while 'Octane Twisted' offers up massive guitar riffage that you can bang your head to.

He’s a self-proclaimed lover of Cyndi Lauper and a proud balladeer with a knack for writing glimmering melodies.

Jesus Is King provides an undeniably moving and distinct new chapter in the book of Kanye. Whether you choose to skip it or place it high on your mantel, its cultural significance is only bound to grow.

The dizzying array of styles and themes always entertain, and D.R.A.M.’s confidence as both a singer and rapper allows him to pull these threads together.

The artful and relatable way Dawson writes about real life makes each song like a little individually wrapped gift.

Though melancholy, the album never wallows or gets stuck or even treads water, largely due to all the movement constantly happening in the vocal and piano lines. It feels like an exploration rather than a sealed-up document of the past.

Overall, Feel Good nails the delicate balance between experimentation and restraint, making the listener feel... great.

More importantly, though, the songs still totally fucking rock.

Newly installed guitarist Kiko Loureiro weaves blistering licks around Mustaine’s own, elevating the frontman’s sorta sardonic, sorta goofy politicized lyrics. Longtime bassist Dave Ellefson ramps up his low-end pyrotechnics, with Fatal Illusion boasting maybe the grooviest Megadeth bass line since Peace Sells.

Beam has managed to maintain some of the intimate charm of his home recordings by cleverly trading a conventional trap drum kit for hand percussion. It works wonders to make an elaborate production seem smaller and more organic while strengthening the music's rhythmic component.

It’s art school punk that you can dance to, which automatically makes Mi Ami more fun than most of their peers.

Ultimately, this is the same Radio Dept. we know, love and hardly ever hear from. We’ll take what we can get.

Gorgeously inventive.

Tears Of The Valedictorian is the band in top form, with Spencer Krug binding meandering tales of post-postmodernist artistic anxiety with wiry keyboards that echo Mercer's morphing vocals.

The insightful tunes are cleverly composed, with a sharp sense of wit and a comprehensive knowledge of the game.

Harvey sings with unshakeable poise, and her melodies are as sticky as ever--to the point where you can imagine some songs working as barroom singalongs.

They might've built their reputation on kinetic live shows, but taking the time to make a proper studio album has refreshed, revitalized and tightened their special sound.

The Swedes have stepped it up in the songwriting department.

Sequels rarely outdo the original, and despite The Game naming Kendrick Lamar his successor years ago, The Documentary 2 and 2.5 prove he's far from over.

A masterful, mystical interpreter, Oldham conjures a new mood for Death To Everyone, unfurls an intense lost original called Beezle, and strikes at the gospel core of Prince’s The Cross.

It has the bigness and accessibility of a major hip-hop album thanks in part to zeitgeisty guests like Justin Bieber, Future and Young Thug.

However varied the influences, there’s one thing the songs have in common: they all make you feel some type of way.

Girls continue to bypass fads by making timeless music about the universal themes of love, heartache and drugs.

It's got the same mix of mid-tempo power chords and slow-moving ballads, and the lyrics are just as thought-provoking and insightful as ever.

On Sail Out, Jhené Aiko remains on her cloud, delivering 30 minutes of alt-R&B respite from reality, displaying soothing vocals, double-entendre-laden wordplay and a knack for choosing collaborators.

These nine ballads are stripped to essentials--beats, strings, stirring vocals --full of beautiful and eerie contrasts that highlight Björk's loneliness, anger and fleeting moments of optimism.

The album can’t help but feel like an appetizer. So, yes, it is too short, but that’s the point. We can be hungry for more, yet still satisfied here. That this is Vol. 1 means there will be a Vol. 2.

On the Dears’ fourth album, the Montreal melancholics take simple melodies and spin them into seamless epics.

Trouble, while not a huge departure from the Woodpigeon canon, proves Hamilton's songwriting is always growing. Here's hoping his audience will be, too.

The result is a poppy, polished, triumphant record augmented by backup vocals and violin from new member Miranda Mulholland.

Sebastien Grainger’s vocals show the benefit of spending the last few years touring with quieter bands, and listen closely for the subtle analog synth touches Jesse Keeler’s added behind his trademark wall-of-fuzz-bass sound.

A triumphantly outspoken, brash blast of incisive songs informed by inequality, displacement, joy, loss, humour, working, time’s passage, wit and sick production.

YG may just want to party, but the layered storytelling displayed here proves he could be the next transcendent, endlessly original West Coast superstar.

Here, he ratchets that up another notch, attacking familiar concepts (wantonly commercial rappers, his complicated relationship with his mother, the push and pull of celebrity) with seasoned vigour.

Building on the critical goodwill he received from 06s stripped-down This Old Road, the 73-year-old Kristofferson offers another sparsely produced batch of reflective acoustic tunes that he sings with sage simplicity.

Demented, sloppy, brilliant, and above all a great way to spend three-quarters of an hour.

There is plenty of [crescendos], but Gonzalez also proves adept at pacing, surrounding M83's bigger, more anthemic moments with ambient instrumental interludes and balladic "comedown" tracks.

Assume Form doesn’t have the instant gratification of his 2013 album, Overgrown--arguably his best--but it gradually pulls you in like a soothing balm. ... It’s still a James Blake record, but with brighter synths and more natural instruments. Any moments of darkness are balanced with light.

You won’t find many dance-floor fillers here, and on that level this album comes closer to Junior Boys’ wistful electro ballads than to Metro Area’s laid-back club magic.

Young Fathers' alarm at being boxed in has led them to make an uncompromising, and, yes, prize-worthy pop statement.

A full three years later, Sound & Color avoids the sophomore slump by packing a sense of purpose into its 12 sleek yet gritty soul tracks.

From the church-bell-ringing, banjo-plucking funereal title track opener to the into-the-sunset Hawaiian ballad Aloha Oe that closes the album in perfect cinematic form, Cash sounds completely at ease, and wholly preoccupied, with the approach of his own death.

With fewer experimental throwaways, the album puts the band's best foot forward: toe-tapping, harmony-laden kernels of pop.

[It] offers the comfortable familiarity of an old flannel shirt from the 90s but leaves you wondering if time has stood still for the Chicago post-rock quartet. It has not, as is apparent on the five follow-up songs.

Despite ups and downs, Suede have remained an impressively robust-sounding live act, and that energy comes across in Night Thoughts.

Songs, though distinct, spill into each other, with heady euphoria tying it all together.

Some trendy lite disco and uplifting, singalong hooks give her voice more to compete with and play up the universality of experience, but Sullivan sounds better the more specific she gets.

It’s characterized by both futile resignation and hopeful nostalgia. That’s a generous way to write, and Phoenix stands as a complex, giving record backed by some of Pedro the Lion’s finest musical compositions.

The wistful elegance of the music makes Luciferian Towers a peculiarly gorgeous portrayal of our threatening political reality. Xenophobia is on the rise and we seem to be on the brink of nuclear war, but at least we’ve got this album to provide the soundtrack.

Hard-driving Helen Marnie-sung tune Melting Ice, meanwhile, is surely Ladytron's steely attempt at self-aware irony.

Vitality courses through every song on her sixth album.

If Cry Cry Cry had the feel of a band shaking off the cobwebs and getting used to each other’s company once again, Thin Mind leaves no doubt about Wolf Parade’s continued vitality. You instantly feel that renewed vigour in the storming first seconds of the opening Under Glass.

There's still some banjo-pickin' and fiddle-playing, but The Long Way's clean, soft-rockin' vibe is striking in contrast to the traditional bluegrassy leanings of 2002's Home.

Houndmouth resurrect a blistering, off-its-hinges breed of Americana complete with tangible wild heart and soul.

While these new recordings aren't that different from the original versions, their stripped-down arrangements highlight the strong songwriting, not to mention the musicianship of everyone involved.

Long-time fans might be a bit weirded out by the shift, but a few seconds hearing Ditto channel Peggy Lee on the smoky torch burner Coal To Diamonds should assuage their fears.

Unbelievably, the beats on Doctor's Advocate out-bang those on The Documentary, and the Game breathes compelling detail into the severe persona he established on his debut.

Recorded last summer in Los Angeles, their debut 10-track album effortlessly showcases both Oberst’s and Bridgers’s strengths as songwriters who are unafraid of literate vulnerability as they explore subjects like loneliness, privilege and estranged family.

There’s an urgency to the songs--aided by crisp production--as if Smith resolved to get all his feelings out.

The songs are still there, though, even more so than on 2011’s Diaper Island.

If the term “ambient house” hadn’t already been taken by the Orb in the late 80s, it would be a good way to describe this; we’ll just call it really good stoner dance music instead.

13 exuberant folk-pop songs delivered with clarity, colour and conviction.

Bada$$ hits a sweet spot. His production choices (and those of Statik Selektah, Kirk Knight and Freddie Joachim) are innovative and timeless.

On A Mission's song arrangement is spot on and completely avoids the awkward transitions that can dog "genre-defying" projects. A must-have.

The production is just off-kilter enough to set them apart from the folk-rock pack, and they wisely resist the temptation to use their sprawling lineup as an excuse to imitate Arcade Fire.

The album contains some of her best lyrics.

She succeeds on a level that was always just out of reach; the whole thing feels organic and natural.

Dark, cathartic and hardcore, Del stays true to himself.

Despite the production and star power, no one element outstrips the others, except perhaps for Mystikal, who continues his reinvention as James Brown's heir apparent on the raunchy Feel Right.

Slowly unfolding ambient pieces still display a gritty, second-hand quality, but that fits the vibe of the record: never-ending travel, where the only constant is loneliness.

It's a solid album anchored by The Don, his best single since 2003's Made You Look and so raucous it belongs in raves and on runways.

She's bewildering.

Otherworldly.

Sadly, no RZA production appears on Ghost's seventh solo project -- thus this isn't as good as the invincible Supreme Clientele, but it's more cohesive than Fishscale.