He comes at these songs with an easy familiarity that tells you he didn’t need to spend a lot of time learning them, because he had long since absorbed them into his very bones. Also, the guy can flat-out sing, which is something he doesn’t get enough credit for. ... The one real knock against anything on Only the Strong Survive is that the definitive versions of most of these songs are so solid that even he can’t find much to improve upon.

The best moments come when the duo find a balance and Drake falls back on his crate-digging prowess. ... Sadly, there’s not enough of this to go around, making Her Loss another disposable Drake project that will fade away in a few weeks—one that could have been so much more.

Alpha Zulu may not be the best Phoenix album, but it is another reminder of their artistic stability and growth, a genuine triumph for a band with seven albums in tow.

Makes Me Sick Makes Me Smile is the soundtrack to the nights we spend wrestling with if we should forgive them or just forget the whole thing. Instead of trying to neatly package the mess we make, Pretty Sick create something that sounds as massive as the way it all feels.

There are lo-fi treasures throughout this collection that stand with some of Pollard’s best work, like “Big School,” “Gelatin, Ice Cream, Plum” and the meditative, d-tuned “Johnny Appleseed.”

Swift’s lyrics can still cut like glass or cast a spell. No matter what era she’s in, it’s the stories—more than anything else—that will always work the hardest. That’s why Taylor Swift is pop royalty. When she tells you she’s a mastermind, believe her.

One of Stumpwork’s greatest strengths is its tension between curiosity and apathy, opposing forces that clash throughout the album. Often, it feels like oblivion is winning.

On The Car, they deploy Fitzgeraldian tendencies, throwing a party with a lingering, enigmatic atmosphere. As long as there’s a mirror ball, you can be assured a fun time.

Whether it’s the start of a beautiful musical friendship or just a flash in the cast-iron pan, Crutchfield and Williamson’s I Walked with You a Ways is roomy, real and charming, and it’s one of the best Americana albums of the year and a powerful display of songwriting skills.

There’s a whole lot of ambition on display here, especially in the second half of the tracklist, and all of these disparate pieces somehow come together thanks to Ross’ confidence as a songwriter and arranger. Simply put, if this isn’t the sound of a band leveling up, then I’m not sure what is.

Whereas her first album had a more bare-bones acoustic feel, this one takes on a more produced sound—and in this movement in a pop direction, it feels like Sparke could have worked to make her sound a bit more dynamic, pushing further outside of her comfort zone than she did. While Dessner’s production fills out her sound nicely, it also blurs the boundaries between her songs, allowing them to bleed into each other if you’re not paying active attention.

Rolling Golden Holy is a contemporary folk classic with songs that wouldn’t have sounded out of place 50 or 100 or 150 years ago. It’s an ageless album for the modern age, by a group coming into the full scope of their abilities.

These are all top-shelf tunes, and they serve as evidence that Rankin and O’Hanley are among the best pop-song writers working today.

Although the handful of newly pared-back songs would theoretically give him a broader space for these more approachable laments, the band don’t yet sound comfortable in this zone, and their work often masks Kiely’s hideous charms. At its best, Most Normal, which Gilla Band produced themselves, reflects the group’s newly gradual creative process.

The tranquil and atmospheric flow of the album is a perfect canvas for Rossiter, who tends to bellow more than sing. His rich and emotive voice can sound at times like that of a much more timid Jeff Buckley, and with the album’s open feel, it has space to stretch, rather than snarling, like on some of the band’s more tense moments.

Aggression doesn’t fully return until nine tracks later on the aptly named instrumental “Trolla Gabba,” and then again on the back half of the title track. These explosions are among the album’s most riveting moments, but you have to clear the muck before you get to the fireworks. ... That effort eventually proves worthwhile: Many of the musical risks pay off once you get accustomed to the songs. And despite her occasional failures, Björk still illuminates enough of her story to remain compelling.

As is the case for many Lambchop albums, there is sadness and melancholy, but on The Bible, there’s more hope for a better tomorrow. Wagner sounds rejuvenated after following a different path on the way to making this record than on Lambchop’s three previous albums in just as many years.

Whereas previous YYYs albums are built on thrills and speed, Cool It Down drives us with its almost manic instrumentation at every corner, subdued and despondent pleas in its lyricism, and an intoxicating, frenetic energy.

Rice, singing [on "Light Industry"] about “Bennie and the Jets and dreary weekend sex,” plays perfectly into the song’s hesitant mood. It’s the one moment on Gulp! where his audible exhaustion fits, a song that makes you wonder what the rest of the album would have be like if only the band could translate Rice’s weariness into something more suited to their strengths. Instead, Sports Team take a swing with Gulp! and barely make contact.

Alex G’s ability to widen the aperture of his work with each album, and not alienate his audience, speaks to just how much he’s able to pinpoint and define what stands out within his work. God Save the Animals is just the latest reminder that, as his tastes expand, so too does his sonic palate.

Death Cab for Cutie underscore their range and numerous eras on Asphalt Meadows. Uniting the past and the present, it’s the perfect mnemonic for this band’s legacy.

Her robust voice keeps these tracks on the right side of the cheesy/affecting divide, exemplifying Hold the Girl’s niftiest trick. Often, when Sawayama looks back on her past to inform her present, she leans into her new collaborators’ radio-pop bona fides and sings her way into earnestness.

With their first two LPs, they proved themselves to be self-aware witnesses to their own histories and heartbreaks. With the third, however, The Beths solidify themselves as expert observers of the joy and anxiety that define our time.

It’s this kind of versatility and attention to the heft that different forms of blackgaze songs can take that makes Dimensional Bleed a remarkable listen, as gargantuan and awe-inspiring as the scenes Holy Fawn set.

Sometimes, the album switches styles so quickly, you can practically hear Parks tiring of one toy, dropping it and moving on to the next one that catches her eye. This is not necessarily a bad thing; NBPQ is as thrilling as it is, at times, jarring.

It’s best to take When the Wind Forgets Your Name in the spirit offered. That is to say, it’s a rewarding one-off project on songs that underscore Martsch’s talent as a songwriter and guitarist, while also showing him in a different light. May all his future collaborations be so inspired.

Spirituals is an album that takes admirably big swings in its desire to shake all constraints off, and inevitably, there is messiness in the movement. The risks pay off, but leave some of the tracks in the album’s middle stretch to play supporting roles.

As far as box sets go, Against the Odds is a textbook example of how to do justice to a band’s legacy.