Upping the spectacle from Fun Fear his 2012 debut, I Love You, Honeybear is an autobiographical set about love, marriage and derangement that's both ironic and empathic.

There may be nothing explicitly political in the songs on Be the Cowboy. But there’s plenty implicit, from the DIY American mythology of the title, to the way the songs validate voices that are shaky, hurting, irrational, and damaged, while also being smart, wry, powerful, and deserving of love.

They evoke folks as diverse as Led Zeppelin and My Bloody Valentine, but the gently woozy Sigur Ros don't sound like anything or anyone else so much as a classic-rock band bewitched by white magic.

Jaguar II is a shining demonstration of the aptitude that made Monét a sought after collaborator, but here, in the album’s comfy old-school soul and sharp modern edge, she preserves something fresh and unique for herself.

The album is packed with hilariously nasty kiss-offs like “Piece of Shit” and “Ur Mum” — it’s got hooks for days, cheek for weeks.

At times, the album is a victim of its own ambition. But it wouldn't be half as awesome a ride if it had aimed any lower.

As a songwriter, the former choirboy pulls melodic influence from traditional gospel music à la Kanye West, Chance the Rapper and others. A fan of Dvorak, Kirk Franklin, Brandy and Björk, the artist, born Josiah Wise, sings love songs that resemble hymns like "Cherubim," on which he lets loose a flood of emotions as helicopter drones compliment his distended vocals.

Like almost everything on Neon Bible... "No Cars Go" is excess with a point: We are drowning in the unspeakable and running out of air and fight. If only everything else on Neon Bible made that point with the same dynamic overkill.

An earthy, moving psychedelia, eleven iridescent-country songs about surviving a blown mind and a broken heart.

The long-awaited Norman Fucking Rockwell is even more massive and majestic than everyone hoped it would be. Lana turns her fifth and finest album into a tour of sordid American dreams, going deep cover in all our nation’s most twisted fantasies of glamour and danger. No other songwriter around does such an expert job of building up elaborate romantic fantasies, and then burning them to the ground.

The album hits its strongest points when Morby opens himself up to reckless abandon, stripping himself of the introspective pretenses of soul-searching and instead embracing the unpredictable chaos of life and all its imperfection.

With their fifth studio record, Phrenology, they finally become what we've always hoped they would be: a hip-hop band that strikes a very funky balance between righteousness and humor, between headbanging grooves and truth-telling.

Like its 2011 debut, full of attitude and guffaws, delivered in three-part harmony over down-home country.... But there's pathos beneath the jokes.

How can any young band evolve toward that full-grown third album after starting out with a meditation on death and grief? It's no problem for Arcade Fire--these Montreal indie rockers are not shy about gunning for a solemn, grandiose, three-hankie anthem every time out.

What Joni Mitchell's "Woodstock" was to the hippie era, Jamie xx's solo debut is to British club culture: a wistful valentine conjuring a more innocent time.

The ambiguity in the songs adds to their haunting quality.

The wormy hooks and earnest falsettos suggest the possibility of ginormous hits if Weeknd were to clean things up a bit, both lyrically and sonically. But let's hope that doesn't happen too soon.

Pecknold has come up with a pleasing album about letting go and being thankful for what we’ve got, be it love in a time of quarantine or an old Silver Jews record.

Quietly beautiful.

Kala strikes deep. There's a resolute sarcasm, a weariness and defiant determination, a sense of pleasure carved out of work--articulated by the lyrics, embodied by the music.

Rage Against the Machine's 1992 debut is a grenade that keeps exploding.... Remastered to museum-clean standards, the reissued album comes with DVDs of holy-shit live shows and music videos, plus demos that prove just how down and detailed the group had every song (even if Morello still couldn't resist changing solos).

Although Wick is still flawed--its track list puts three weak, sort of aimless cuts up front and some of the songs could use some editing--it suggests greatness.

The effortlessness with which the Secret Sisters articulate their musical ambitions places Saturn Return among recent country-roots gems from songwriters like Jason Isbell and Pistol Annies. If working through their struggles has been a strange process, the wait was more than worth it.

Thundercat, Damon Albarn, Tame Impala's Kevin Parker, and a slew of Kendrick Lamar collaborators (Sounwave, Steve Lacy, Badbadnotgood) all make contributions, but the vibe is hers alone. ... Uchis is a woman on the verge, willing to share her vertiginous thrills and spills. Thank her later.

Densely composed yet effortlessly melodic.

Vernon remains an oblique lyricist, but the knottiness can be compelling.

Chronological evenhandedness short-shrifts their vaunted 1980s but shows that their confused past 15 years did produce some Georgia peaches.

It’s the sound of a veteran band indulging its most bizarre instincts and in the process reconnecting with everything that originally earned them such a loyal and obsessive fan base. Piggy would no doubt approve.