The Swedish singer-songwriter's fifth album is her sparest and most unadorned effort to date.
The U.K.-based rapper-singer’s debut album homes in on his Nigerian roots, combining American R&B with African rhythms.
Economical hooks and ironic distance have been supplanted by a return to grandiose multi-part suites and painful sincerity.
“Hold My Hand” attempts to capture the sweeping pathos of Berlin’s “Take My Breath Away”
Belle and Sebastian’s 10th album strikes a balance between the band’s familiar sound and proving they still have something to say.
For all his density and heady conceptualism, Klaus Schulze remained a playful, earnest maker of music all his life.
Wet Tennis stages a 35-minute dance party that’s tempered, as well as bolstered, by notes of reflective melancholy.
Toro y Moi’s Mahal feels a lot like the aural equivalent of lazing around on a Sunday afternoon.
Laurie Anderson's Big Science is an immense structure, generously democratic, as approachable as it is enigmatic.
Banks’s Serpentina asserts its uniqueness in paradoxically conventional and unsurprising ways.
Much of Jack White's Fear of the Dawn finds the musician acting as a sort of mad scientist.
If Ultra served as a spiritual rebirth for Depeche Mode, it was also a transitional work in the band’s catalog.
Kurt Vile’s Watch My Moves is a competently written set, but it’s disappointing to see the artist play it so safe.
Father John Misty's Chloë and the Next 20th Century chases love as its guiding subject but too rarely feels amorous or sensual.
On Gifted, Koffee alternates between earnestly expressing her gratitude to be alive and confidently resting on her laurels.
Rosalía’s Motomami is a collection of deeply personal songs in which the singer wrestles with questions of fame and heartbreak.
If there’s a formula to figuring Destroyer's Labyrithinitis out, it lies within Dan Bejar’s enigmatic mind.
Aldous Harding’s Warm Chris invites close attention and rewards it with understated surprises.