The grandiosity is firmly embedded in the talent, as River and their band inject some serious punk rock attitudes into a well-worn infrastructure of venerable country tunes. The guitar tones are crisp, the pedal steel sounds like a million bucks.

Live Laugh Love is a refreshing outing from Chastity Belt, who are no doubt in top form, as the album arrives like the culmination of each member’s lifelong musical evolution taking the collective whole to new heights.

There’s a warmth to this symbiosis that’s new for Patton, and while it may not be as explosive a revelation as Black Origami was, it makes for a record that feels like a vital new step in Jlin’s evolution as an artist.

An album I like quite a lot when it’s on and ultimately, for better or worse, doesn’t stick with me much afterwards.

From the sustained discomfort captured in a ringing bassline on “Talking to the Whisper” to soft waves of ambient synth soundscapes on instrumental track “Ocean,” every choice on Something in the Room She Moves feels effortless.

Bite Down is packed wall to wall with tunes that are unsettled but unhurried, generous with melody, wandering but never lost, and reliably steady despite the never-ending twists and turns of an earthly existence. But above all, they are beautiful, broken and built around the kind of raw emotional uncertainty that will resonate with anyone who has ever lived, loved and/or lost.

The album—their eighth overall—finds Jim and William conjuring up wicked, writhing, guitar-driven goth rock that’s full of grizzly, distorted guitar-driven shoegaze and snarly, industrial clangers.

The enduring message is that there’s no tribulation that can’t be overcome with unwavering honesty and durable companionship—a hard-won and time-worn truth that also happens to translate into brilliant music.

Bright Future, though, is not only her most impressive solo album to date, but it’s also a genuine competitor for the best album she’s ever been involved with.

It’s a respectable collection of bluesy rockers that showcase the brothers’ strengths.

Musgraves’ most sonically cohesive album to date, every song pulling from the same muted, pastel palette. And yet, there is still enough variation to keep things interesting from song to song.

In a discography saturated with ambient anthems and frenetic energy, CAPRISONGS brilliantly brandishes the talent of an artist constantly looking for her next high.

It is precisely this linkage between systematized death and riches that makes the album such a mortifying listen and perhaps the most essential of 2024.

Because of this seeming resistance against leaving their comfort zone, Bleachers becomes so opaque it practically evaporates by the time you finish it.

The album succeeds wholly on its immediacy, and both its soundscapes and directionless lyrics slap you in the face with its message. It’s impossible to listen to The Collective without knowing exactly what Kim Gordon is talking about.

Mannequin Pussy’s map of utopia may span uneven terrain, but the band dominates every inch of it, forging cohesive paths between harsh and heavenly melodies. The feat renews one of punk’s lasting tenets for a new era of activism: to protect what’s precious—freedom, community or otherwise—you usually have to raise a little hell.

That tension between fun and miserable is perfect for love songs, and the ones on Playing Favorites revel in it.

She’s embracing herself, her heartbreak, her sarcasm and taking time to dance, slowly, with her feelings.

There’s such a charming muscle being flexed here that you might not even immediately realize that, beneath massive hooks, Yard Act are performing an exorcism on the ever-so universal fixation creatives have on shit-talk outmaneuvering praise.

On their debut, Friko have cemented themselves as one of the most distinguished up-and-coming voices in all of indie-rock.

If anything, the group has gotten better at keeping the subtlety of their music, and their lyrical sentiments, from straying over the line into dull.

The record signifies the formidable maturation of Hughes’ career and pop prowess. Allie X can masquerade as the Girl With No Face all she wants—but there’s no hiding this album’s serious legs.

It’s Nance’s best work yet; who knew all he had to do was ham up his own sublime talents to get there.

While Loss of Life still gives no compelling answer to the question “Who is MGMT?,” it also doesn’t need to. The album makes it obvious that the duo are most at home behind the boards, uniting their musical memories from Oasis to Roxy Music.

Whether it’s Timony’s perplexing lyrical delivery, unconventional rhythms or some instrumental surprises, every song on Untame the Tiger induces some head-scratching, more often to its benefit than not.

Hurray for the Riff Raff not only expands the umbrella of “Americana”; it challenges the very structures on which we hang it, and the legacies of pain that accompany them.

CRAWLER, especially, reads like a love album—a demonstration of the hard work and self-reflection required to be the most loving version of yourself. Talbot’s integrity could be felt on every beat. But TANGK boils love down so much it’s not clear if there’s anything there at all.

GRIP is a vulnerable collection of songs made for heat-of-the-moment intimacy—and everything that comes before, during and after. It’s also serpent’s most instantly replayable album to date.