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The Toronto singer’s album is a country and gospel-infused meditation on death and mourning that flickers between the broadly universal and the devastatingly personal.
On his third album, Berlin producer Sebastian Genz switches up his dreamy house sound with forays into drum ‘n’ bass and boom-bap hip-hop but can’t shake his nostalgia addiction.
Courtney Barnett’s second album is smaller, more introverted than her debut. It’s tentative but with a purpose, songs about what it means to not have—or need—the right words for everything.
After several albums of traditional, jazzy folk-rock, the Chicago-based singer-songwriter finds a more instinctive voice.
Billing itself as a “guitarless guitar band,” the New Zealand noise-rock trio endeavors to make bass, keyboard, and two-piece drum kit sound as loud as possible.
Wax Idols complete their transformation from sardonic post-punks to theatrical goth-rock storytellers on an album that dares to take pleasure in confronting death.
On their sixth album, Parquet Courts enlist Danger Mouse to produce an album of joyfully absurd, danceable rock music. It is straightforward but alien, simple but endlessly referential.
Now, Now trade guitar rock and raw nerves for slick, left-of-center pop on a deceptively upbeat comeback album whose intense lyrics and unsettling sounds stay true to the duo’s emo roots.
Each Sunday, Pitchfork takes an in-depth look at a significant album from the past, and any record not in our archives is eligible. Today we explore Aretha Franklin’s immensely personal 1970 album Spirit in the Dark.
The debut solo album from the Big Thief guitarist has a quiet and mischevious spirit, with a focus put on his nimble playing and Texas twang.
The Kyoto-born, Chicago-based multi-instrumentalist uses his nonchalant flow and the sharp instincts he acquired playing saxophone as a kid to craft a dynamic, introspective jazz-rap debut.
Inspired by his love for Stephin Merritt, James Alex serves up chamber-pop covers of his own earnest punk songs on the first album from this Beach Slang spin-off band.
The seven albums after Bruce Springsteen’s commercial peak tell a story of lost faith and self-doubt. It’s a darker, messier portrait that still includes one of his essential records.
The harp innovator experiments with an arsenal of new instruments—including her voice—on an album of ambient music as complex and meditative as the work of Pauline Oliveros.
On what the band has said is its final album, Frog Eyes sound galvanized by the prospect of bowing out, resulting in their strongest record in years.
Wolfgang Voigt’s investigations of German heritage turn ominous on an imposing, hour-long ambient album whose title translates as “frenzy”; it feels closely keyed to the current political state.
Following his bandmates Syd, Matt Martians, and Steve Lacy, the bassist of L.A.’s the internet steps up with his solo debut. He’s not yet a natural leader, but his musicianship is self-evident.
On his fetching seventh solo album, the witty and digressive songwriting of Stephen Malkmus becomes newly and delightfully grounded in the present day.
Rappers JT and Yung Miami give the menstrual cycle top billing on a debut that showcases their synergy but doesn’t deliver the transgressive goods its title promises.
The Swedish melodic death metal innovators crib from a career highlight, 1994’s Terminal Spirit Disease, on their first reunion album that does justice to their legacy.