Jessica Pratt’s fourth album of hypnagogic folk music hones her mysterious song to its finest point.

Last year, Neil Young and Crazy Horse played a VIP private party for one of Canada’s richest men. Now you’re invited to hear their cantankerous takes on almost every song from 1990’s Ragged Glory.

The UK singer-songwriter and producer’s vision of pop is spare yet sumptuous. His new album features Panda Bear and Carly Rae Jepsen, but the real draw is the mellow, déjà vu quality of the music.

The debut from the young Atlanta rapper is a low-stakes cool-girl joyride that hits best when it’s laid back.

Fusing ultra-vivid digital production with hazy vocals and acoustic guitars, the Irish-Chilean producer makes music inspired by sleepless nights, lethargic days, and the omnipresent internet.

The Swedish rapper’s latest is the most fully realized project of his career. Its blurry, blot-out-the-world vibe glitches between reality and nightmare.

In 2014, noise maverick Spencer Clark recorded this psychedelic tribute to the visionary biomechanical designer. Its far-out electronic sketches are rich with visceral detail and dripping with horror.

On their fourth collaborative album, rapper-producers Oh No and The Alchemist are dueling dragons—even when the beats could stand to bring a little more heat.

The Austin duo’s hushed and unassuming double album is a capstone to their career so far, a scrapbook of moments of love and loss from a life well-lived.

Returning home to Humboldt after 20 years of roaming, Ben Chasny finds new connections between the modes—fingerpicked guitar, hushed folk, experimental noise—that have long crisscrossed his work.

The Brooklyn artist’s debut is 20 minutes of chaotic, passionate, electronic rage music. Think Lil’ Kim and rhinestones, Bring Me the Horizon and silver spiderweb bras, Death Grips and latex doggy gear.

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 revisit Lou Reed’s 1982 solo album, a strangely alluring comeback that made good on the promise of a lasting rock’n’roll icon.

On his first album of new material in six years, Sam Beam mines the onset of middle age for sharp-eyed songs that are lively and relatively breezy, despite the melancholy subject matter.

The French electronic titans’ fourth album is sleekly aerodynamic, expensively appointed, and stacked with bold-name guests like Tame Impala and Thundercat. If only there were some real drama.

The rapper’s new album is a poignant meditation on embracing the present moment, showcasing his labyrinthine flows and deep reverence for the craft of hip-hop.

Annie Clark’s self-produced seventh album goes for a hard reset on the St. Vincent project. She retains her sharp edge as a songwriter while making the music sound exalting, inspiring, and thoroughly romantic.

Rock might be anathema to house-music purists, but that won’t stop Eris Drew dropping the needle on Led Zeppelin in one of the year’s most anticipated, and most fun, DJ sets.

The UK band’s overstuffed debut melds indie-prog, rock, folk electronica, and post-punk into an expansive new sound.

Channeling her field recordings and sound collages into richly melodic slowcore overlaid with Auto-Tune, the Texas musician opens up a new expressive frontier in her work.

Stretching their signature sound to its abstract extremes, the Montreal doomers construct chilly, majestic settings for classic poetry and original lyrics.

In their seemingly telepathic interplay, the London post-rock trio eschews typical song forms in favor of a kind of collective flickering; their music tracks the process of its creation.

Retreating from the experimentation of Gigaton, Pearl Jam delivers a comforting blend of agitated fist-pumpers, roiling ballads, and yearning mid-tempo anthems.

The Palestinian Chilean singer’s debut blends elements of Arab pop, R&B, EDM, and jazz into an energizing new sound with deep respect for tradition.

In standard and extended editions, Taylor Swift’s 11th studio album races to fill the gap between her intimate songwriting and her increasingly outsized persona. It’s unruly, unedited, and even a little tortured.

On her second official LP, the rapper experiments with electronic textures and proves she’s nowhere close to exhausting the potential of her Southern rap roots.

With multiple drummers, bassists, guitarists, and one gnarly violinist, this Austin collective turns repetitive rock music into a glorious mind eraser.

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 revisit the 1994 debut by Bark Psychosis, a pioneering work of post-rock that fused guitars and electronics into soundscapes both meditative and menacing.

Collaborating with a host of producers from across Africa, Europe, and Asia, the Nairobi vocalist shrieks and growls his way through a harrowing fusion of metal, rap, club music, and noise.

With spruced-up production highlighting new subtleties in their sound, yet never abandoning their melodic fundamentals, the Cleveland indie rockers’ latest radiates a renewed sense of purpose.

After a life-changing illness, the UK folk singer returns with a gentle, subtly experimental album that finds hard-won solace in motherhood and recovery.