ALBUMS

A Tribe Called Quest: We Got It From Here, Thank You for Your Service

For fans, this isn’t a return for A Tribe Called Quest because they never left. Every verse is a deep cut. Every melody is a standard. While the death of Phife Dawg was painful, the album is a needed reminder that loss is countered best by love. The Tribe tells us to just “make something happen,” warns us that our ego “has you think your deceptive ways of being are the truest” and leaves us “dreaming of a world that’s equal for women with no division.” We’ve got it from here. —Margarita Noriega

Radiohead: A Moon Shaped Pool

There was a moment (late 2015-ish, let’s say) when it seemed Radiohead might be falling off. It had been five years since the band dropped an album, and eight since it had made a great one. And then A Moon Shaped Pool, with its hyphenless title and majestic orchestral dimensions, knocked aside that panic attack. It is awash in heartbreak and longing, with arrangements that are among the band’s most ornate and least electronic-centered in years. Longtime fans might not have thought the group could possibly have another heavenly piano-ballad slow-burner in them. “Daydreaming” says otherwise. —Zach Schonfeld

Kaytranada: 99.9%

Louis Kevin Celestin, also known as Kaytranada, is a Montreal-based producer and DJ whose album, 99.9%, is one of the most refreshing debuts in recent memory. It’s packed with guest appearances from artists like Vic Mensa, Craig David and Alunageorge, Celestin is able to construct infinitely groove-able beats that complement the strengths of each featured artist. He does it with the gusto and grace of someone who has been at it for decades, not someone known primarily for his work on Soundcloud before

99.9% became a breakout hit back in May. Everyone has to start somewhere. —Ryan Bort

David Bowie; Blackstar

Released two days before Bowie died on January 10, Blackstar is a haunting, clue-laden venture that has become the epitaph to his stunning career—and an obsession for the conspiracy-minded. (Why was it the first Bowie album without his face on the cover?) No matter. The meditations on death and resurrection bear Bowie’s strength—easily flitting between the ethereal and pure rock. The haunting title track begins grimly—“on the day of execution/ Only women kneel and smile”— and becomes more celebratory: “Something happened on the day he died/spirit rose a meter and stepped aside.” In “Lazarus,” a nod to history’s second greatest resurrection tale, he swoons: “You know I’ll be free/just like the bluebird/ain’t that just like me.” Bowie’s oeuvre was intergalactic and polysexual. He was big enough to see the artistic possibilities in starmen and young Americans. At the end, he even found it in the subject of death. —Matthew Cooper

Angel Olsen, My Woman

This was the year Olsen shook off the lo-fi folk tag. My Woman asks all the big questions—about love and longing and family and the confusing business of “what makes me a woman”—and offers no simple answers, save for one urgent mantra of a hook: “Shut up, kiss me, hold me tight.” Even more impressive is how Side B of the album reveals Olsen’s knack for ambitious instrumental build-ups. The eight-minute “Sister,” with its Television-inspired fretwork, is her greatest song to date. —Z.S.

Bon Iver, 22, A Million

Justin Vernon’s third studio album sees him shift from stripped-back cabin-folk to the synths and beats of folktronica. And it pays off. The warped echoes, gospel-like swoons and otherworldly glitches captivate. Vernon’s battle with anxiety and depression inspire deep moments of haphazard beauty here. —Jack Moore

Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds: Skeleton Tree

The real-life tragedy that courses through Skeleton Tree has been well-documented ( One More

Time With Feeling is the album’s acclaimed companion documentary). It was a given that these songs would be steeped in trauma and grief. What was not a given is that Nick Cave would wind up with his most poignant and arresting set of songs since The Boatman’s Call.

Skeleton Tree is wrenching when it directly addresses the loss of Cave’s son (“I Need You”), but it also contains flickers of hope in its title track. More than 35 years after leaving the Birthday Party behind, Cave has made one of his most vital, devastating works. —Z.S.

Solange: A Seat at the Table

Solange’s first studio album in eight years explores themes of cultural appropriation, racism and the identity rooted in a black woman’s hair. The experiences are deeply personal, but Solange’s hypnotically dulcet tones, layered over soothing production, ensure its message resonates with music lovers from all walks of life. Solange doesn’t just take a seat at the table—this is an artist, and a record, that won’t be ignored. —Tufayel Ahmed

Beyoncé: Lemonade

In 2016, Beyoncé cemented her transition from pop star to cultural phenomenon when she released her sixth album (complete with an HBO special). Lemonade is the rare proj- ect that straddles the line between commercial appeal, with radiofriendly songs like “Hold Up” and “Sorry,” and artistic integrity, with lyrics touching on everything from the disenfranchisement of black America (“Freedom”) to infidelity (“Don’t Hurt Yourself ”). On Lemon

ade, Queen Bey is as raw as you’ve ever heard her. Becky with the good hair, whoever you are, don’t mess with the queen! — T.A.

Big Thief: Masterpiece

It takes nerve to title your debut album Masterpiece. Big Thief has an awful lot of nerve, and excellent songs that run on smoky, vulnerable vocals and superb melodies. It is a taut, emotionally resonant collection of songs with a killer climax in “Parallels.” And among the group’s many fans is Jeff Tweedy, of Wilco fame, who tweeted: “Great guitars, great lyrics, great melodies.… What more could you possibly want?” —Z.S.