In spite of a few obligatory major label maneuvers, the Memphis rapper’s debut mixtape preserves her charisma with a rush of shit-talking and warning shots.
On his 10th solo studio album, the Brooklyn-based underground rap vet unpacks emotional baggage and asks what—if anything—he’s willing to compromise for the sake of success.
Turning his ear for imperfection toward dub techno, versatile producer Paul Dickow turns out six tracks that conceal worlds of activity under their grimy patina.
Presented as a sprawling three-hour epic, the composer’s drone piece for guitar, cello, and sine wave oscillators seeks new rhythms within the interminable sweep of pandemic time.
Featuring multiple songs that became staples of the Grateful Dead’s live set, the 1972 solo debut by the guitarist and singer gets a deluxe edition with a new mix and some recent live recordings.
The rising road-rap talent has built his name on a mixture of sinister detachment and bristling ambition. Yet despite his aloof, exacting style, he stretches himself thin on this 28-track mixtape.
On an often chilly album full of unexpected collaborations and smeared with apocalyptic terror, the 80-year-old art-rock legend grapples with the need for human connection.
Ty and Denée Segall, along with the Cairo Gang’s Emmett Kelly, refine their abrasive sound on a record that writhes, swells, and undulates like the belly of a serpent.
With pianist Johan Lindvall and cellist Judith Hamann, saxophonist and composer Mette Henriette presents hushed, repetitive meditations unbounded by the pressures of time.
On its seventh album, the Liverpool electro-pop band reaches for a lighter sound, capturing the passage of time in effervescent synths and impressionistic lyrics.
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 Australian superstar’s 1997 departure to clubland, a misunderstood journey of self-discovery that became the black sheep of her catalog.
On the fourth tape in his Bin Reaper series, the Michigan breakout looks to level up with slicker beats and bigger cosigns. Fortunately, he’s still rapping about NBA stars and SpongeBob.
A set of previously unreleased demos for the influential Dayton band’s never-completed major label debut offers a fascinating glimpse into their strange, singular evolution.
Intimate yet cinematic, the Japanese musician’s new two-part album exchanges her colorful pop patchwork for soft, luminous ambient music of alien beauty and human warmth.
On a set inspired by his father’s death, jazz drummer Sebastian Rochford enlists pianist Kit Downes, a longtime collaborator, to help him tell a story about company and grief.
On a new tape marking his release from prison, the Los Angeles rapper and folk hero sounds battered but resilient, mixing studio sessions with tracks recorded over the phone from inside.
Drawing from footwork, jungle, acid, and more, the UK producer lets his breakneck tempos lead him to some of his funkiest, most kinetic—and oddly beautiful—work to date.
