You’ll never be left waiting too long between two King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard releases. And you'll be all the better for it. Celebrating a ten-year career just last year, with a total of 24 albums under their belt, the wizards are consolidating their status as one of the most prolific groups in history. Their breakneck pace, including five releases in 2017 and 2022 alone, does not give pause to their creativity, as they take their sound to the extreme fringes of rick, from psyche to boogie via garage. Certainly, they remain far behind other compulsive geniuses or mad scientists with ultra-eclectic and avant-garde tastes, such as Buckethead (more than 290) and Frank Zappa (more than 60), but PetroDragonic Apocalypse manages to touch those ineffable musical domains inhabited by them. If we strip the extended title down to its bare essentials, it is the dark side of two opposing styles, like yin and yang, which will soon be completed by the brightness of their 25th album (which is almost ready to be released). The singles Dragon and Gila Monster preceded it; the quintet’s three metalheads, guitarists Stu McKenzie and Joey Walker, and drummer, Michael Cavanagh, fully embrace their teenage love for trash, doom, and heavy metal, clearly evident in the single, Infest The Rats' Nest (2019). They recorded this single together and it is clearly influenced by Black Sabbath, Slayer, Overkill, Sodom, Motörhead and even Kreator. Here, the Australians line up tracks which last for over nine minutes, and completely let loose with creepy and hollow vocals, incisive heavy riffs, and urgent and motorik rhythms that place the drums centre-stage. They also take us to the depths of Hell with their apocalyptic sci-fi mythology, in which witches and dragons collide."We worked on this album in the same way we started Ice, Death, Planets, Lungs, Mushrooms And Lava last year," Stu explains. We wrote one song a day and came to rehearsals without any riffs or melodies and no initial ideas of what we were looking to achieve. In essence, we were starting from scratch. We jammed, we recorded everything and then put together the songs from there. I sketched out the story the songs were going to tell, and broke it down into seven tracks, with a short paragraph about what would happen in each song. In a way, I think we did the album backwards. The writing of the lyrics then continues collectively and ends up combining into a whole which, as always in subtext, serves the same purpose: to raise awareness about the critical state of our planet. The most trash metal record of their large and eclectic discography, the excellent PetroDragonic Apocalypse will whip fans up into a frenzy. © Charlotte Saintoin/Qobuz

As fatiguing as it is invigorating, as cold-blooded as it is heart-rending, as haphazardly splattered as it is meticulously sculpted, My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy is an extraordinarily complex 70-minute set of songs. Listening to it, much like saying or typing its title, is a laborious process. In some ways, it's the culmination of Kanye West's first four albums, but it does not merely draw characteristics from each one of them. The 13 tracks, eight of which are between five and nine minutes in length, sometimes fuse them together simultaneously. Consequently, the sonic and emotional layers are often difficult to pry apart and enumerate. Nothing exemplifies its contrasting elements and maniacal extravagance as much as "All of the Lights." Rattling, raw, synthetic toms are embellished with brass, woodwinds, and strings. It’s a celebration of fame ("Fast cars, shooting stars") and a lament of its consequences ("Restraining order/Can't see my daughter"). Its making involved 42 people, including not one but two French horn players and over a dozen high-profile vocalists, only some of which are perceptible. At once, the song features one of the year's most rugged beats while supplying enough opulent detail to make Late Registration collaborator Jon Brion's head spin. "Blame Game" chills more than anything off 808s & Heartbreak. Sullen solo-piano Aphex Twin plays beneath morose cello; with a chorus from John Legend, a dejected, embittered West -- whose voice toggles between naturally clear-sounding and ominously pitched-down as it pans back and forth -- tempers wistfully-written, maliciously-delivered lines like "Been a long time since I spoke to you in a bathroom, ripping you up, fuckin' and chokin' you" with untreated and distinctively pained confessions like "I can't love you this much." The contrast in "Devil in a New Dress," featuring Rick Ross, is of a different sort; a throwback soul production provided by the Smokey Robinson-sampling Bink, it's as gorgeous as any of West's own early work, yet it's marred by an aimless instrumental stretch, roughly 90 seconds in length, that involves some incongruent electric guitar flame-out. Even less explicable is the last third of the nine-minute "Runaway," when West blows into a device and comes out sounding something like a muffled, bristly version of Robert Fripp's guitar. The only thing that remains unchanged is West's lyrical accuracy; for every rhyme that stuns, there's one deserving of mockery from any given contestant off the The White Rapper Show. As the ego and ambition swells, so does the appeal, the repulsiveness, and -- most importantly -- the ingenuity. Whether loved or loathed, fully enjoyed or merely admired, this album should be regarded as a deeply fascinating accomplishment.© Andy Kellman /TiVo

The extent of the 2015 Weeknd commercial rebound, symbolized by platinum certifications for Beauty Behind the Madness and all four of its singles, didn't merely embolden Abel Tesfaye. On this follow-up's fourth track, a blithe midtempo cut where Tesfaye takes a swipe at pretenders while boasting about drinking codeine out of one of his trophies, the level of success is a source of amusement. He notes the absurdity in taking a "kids' show" award for "Can't Feel My Face," in which he was "talkin' 'bout a face numbin' off a bag of blow." The track actually lost to Adele's "Hello," but it clearly, somewhat comically, reached an unintended demographic. It comes as no surprise that Tesfaye, on his third proper album, doesn't attempt to optimize the reach of his biggest hit by consciously targeting youngsters. He sings of being a "Starboy" with access to a fleet of sports cars, but he's a "motherfuckin' starboy," one who is 26 years old and proud to observe his woman snort cocaine off his fancy table. While Starboy often reflects an increased opulence in the personal and professional aspects of Tesfaye's life -- from more upscale pronouns to expensive collaborations with the likes of Daft Punk (two) and "Can't Feel My Face" producers Max Martin and Ali Payami (four) -- the dark moments of vulnerability are pitch black. Lines like "I switch up my cup, I kill any pain" could have come from Tesfaye's mixtape debut, yet there are new levels of torment. In "Ordinary Life," he considers driving off a Mulholland Drive cliff, James Dean style, wishing he could swap everything for angel status. It's followed with "Nothing Without You," a ballad of toxic dysfunction. He asks his lover if she'd feel guilty for not answering his call if he happened to die that night. It's not all dread and depravity. There's some sense of joy in a one-night stand, and an echo of "Say Say Say" Michael Jackson, on the Luomo-ish house track "Rockin'." Contrition is shown in the slick retro-modern disco-funk of "A Lonely Night." Ironically enough, in the aching "True Colors," Tesfaye sounds a little insecure about a lover's past. The album's lighter, comparatively sweeter parts -- the Tears for Fears-sampling/Romantics-referencing "Secrets" and the breezy and only slightly devilish "I Feel It Coming" among them -- are all welcome highlights. When pared down to its ten best songs, Starboy sounds like Tesfaye's most accomplished work.© Andy Kellman /TiVo

Just as White Zombie was on the verge of becoming the most popular metal band in the land, Rob Zombie decided he was an auteur. Stopping short of breaking up the band, Zombie set out to make sure everyone know that he was the main force in the band, as if there were any doubt in the first place. He did extracurricular animation, managed a band, started a record label, drew a sequence in Beavis & Butt-Head Do America, appeared in films, wrote the script for The Crow 3 (which he planned to direct), and most tellingly of all, he recorded a solo album, Hellbilly Deluxe. Since White Zombie was always his baby, it seems a little strange that he had the need to break away from the group, especially since the album sounds exactly like a White Zombie record, complete with thunderous industrial rhythms, drilling metal guitars, and B-movie obsessions. For most listeners, it doesn't matter if Hellbilly Deluxe is technically a White Zombie or Rob Zombie album, since it delivers the goods, arguably even better than Astro-Creep: 2000. To outsiders, the entire schlock enterprise may seem ridiculous or sound monotonous, but even the weak cuts here hit hard and give fans exactly what they want.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

The extent of the 2015 Weeknd commercial rebound, symbolized by platinum certifications for Beauty Behind the Madness and all four of its singles, didn't merely embolden Abel Tesfaye. On this follow-up's fourth track, a blithe midtempo cut where Tesfaye takes a swipe at pretenders while boasting about drinking codeine out of one of his trophies, the level of success is a source of amusement. He notes the absurdity in taking a "kids' show" award for "Can't Feel My Face," in which he was "talkin' 'bout a face numbin' off a bag of blow." The track actually lost to Adele's "Hello," but it clearly, somewhat comically, reached an unintended demographic. It comes as no surprise that Tesfaye, on his third proper album, doesn't attempt to optimize the reach of his biggest hit by consciously targeting youngsters. He sings of being a "Starboy" with access to a fleet of sports cars, but he's a "motherfuckin' starboy," one who is 26 years old and proud to observe his woman snort cocaine off his fancy table. While Starboy often reflects an increased opulence in the personal and professional aspects of Tesfaye's life -- from more upscale pronouns to expensive collaborations with the likes of Daft Punk (two) and "Can't Feel My Face" producers Max Martin and Ali Payami (four) -- the dark moments of vulnerability are pitch black. Lines like "I switch up my cup, I kill any pain" could have come from Tesfaye's mixtape debut, yet there are new levels of torment. In "Ordinary Life," he considers driving off a Mulholland Drive cliff, James Dean style, wishing he could swap everything for angel status. It's followed with "Nothing Without You," a ballad of toxic dysfunction. He asks his lover if she'd feel guilty for not answering his call if he happened to die that night. It's not all dread and depravity. There's some sense of joy in a one-night stand, and an echo of "Say Say Say" Michael Jackson, on the Luomo-ish house track "Rockin'." Contrition is shown in the slick retro-modern disco-funk of "A Lonely Night." Ironically enough, in the aching "True Colors," Tesfaye sounds a little insecure about a lover's past. The album's lighter, comparatively sweeter parts -- the Tears for Fears-sampling/Romantics-referencing "Secrets" and the breezy and only slightly devilish "I Feel It Coming" among them -- are all welcome highlights. At 18 tracks, the album is a "contracted edition" playlist toolkit. The songwriting credits list just under 40 composers, and the productions -- the majority of which involve Doc McKinney and/or Cirkut, low-lighted by maneater dance-punk dud "False Alarm" -- are roughly as variable in style as they are in quality. When pared down to its ten best songs, Starboy sounds like Tesfaye's most accomplished work.© Andy Kellman /TiVo

Accessibility and exclusivity are by turns peddled as a measure of value when the agenda dictates. Often, when Laurie Anderson's music finds favor with critics, it's the former they praise. Arguably, her work has always been approachable. It may not adhere to common structures, and often employs innovative resources for achieving original sounds. But at its core, her music has always been so warm, so human, and often so very funny that it never feels exclusive. Now in her fourth decade as a recording artist, she presents the album of a lifetime -- well, of one of them. Landfall pairs nicely with Big Science and Homeland as a concluding work in a trilogy of indefatigable imagination and compassion. Always adept at conjuring past, present, and future as if time flexes at her touch, those records share an underlying sense of doom, tempered by a healthy dose of the absurd and nods to the tragi-comic nature of collective existential dread.Her chief inspiration this time around was Hurricane Sandy and the things she lost in the flood. And this record sees her collaborate with the inimitable Kronos Quartet, who lend their exquisite string work to an album epic in scale and reach. Musically, the record navigates an uneven terrain with a fluid combination of acoustic instrumentation and electronic flashes that conjure a landscape both devastating and curiously fascinating. At this part of her career, Anderson remains as intrepid a sonic adventurer as ever. "Never What You Think It Will Be" embraces the very best of what electronic music can do, and it's electrifying in a way that most artists half her age can't muster. "Dawn of the World" is as much an experiment in agitation and anxiety as it is a song, and tracks like "We Head Out" feed into the record's sustained suspense, built on the metronomic ticks that pervade it, often scarcely detectable but quietly building tension nonetheless. Since her first single, "O Superman," and subsequent decades of innovation and experimentation, she has emitted a calm and measured air. It's not that the compositions aren't often thrilling and full of drama, it's just that her response is anything but histrionic. This is particularly true of her trademark spoken-word delivery. It's most curious, powerful, and affecting toward the end of the record where she recalls her flooded basement and ruined belongings and remembers, "I thought how beautiful/how magic/and how catastrophic."It's impossible to know whether some of the loss evoked on the record is a response to the death of her husband Lou Reed in 2013, but one suspects the elegiac reflections extend beyond ruined keyboards and props: while it may be inspired by Sandy's fallout, Landfall's reach runs to a sea of loss, chaos, and confusion. It's an elemental mystery of quietly epic proportions made exceptional through clarity of thought and feeling.© Bekki Bemrose /TiVo

Monster is indeed R.E.M.'s long-promised "rock" album; it just doesn't rock in the way one might expect. Instead of R.E.M.'s trademark anthemic bashers, Monster offers a set of murky sludge, powered by the heavily distorted and delayed guitar of Peter Buck. Michael Stipe's vocals have been pushed to the back of the mix, along with Bill Berry's drums, which accentuates the muscular pulse of Buck's chords. From the androgynous sleaze of "Crush With Eyeliner" to the subtle, Eastern-tinged menace of "You," most of the album sounds dense, dirty, and grimy, which makes the punchy guitars of "What's the Frequency, Kenneth?" and the warped soul of "Tongue" all the more distinctive. Monster doesn't have the conceptual unity or consistently brilliant songwriting of Automatic for the People, but it does offer a wide range of sonic textures that have never been heard on an R.E.M. album before. © Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

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A brilliant distillation of '90s alt-rock. A crass and noisy attempt to cash in on grunge. A band in need of rock tunes for an upcoming tour after six years off the road. The fact that R.E.M.'s ninth album Monster can after still inspire such polarities is proof enough that it's worth a fresh listen. New mixes by Scott Litt, a trove of demos and a 1995 live show from Chicago featuring mostly a post-I.R.S. years setlist fills out the portrait of the 25th Anniversary reissue of one of R.E.M.'s most contentious albums. With liner notes in which Peter Buck admits, "We wanted to get away from who we were," Monster 25 is the sound not only of Buck, Michael Stipe, Mike Mills and Bill Berry pondering what it means to suddenly be rock stars, but also of a band deep in one of those periodic left turns that artists need to pass through or call it quits. And while the lyrics are typical Stipe-ian jabberwocky mangled further by vocals buried in the original mix, it's Peter Buck's ever-present guitar, bashing out crunchy power chords bathed in delay, reverb and buzzsaw distortion, that remains the album's most controversial aspect as he ditches his former loyalty to acoustic textures and intricate arrangements for an overdriven, rocked up Cobain-life heft and snarl that's fiercely front and center in the mix. The remixed album is a very different experience from the original: the instrumental parts are now clearly delineated, instead of a blurry, roaring mix. "Tongue" drops the four beat count off in favor of a simple piano and loud tambourine. The organ, which was prominent in the original, has been lowered in the remix. "Circus Envy's" sizzling guitar distortion has been dialed back and Berry's drums have been pulled forward. Most noticeable of all are Stipe's vocals, some of which are entirely different takes from the original album's. "Crush with Eyeliner" begins with Stipe voicing an unaccompanied "la, la, la" and continues with a more stylized T. Rex and Iggy Pop-influenced vocal take than the original. Some of the changes are outright deletions. Buck's organ in "Let Me In," and his choppy guitar part in "What's the Frequency, Kenneth?", and the percussion in "You" are completely gone. These changes are needed context, connecting the album to the band's musical progression and in the process making it seem less like an outlier. © Robert Baird / Qobuz

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Curtain Call 2 is one of those titles like Final Destination 2: an absurd name for a sequel but the brand has already been established, so what are you gonna do? In Eminem's case, he released Curtain Call: The Hits as part of his purported retirement in the mid-2000s. Inactivity didn't suit Em, so he returned in 2009 with Relapse, a record that kicked off a particularly prolific decade and a half. Curtain Call 2 chronicles the releases since Relapse, featuring most -- but not all -- of his charting singles, along with a handful of album tracks, non-LP cuts, and three new numbers: "From the D 2 the LBC," which features Snoop Dogg; "The King and I, " a contribution to Baz Luhrmann's Elvis soundtrack featuring CeeLo Green; and "Is This Love ('09)," which showcases 50 Cent. At over two and a half hours, Curtain Call 2 is generous to a fault, playing like an endless streaming playlist instead of a curated compilation, yet it does feature many highlights from Eminem's mid-career records, including "Crack a Bottle," "Not Afraid," "Love the Way You Lie," "Berzerk," "The Monster," "Lucky You," and "Godzilla."© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Conspicuously absent from the laundry list of influences the Imagine Dragons so often cite is the Killers, the only other Las Vegas rock band of note. Imagine Dragons downplay the glamour the Killers found so alluring but they share a taste for the overblown, something that comes to full fruition on their second album, Smoke + Mirrors. Bigger and bolder than 2012's Night Visions, Smoke + Mirrors captures a band so intoxicated with their sudden surprise success that they've decided to indulge in every excess. They ratchet up their signature stomp -- it's there on "I Bet My Life," the first single and a song that's meant to reassure fans that they're not going to get something different the second time around -- but they've also wisely decided to broaden their horizons, seizing the possibilities offered by fellow arena rockers Coldplay and Black Keys. Despite the bloozy bluster of "I'm So Sorry" -- a Black Keys number stripped of any sense of R&B groove -- the group usually favors the sky-scraping sentiment of Coldplay, but where Chris Martin's crew often seems pious, there's a genial bros-next-door quality to Imagine Dragons that deflates their grandiosity. Certainly, Smoke + Mirrors is rock so large it's cavernous -- the reverb nearly functions as a fifth instrument in the band -- but the group's straight-faced commitment to the patently ridiculous has its charm, particularly because they possess no sense of pretension. This separates ID from the Killers, who never met a big idea they didn't like. Imagine Dragons like big sounds and big emotions -- and, if they can muster it, big hooks -- and the commitment to style over substance gives them ingratiating charm, particularly when they decide to thread in slight elements of EDM on "Shots" (something that surfaces on the title track as well), or Vampire Weekend's worldbeat flirtations on "Summer." Imagine Dragons purposefully cobble their sound together from these heavy-hitters of alt-rock, straightening them into something easily digestible for the masses but, like so many commercially minded combos, how they assemble these familiar pieces often results in pleasingly odd combinations. These guys are shameless and that's what makes them more fun than your average arena rockers.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Who is Gnarls Barkley, and how did he ascend to the top of the British charts with a song that brings an eerie clarity to the cloud of mental illness? (Hint: It wasn't just the fact that Britain began factoring download data into its chart equations.) If St. Elsewhere sounds like one of the best rap-based pop productions since the second Gorillaz album, then look no further than the common link, producer Danger Mouse. And if the vocal performances are twisted with the type of unbalanced wisdom not seen in pop music since Sly Stone (or at least OutKast), credit Cee-Lo Green, the former Goodie Mob seer/sage/freak. A pop album straight through, St. Elsewhere is as good as Danger Mouse's two earlier landmarks (Gorillaz's Demon Days and Danger Doom's The Mouse and the Mask), but not because of any inherent similarities in the three records. The reasons for greatness here include DM's uncommon facility for writing (or sampling) simple hooks that stick, his creation of productions that entertain but don't detract from the main action, and his ability to coax a parade of enticing vocal performances from Green. The hit "Crazy" and the title track are perfect examples. Over detached backings, Green croons, growls, scats, and generally delivers fine neo-soul vocals while Danger Mouse blankets the tracks with choruses of disembodied harmonies and a well-placed string section or crackling organ to conjure an appropriately minor chord atmosphere. The focus on instability doesn't end there -- paranoia, suicidal tendencies, and multiple personalities are all in the cards, and there's also "Necromancer": "She was cool when I met her, but I think I like her better dead." Then, just to make sure listeners understand this is a concept album and not a message from a mind playing tricks on itself, they drop "The Boogie Monster" (although even the lyrics here can give pause: "I used to wonder why he looked familiar, and then I realized it was a mirror"). With the help of Danger Mouse's platinum ear and intricate vocal productions, Green is revealed as a top-notch post-millennial soul singer. Even when he's floating another mass of wise, serene gibberish, DM simply drops another production trick to keep things tight. Much like DJ Shadow's Private Press, Danger Mouse relies on samples from the downcast end of obscure '60s pop -- prog, psych, and Italian soundtrack music (his most valuable lieutenant here, Daniele Luppi, has the requisite Italian connection). Although Gnarls Barkley topping the charts was a slight fluke, the excellence of St. Elsewhere could have been seen coming a mile away.© John Bush /TiVo