The orchestrations also let us focus on Young as a pure singer, rather than as a holistic musician. And he’s a remarkably effective one. In his aged, spindly whine lies a world of emotion.

The new wave sound--anchored on brisk claps, cracks and booms--gives Swift’s new songs a certain breezy appeal. But her choruses tend to rest on a songwriter’s laziest fall-back: the repetitive, arena-mongering chant.

Luckily, the sweeter sound is in no way slick. It’s balanced against the bare ache in the singers’ voices, and the pained beauty in their tunes. The women’s voices have also matured.

The ex-Eurythmics singer pumps new life in the war horses by locating their bluesy core.

It’s a richly orchestral work, eager for drama and full of appealing tunes.

The looseness of the takes, along with the breadth of genres they draw upon, lets Franklin work all of her tricks, from gospel shouts to Broadway belts to soul runs to a rock star belligerence.

The first half doesn’t downshift for a second, plowing through muscular rockers with the spit of his prime.

We get pure Stevie--needier than some might find comfortable, but also unexpectedly wise. It’s too much for the casual listener but catnip for the devoted.

Mellencamp finds his own delicate melodies, including some of the prettiest of his career. Their finery offers a sweet contrast to the increasing grit in his voice and bile in his lyrics--the most incisive of which take dead aim at himself.

The 3rdEyeGirl album has a much cleaner sound, and a sharper focus, than Prince’s solo album.

Nostalgic fans will no doubt lap up Prince’s old-school falsetto preens and funk beats. But such a sustained recoil from the current world has a consequence. It can seem regressive or overfamiliar.

Much of the material sounds like it was fished out of the slush pile of hotter stars like Beyoncé or Nicki Minaj. Part of one cut, “Walk It Out,” even sounds like a second run at Bey’s “Flawless.” The album finally shakes awake toward the end.

At times, you wish he’d push up the speed--thrashing out blues-rock in the frenzied ’60s and ’70s tradition. But by today’s timid standards, this burns.

The obvious skill and spring in May’s delivery can excite, but her music has become too uniform, too fixed in its backward view to keep us rapt.

The songs’ dreamy quality won’t surprise Wilco fans. But, reflecting the relationship of the players, the album has its own low-fi, homey intimacy.

The match between Bennett and Gaga winds up quite differently from the one between the master and k.d. lang in 2002. Those two created a more sober and mature affair. By contrast, the duets with Gaga give Bennett a whole new hold on youth.

This time Cohen tackles some big subjects more abstractly. It’s also one of his most musically rich and varied works.

It's good for Brown that so many stars have rallied around him, despite his troubles. If only the new songs supported him as strongly.

Throughout, Streisand’s voice sound more robust than it has for some time, especially compared to her live performance last year in Brooklyn. But she has a tendency to oversing in an attempt to engage with her guests.

It's an album where the rich embroidery overshadows the essential garment. Details impress but the overall picture never quite comes together.

These seemingly underbaked songs reveal more formality and beauty with repeated listens. You have to hear through a lot of haze to get to that, but in the end, it's worth it.

The inevitable Heartbreakers comparisons in the new music offer a striking contrast to Petty’s lyrical point of view. While Petty “Won’t Back Down,” Adams’ theme sounds more like a “Breakdown.” If that seems needy and depressing, it’s tempered by Adams’ passion and rock-hard power. He captures the kind of pain that excites.

The hooks on the album are memorable mainly for the wrong reason; They’re so annoying, you won’t be able to scrub them from your mind.

The innocence in Grande’s voice helps her bring off the cliches in the more earnest material, like the soapy ballad “Why Try” or “Just A Little Bit of Your Heart,” co-written by One Direction’s Harry Styles. She proves less sure on more flip songs.

Every sign of the street has been gentrified, though the weed references never cease.

The result creates a perfect arc--one O’Connor has, here, fully realized.

It’s rock refigured as a Damien Hirst spot painting--a series of isolated, colorful pops that, together, mesmerize.

Many pieces highlight Beck’s mordant humor. Professional decadent Jarvis Cocker proves ideal for “Eyes That Say I Love You,” dealing wryly with the delusions of love.