A mysterious trailer emerged the week before the release of Uzi’s fourth studio album, *Eternal Atake 2*. “On March 6, 2020, Lil Uzi Vert mysteriously vanished,” it narrated. “While it was never confirmed what happened that day, the faithful believed it to be the fulfillment of a long awaited prophecy… Eternal Atake.” Fans will recognize that fateful date in 2020 as the release of their mythic second album, *Eternal Atake*—a high-stakes concept album that not-so-subtly referenced the Web 1.0 aesthetics of Heaven’s Gate. (The religious group’s surviving members threatened the rapper with legal action over appropriation of their logo.) The project has taken on cult-classic status in the years since, representing Uzi’s peak as both a futuristic trendsetter and a shockingly great rapper. Nearly half a decade later, Uzi’s still light-years ahead: “My life amazing and I been that n\*\*\*a, but fuck all that, let’s fast-forward,” they chirp on “Black Hole.” The Philly rapper’s throwing curveballs on *Eternal Atake 2*, whether that’s casually dropping the best Drake song in years (the Chipmunks-sampling “Chill Bae”) or yelping “Bitch, I’m Big Time Rush!” on a song called “The Rush” which also features Big Time Rush. “I don’t think that they ready,” Uzi repeats like a mantra on “Light Year (Practice)” before spitting a verse like a machine gun just to remind you they can. Uzi hinted in 2023 at the prospect of retiring from music to make clothes, but for now there’s still new galaxies to be explored.

“I know that my world is grown old,” Robert Smith says in “And Nothing Is Forever,” one of the many standout tracks on The Cure’s 14th studio album and first in 16 years. *Songs of a Lost World* deals almost exclusively in death, dying, and the relentless march of time; the songs move slowly, and many go on for minutes before Smith opens his mouth. There’s no pop hits, no hooks, and—let’s face it—no fun. It’s also some of the band’s most engrossing work, a statement that, like most great Cure songs, can’t be taken lightly. The glacially paced opener and lead single, “Alone,” is majestic and mournful, with string swells and apocalyptic lyrics about birds falling out of the sky. But mostly it’s about dying alone, the shattered pieces of a regret-filled life, and the forgone conclusion that is our mutual demise: “This is the end of every song that we sing.” On “A Fragile Thing,” a plinking piano gives way to a thudding bassline as Smith sings of heartbreak, distance, and fait accompli. It might be the closest the album comes to vintage ’80s Cure, but now the 65-year-old Smith’s customarily downbeat lyrics come with the weight of lived wisdom and cruel inevitability. “Warsong” twists the screws with a churning, droning meditation on domestic battles and bitter regret; at a bit over four minutes, it’s also the shortest song on the album. “Drone:Nodrone” is the catchiest and most upbeat of the bunch—musically speaking, anyway. Smith’s lyrics are no picnic, of course. They’re not a completely hopeless death spiral, but they certainly acknowledge a tumultuous relationship: “The answers that I have are not the answers that you want” and “I can’t anymore/If I ever really could.” The track also features squalling guitar leads from former Tin Machine/David Bowie sideman Reeves Gabrels, who joined The Cure in 2012 but makes his first studio appearance with the band here. “I Can Never Say Goodbye” laments the death of Smith’s brother Richard with the refrain “Something wicked this way comes,” a phrase popularized by the title of Ray Bradbury’s influential 1962 novel. (The Cure debuted the song in concert in 2022 in Poland, where Richard Smith apparently lived for many years.) Like much of *Lost World*, it’s a tearjerker. With all this loss and mortality, *Songs of a Lost World* recalls Bowie’s 2016 swan song, *Blackstar*. Finishing an album about death with a sprawling, gorgeous track called “Endsong” isn’t necessarily ominous, but who knows? For what it’s worth, Smith is already promising a follow-up to *Songs of a Lost World*. Hopefully, it won’t take 16 years.

Westside Gunn’s *Still Praying* has long been a grail in Griselda Records lore. The label’s head honcho began teasing the project long before its 2024 arrival, and it came after threats of retirement, disgruntlement with the music industry, and drama within his family-first crew, which includes his brother Conway the Machine and his cousin Benny the Butcher. On *Still Praying*, all is well, with Westside setting the scene as a family reunion of sorts: Conway and Benny make appearances, as does close friend Boldy James. DJ Drama plays the role of host, and Westside does what he does best: talk shit and count all that money he’s got. The Buffalo native is one of the best one-line spitters in rap, and throughout *Still Praying* he delivers plenty of quotables that linger long past the project’s runtime. On “Speedy 40” he recalls a particularly romantic night in New York City, rapping: “I done fell asleep, woke up in the Waldorf/Top floor, spooning with her shirt off.” On “Underground King,” which features his daughter Westside Pootie and frequent collaborator Rome Streetz, Gunn sums up his role in rap in only the way he knows how: “I\'m MJ from the free throw in designer.”

As someone who invited fame and courted infamy, first with inflammatory albums like *Wolf* and later with his flamboyant fashion sense via GOLF WANG, Tyler Okonma is less knowable than most stars in the music world. While most celebrities of his caliber and notoriety either curate their public lives to near-plasticized extremes or become defined by tabloid exploits, the erstwhile Odd Futurian chiefly shares what he cares to via his art and the occasional yet ever-quotable interview. As his Tyler, The Creator albums pivoted away from persona-building and toward personal narrative, as on the acclaimed *IGOR* and *CALL ME IF YOU GET LOST*, his mystique grew grandiose, with the undesirable side effect of greater speculation. The impact of fan fixation plays no small part on *CHROMAKOPIA*, his seventh studio album and first in more than three years. Reacting to the weirdness, opening track “St. Chroma” finds Tyler literally whispering the details of his upbringing, while lead single “Noid” more directly rages against outsiders who overstep both online and offline. As on his prior efforts, character work plays its part, particularly on “I Killed You” and the two-hander “Hey Jane.” Yet the veil between truth and fiction feels thinner than ever on family-oriented cuts like “Like Him” and “Tomorrow.” Lest things get too damn serious, Tyler provocatively leans into sexual proclivities on “Judge Judy” and “Rah Tah Tah,” both of which should satisfy those who’ve been around since the *Goblin* days. When monologue no longer suits, he calls upon others in the greater hip-hop pantheon. GloRilla, Lil Wayne, and Sexyy Red all bring their star power to “Sticky,” a bombastic number that evolves into a Young Buck interpolation. A kindred spirit, it seems, Doechii does the most on “Balloon,” amplifying Tyler’s energy with her boisterous and profane bars. Its title essentially distillable to “an abundance of color,” *CHROMAKOPIA* showcases several variants of Tyler’s artistry. Generally disinclined to cede the producer’s chair to anyone else, he and longtime studio cohort Vic Wainstein execute a musical vision that encompasses sounds as wide-ranging as jazz fusion and Zamrock. His influences worn on stylishly cuffed sleeves, Neptunes echoes ring loudly on the introspective “Darling, I” while retro R&B vibes swaddle the soapbox on “Take Your Mask Off.”

When she emerged from obscurity as a 19-year-old vagabond turned overnight SoundCloud star, Halsey was something of a cipher: You knew her voice (one of the 2010s’ prime examples of “cursive singing”), but very little else. “I think there is a little bit of a grand narrative about me that’s like, ‘I don’t know what she looks like. I couldn’t recognize her on the street because she looks different every time I see her,’” the singer tells Apple Music’s Zane Lowe. “Some people get into a creative medium and have a very specific style: ‘This is what works for me, this is who I am and what I’m comfortable with.’ And for me, I just don’t know that it’s fun unless I’m reinventing. I think a lot of people see that and get the sense that I don’t have a very secure sense of self.” In one sense, the lead single from her fifth studio album shows she’s as hard to pin down as ever: For one, she was beginning with “The End.” An unplugged folk ballad co-produced by Alex G and Michael Uzowuru, the song shed light on recent health scares she’d been keeping under wraps. But *The Great Impersonator* is vulnerable in a new way, using the concept of homage as a lens through which to write—hence the series of photos Halsey released leading up to the album’s release in which she posed as David Bowie, Aaliyah, Kate Bush, and more. “As I get older, I love to write about myself, but I find it boring to talk about myself,” she says. “So these reinventions give me these little means of escapism—not in the sense of running away, but just telling the story in a different way.” Themes of identity, mortality, and legacy snake through the album’s 18 tracks, which channel ’70s folk, ’80s power ballads, ’90s alt-rock, and 2000s pop before arriving at the decade in which Halsey herself emerged. At times she reels at her own temporary nature; elsewhere, she craves depersonalization: “I think that I should try to kill my ego/’Cause if I don’t, my ego might kill me,” she yelps on the PJ Harvey-inspired “Ego.” “Hometown” is an ode to Dolly Parton, though it’s Springsteen-esque (“Glory Days” in particular) in its depiction of faded American dreams. And on “Lucky,” she riffs on the Britney Spears hit of the same name, one of the great pop ballads on fame’s diminishing returns. “I turned 20 as *BADLANDS* came out, and I’m turning 30 as this record comes out,” Halsey says, tracing the arc of her career. “I had this 10-year plan, but I didn’t really have anything beyond that. I hadn’t really thought about what was going to happen.” And though she may not know where life will take her in the next 10 years, she’s focused on appreciating the journey rather than racing towards the finish line. “I used to look at the way that SZA or Frank \[Ocean\] make records like, ‘Gosh, I could never spend two or three years on an album. I’m so impulsive and impatient and I just want to get it done,’” she says. “Then I spent a long time writing this record and I understood for the first time—oh, the making is the best part.”

“I wanted the album to feel really fun,” Amyl and The Sniffers vocalist Amy Taylor tells Apple Music of *Cartoon Darkness*, the Australian quartet’s third full-length. That goal does, however, come with a caveat: “I wanted it to feel fun without putting up the blinkers and being like, everything’s sweet, all good. Things are really weird and things are pretty bad and there’s a lot of things to be stressed about, but there’s the balance of it. Not to encourage people to ignore the bad, but to try and find more of a balance.” So while *Cartoon Darkness* finds Taylor confronting issues such as body positivity, the ills of social media, the climate crisis, and capitalism’s impact on society and people’s wellbeing, she does so with an unrelenting lust for life and an indefatigable spirit that, on songs such as “Jerkin’” and “Motorbike Song,” adheres to the adage that life is for the living. Recorded with Nick Launay (Midnight Oil, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds) at Dave Grohl’s Studio 606, which boasts the same mixing desk on which Nirvana recorded *Nevermind* and Fleetwood Mac did *Rumours* (“I really didn’t want to spill anything on it,” laughs Taylor), the band approached *Cartoon Darkness* with a specific sonic goal in mind. “Bryce \[Wilson, drums\] and Declan \[Martens, guitar\] were really keen to try and explore different sounds and make it feel a bit more like a studio album,” says Taylor. Adds Martens: “In the past we’ve tried to see how everything would relate to when we perform it live. And even though a lot of these songs will be included in the set, I think we just wanted to make sure the focus was on making the best listening experience at home rather than making the best songs to be taken live.” A typically fiery slice of raw punk rock, albeit one that takes a breather on the gentler “Big Dreams” and “Bailing on Me,” the end result is what Taylor calls “the first album we feel really proud of from the get go.” Here, Taylor and Martens walk Apple Music through *Cartoon Darkness*, track by track. **“Jerkin’”** Amy Taylor: “It’s a tongue-in-cheek poke at keyboard warriors, at the haters in general. It’s just a fuck you to anyone who’s down to accept it.” Declan Martens: “This was conceived earlier than the intense writing period. We came up with it in the early half of 2023. It has a good intensity. Despite this being our attempt at a studio album it does replicate what we do live, which is straightaway energy.” AT: “I really wanted to write a song that big-upped yourself while bringing down the haters. I wanted it to be like, ‘I’m sick, you’re shit.’” **“Chewing Gum”** AT: “So much of life is just a carrot dangled in front of your head, like you’re just around the corner from being able to take a break, or the goodness is always just around the corner. And it’s so much hard work. Under capitalism you’re just constantly working for goals you can never seem to hit. I feel that robs people of themselves and robs people of happiness and joy. Something else that robs people of those things is criticism and judgment. I think with social media, a lot of people are constantly bombarded with how they should be and what they could do and what they might be and how bad they are. I feel that robs people of the joy of making mistakes, and making mistakes is so important for growing up. I want to make the wrong decision sometimes, and I want to have fun and I want to feel love even if that’s a wrong decision, even if that’s a dumb decision, because what else is the point?” **“Tiny Bikini”** AT: “I always try and consciously surround myself with women, but sometimes it doesn’t work out. Even in the studio I was the only lady of maybe eight dudes in the room. So I was just channeling that energy going, ‘Yeah it’s technically my space, but I’m the only one here in a bikini.’ I think a lot of my experience in life is being the only lady, and I feel like, for me, I love expressing myself in slutty ways. The world is a boring place, and to dress up or to be scantily clad or just be interesting is something I value, so that song is going, ‘That’s what I like.’” **“Big Dreams”** DM: “I write a whole scope of heavy and soft songs, and finding the softer songs’ place in Amyl and The Sniffers has always been a challenge; I’ve had a fear of doing it. So I showed it to Amy and she really enjoyed it and encouraged it. I think a lot of the misconception is that it’s experimenting, but I feel like these sorts of songs have always been in us. I prefer to refer to it as exploring rather than experimenting.” AT: “A lot of people in my life have really big dreams and they are really talented, and they are trying to make something of themselves. The world is a harsh place, and even if they’re super talented, it’s really difficult because of the cost of living and the oversaturation of everything. And it’s like we’re all getting older and a lot of people’s dreams may not happen, but that internal energy, it’s still swirling inside you.” **“It’s Mine”** DM: “The guitar \[has\] a really odd tuning that I’d never used before. Me and Nick \[Launay\] had worked to get this really direct, harsh, aggressive guitar sound, and that’s what makes it unique—it makes it sound like you’ve just stuck your head in a bucket of bees swarming.” AT: “Lyrically, it’s a subconscious dump trying to explore lots of different themes—the pressures of bodies to be perfect, and it’s saying it might not be perfect but it’s mine. And dipping into the confusion of consumerism and getting swept up and wanting to buy stuff. It’s a big mix of that.” **“Motorbike Song”** AT: “It’s a yearning for freedom. Life can be so stuffy, especially with screens and technology, so much of it is sitting still and looking at a screen for hours. I just saw a motorbike driving along and I wanted to embody the motorbike. I don’t want to ride it, I want to be the motorbike.” DM: “When we were working it out it felt like a So-Cal, ’80s punk song and it developed into more of a Motörhead-type thing. It’s fun, it’s got my most guitar solos on one song ever.” **“Doing in Me Head”** DM: “I was trying to write a disco song. I wanted it to be like The Gap Band. But I guess when you bring it to some Australian punks it comes out as ‘Doing in Me Head.’” AT: “This song kind of embodies the whole of *Cartoon Darkness*. Like it touches on the fact we all use our phones and social media, and they favor outrage, and subconsciously the system floods us with negative emotions and then it profits off that. It kind of dictates our life, not the other way around. You have to favor the algorithm, it won’t favor you. And talking about how spoon-fed our generation especially is and the lack of critical thinking.” **“Pigs”** AT: “Sometimes people are like, I know more so, therefore, I’m better than you and you’re an idiot. I don’t agree with that, because I’ve been on both sides of knowing stuff and not knowing stuff, and being an idiot and being a legend. So this song is saying, ‘We’re all pigs, you’re not better than me, we’re all just pigs in the mud.’” DM: “I’m really fond of the chorus. It’s a recycled riff that I wrote before our self-titled album that we jammed on but never became a song. Now, with my new knowledge in music, five or six years on, I found a way to make it interesting. I remember seeing that excitement in Amy’s face when I first started playing it differently.” **“Bailing on Me”** AT: “I was really struggling to write lyrics to it and figure out what to say and Declan was like, ‘I think it’s a sexy song, try and make it horny.’ I was trying to do that but was like, ‘I really don’t get that vibe from this song.’ So I ended up making it a heartbreak song.” DM: “I think it’s interesting that my intention was horny and Amy interprets heartbreak. I think that’s a funny way of looking at it.” **“U Should Not Be Doing That”** AT: “So much of my experience in the music world has been people trying to hold me back with their negativity and their limitations. Because they’ve made limitations for themselves that I don’t subscribe to. They might be saying you shouldn’t be doing that and I can’t believe you’re doing that, but I am doing it, and you’re not. I’m over here experiencing this with the choices that I’ve made, and you’re down in Melbourne having a bitch while you’re doing lines at 4am with other 50-year-olds, bitching about a 24-year-old. There are Facebook groups with old rockers being like, ‘I don’t like that band, she’s crap.’ Kiss my arse!” **“Do It Do It”** AT: “For some reason I always imagine some random athlete trying to listen to this to gee up, so that’s what it’s about. Someone being like, ‘Yeah I’ll fuckin’ get up and run.’” DM: “This was the last riff I came up with before moving to the US. The working title for it was ‘Pornhub Awards’ because, the night before, I found a free ticket to the Pornhub Awards. I didn’t win anything.” **“Going Somewhere”** AT: “Anyone can find dirt, but it takes hard work to find gold. It’s the easiest thing in the world to criticize. People are just lazy, and they’re not trying hard enough to find the good in stuff. There’s no perfect world and there’s not going to be utopia, because utopia would be dystopia anyway. It’s just saying I’m going to go somewhere, hopefully you can come there too.” **“Me and The Girls”** DM: “Amy sent me this hip-hop song that had like an Eddie Van Halen sort of guitar sample in it, and I was like, ‘I’ve got a riff that’s super repetitive, almost like a sample, a loop, and I wrote it when I was 21. It’s called ‘Fry Pan Fingers,’ because I used to stick my fingers on the frying pan to callous them before gigs when I was young.’ So I was like, ‘All right, Amy, here’s this repetitive \[riff\], like a hip-hop loop that I’ve got.’” AT: “I needed a lyric for the chorus, so I was like, ‘Declan, now’s your chance, do you want to do a duet?’ I said, ‘Me and the girls are drunk at the airport,’ and he’s like, ‘I can’t believe that it’s an open bar,’ and I loved it, but everyone else was like, this is a bit weird. We’d been listening to a lot of Beastie Boys so we were like, let’s add in the vocoder \[on his voice\] and make it sound like that.”

“How long is too long to be stuck in a memory?” That eternally unquantifiable question defines Sophie Allison’s fourth album as Soccer Mommy, a record marked by loss and grief. *Evergreen* marks a perspective shift from Allison’s 2022 album *Sometimes, Forever*. “When I started writing songs for this album, I was very clearly in a completely different headspace and wanted to write something that felt more intimate and up front, and not kind of shrouded by having all this fun making it,” Allison tells Apple Music. “The feelings that I was expressing on this album were a lot about loss and grief, because that’s what I was going through at the time—a lot of changes. It was scary and different, and everything felt kind of sudden. So I was just grappling with all of that.” The result is a richly melodic work that, with the production touch of Ben H. Allen (Animal Collective, Belle and Sebastian), feels cavernous in its scope while retaining intimacy. There are moments when Allison cranks up the volume and rips into the riffage—witness the chunky chords on “Driver,” or the shape-shifting guitar lines that stretch across “Salt in Wound”—but elsewhere Allison achieves a magic trick of making nuanced, close-to-the-vest songwriting sound one million miles wide. The closing title track is draped in stretches of strings not unlike generational counterpart beabadoobee’s work, while on “M” she laments, “I hear your voice in all my favorite songs.” It’s a raw admission on an album full of them.

Justin Vernon was just a few years removed from self-releasing his now legendary debut—2007’s *For Emma, Forever Ago*, recorded in wintry solitude—when he won an actual Grammy Award for its more polished follow-up in 2012. He’d become famous enough to watch his backstory become a punchline and his likeness parodied by Justin Timberlake on *Saturday Night Live*. (Timberlake would attempt to borrow the same mystique for his 2018 album, *Man of the Woods*.) You can understand why Vernon would want to change the subject for a time. For nearly a decade, he’s obscured some part of himself, hidden behind symbols and numbers, bandannas and bandmates, vocoders and vast collages of bleep and bloop—not to mention a still astonishing list of celebrity collaborators to whom he’s been more than happy to cede the limelight, Taylor Swift chief among them. The three-song *SABLE,* EP is immediately notable because it finds Vernon running it back, returning to the sound and feel that launched his career, singing in the first person. It’s a deliberate move away from the maximalist collage of 2019’s *i, i*. “When I made this song, I was feeling a lot of guilt,” he told an Eras Tour audience of 90,000 at Wembley Stadium in 2022, before playing “S P E Y S I D E,” a song that sounds here as though it could have been lifted from the *For Emma* sessions—just him and his guitar and his hurt, his falsetto slicing through a layer of strings. “I know that I can’t make good,” he sings. “How I wish I could.” On “AWARDS SEASON,” all you hear for its first and final minutes is Vernon’s voice amid a mist of ambient synth. There is nowhere to hide. “What was pain now’s gained,” he sings. “You know what is great? Nothing stays the same.”

The enigma born Noah Olivier Smith—better known as Yeat, to use the word “known” loosely—broke through in 2021 as a maverick of rage-rap. These days, the 24-year-old exists in his own orbit entirely, recording and engineering his own songs that are possibly informed by extraterrestrial wisdom and rife with bizarro ad-lib soundscapes, dystopian-sounding beats, and non sequiturs that could either be profound or total nonsense. (And umlauts inserted where no one has ever dared to insert umlauts before, naturally.) The songs across his deep, curious catalog sound like World War 16 battle cries, or the moment a UFO beam makes contact with a cornfield, or the sound of an old world being replaced with a new one. Yeat’s known (again, loosely) for his strange preoccupations: sui generis slang terms, face-shielding headgear, bells and flutes. *LYFESTYLE*, his fifth studio album, shows off a handful of new obsessions: telling lies, gazing with wonderment at lights, threatening to cut people’s heads off like the Red Queen. It’s also a 22-track showcase for more probing stylistic experimentation, from “FOREVER AGAIN,” his version of a New Wave track, to “GONE 4 A MIN,” which channels a *Yeezus* deep cut thrown into zero gravity on which he makes a promise to “turn a deaf folk blind.” He’s big enough to feature on the most-streamed track from Drake’s *For All the Dogs*, but far-out enough to inspire more questions than answers.

ian went from being a bubbling, enticing prospect to one of rap’s hottest commodities in a matter of a few months in 2024. What began with breakthrough single “Figure It Out” snowballed into the breakthrough success of his May debut, *Valedictorian*. If that project is a summation of his life and influences, its follow-up, *Goodbye Horses*, is an attempt to define and showcase the breadth of his vision. “Till I Die” features 2010s Chicago trap horns and an Auto-Tuned vocal performance from the St. Louis-born rapper. The molasses-thick flow gives way to a bevy of double-time bars, which highlight ian’s dexterity on the mic. Elsewhere, on “Sh\*t Sad,” he recruits Chief Keef for another trap-leaning banger that employs the yearning melodies of emo rap to give the song a dash of pathos. It’s a trick ian employs throughout the project, but one that produces some of the most memorable moments of *Goodbye Horses*.

Kelly Lee Owens’ musical journey has been a fascinating one. After spending time as the bassist of the noisy British indie-pop outfit The History of Apple Pie, she took an abrupt left turn into electronic territory with 2017’s self-titled debut album, which melded brainy production with melodic pop gewgaws delivered straight from the Welsh singer-songwriter’s pipes. 2020’s *Inner Song* and the 2022 follow-up *LP.8* ventured further into strange territory, the former featuring a cover of Radiohead’s “Arpeggi” and a feature from art-pop luminary John Cale—but nothing she’s done previously can prepare you for the total rush of her fourth album *Dreamstate*. Owens’ music has always been body-moving even at its most abstract, but on her inaugural bow for the 1975 production impresario George Daniel’s dh2 imprint, she heads full-on into big-room territory—think miles of pulsing synths, dewy rhythmic stretches lovingly ripped from trance’s fabric, and a distinct psychedelic flavor. *Dreamstate* is, in its essence, a capital-B big-sounding record, with guest turns from the type of folks—The Chemical Brothers, Bicep, and Daniel himself all pitch in on programming and production—who know how to play to massive crowds looking to feel something. But the sound of this record retains the trademark wispy intimacy that Owens has proven so good at, launching her to the forefront of electronic pop alongside fellow sneaky-smart dance-pop alchemists like Jamie xx, Caribou, Floating Points, and HAAi. The lush, soaring build of “Higher” dissolves into the type of pulsing synth line that you can practically feel in your bloodstream, while “Air” packs a four-to-the-floor punch as her vocals aerate the neon house-music surroundings. Owens’ pop sensibilities, which she’s cloaked in mysterious left-field sonic shapes in the past, are more present than ever before: Witness the arpeggiated ascent of “Rise,” which features a lovely vocal sigh reminiscent of Kate Bush’s “This Woman’s Work,” or the bell-clear sincerity of “Ballad (In the End),” the most straightforwardly vocal pop cut of the bunch.

It’s not hard to see why Kylie Minogue wanted to keep the *Tension* era going. The Princess of Pop’s 2023 record—her 16th—met the moment and set the mood, captured best by “Padam Padam,” the unexpectedly viral hit that ruled over summer ’23 in what will always be known as the “Padamic.” Released just over a year on from that record, this sequel is a celebration of that career high—and a collection that feels primed to get the party started again ahead of 2025’s global *Tension* tour. *Tension II* lives in the same world as its predecessor, but here, things feel darker, clubbier, later-night. And as for all the original’s sexual tension? It *still* hasn’t been broken. Across these tracks, Kylie’s overpowered by “electric energy” (on the disco-laced, ABBA-recalling “Taboo”) and “raw emotion” (“Kiss Bang Bang”); by 4am, she’s even standing outside someone’s door on the rushing “Hello,” unable to stay away. If on *Tension* Kylie felt ultra-confident, here she feels liberated, throwing off an ex on the dance floor (“Who would think that losing you would be so much fun?” she muses on “Good as Gone”) and declaring her desires outright. “Do you have someone for me?/To be the one/To turn me on/That’s what I need,” she demands on “Someone for Me,” a moment so evocative you can almost see her hiding in a dark club corner, waiting for that wish to be fulfilled. At last, nine tracks in, she finally dials things down, with the end-of-the-night almost-ballad “Shoulda Left Ya,” on which she realizes things have become a little less no-strings-attached with someone she’s met on the dance floor. Still, she’s not hanging around. Next, she brings new partners into the *Tension* world: the artists—including The Blessed Madonna, Orville Peck, and Sia—who she worked with on a series of genre-hopping collabs in 2024. Their inclusion serves as a reminder of Kylie’s continuing pop power in an era that confirms that, 37 years into her music career, there’s still nothing this pop princess can’t do.