Even in this post-Wu-glory-days era, GZA remains easily and unfairly overshadowed. He doesn’t have the odd indie appeal of Ghostface, the smoked-up rasp of Method Man or the RZA’s Hollywood resume. But he does have five solo records to his credit now, and a purpose: “All I need is a beat,” he opens on “Alphabets,” and commences three minutes of liquid rhymes that spray out without any detectable effort. “Pro Tools” is the opposite of flashy. You could count the number of hooks on one hand and most tracks clock in at the three-minute mark, ostensibly to let GZA inhale occasionally. But it’s worth a listen to hear what sneaky, suspicious, image-heavy tricks still emerge from his notebook (particularly on the war-charged “Colombia Ties” — “A president’s madness responsible for losses/political forces/land littered with corpses”).

Unrelenting and often harrowing, Underoath’s newest is filled with the band’s characteristic bone-crunching riffs and a reduced role from drummer/vocalist Aaron Gillespie, allowing frontman Spencer Chamberlain’s guttural howls to take command. Throughout its 41 minutes, “Lost in the Sound of Separation” occasionally teeters on the precipice of unfamiliar territory. Chamberlain trades his screams for sung parts on “Too Bright to See, Too Loud to Hear,” and the sparse, electronic-based closer “Desolate Earth: The End Is Here” is largely instrumental except for a few lines. With “Separation,” it’s clear that the band has not turned the genre on its head. Even so, Underoath has made definitive strides at progression without abandoning its muscular, broad-shouldered hardcore.

There’s little sign here that Ice Cube’s family film work has diluted the sociopolitical fury he first vented on N.W.A.’s 1988 breakthrough, “Straight Outta Compton.” Throughout “Raw Footage,” Cube holds forth in vivid detail against politicians, wack MCs and pundits who blame his brand of gangsta rap for creating inner-city trouble (instead of blaming inner-city trouble for inspiring gangsta rap). Unfortunately, there is reason to suspect that middle age (or material comfort) has dulled the sharp edges of Cube’s wordplay. “Now what this got to do with the price of tea in China?” he asks in “Here He Come,” “Nothing, mother
er, just don’t act like a vagina.” Yikes. Occasional clunkers aside, the impassioned delivery and stripped-down G-funk grooves are still more potent than plenty of efforts by rappers half Cube’s age. He just might hire an editor next time.

After taking care of some unfinished business in recent years, Brian Wilson shows he still has the stuff of conceptual brilliance on his eighth solo album. “That Lucky Old Sun” is the kind of song cycle that would make Kurt Weill proud, a set of disassociated but nevertheless thematically linked tunes, inspired by Wilson’s Southern California roots. Using the title track, a 1949 composition that was a hit for Louis Armstrong, as a recurring motif, Wilson and his collaborators create richly arranged and orchestrated pop songs as well as four poetic spoken-word narratives that give the album a trippy, avant edge. There’s a stage-worthy veneer to the entire project as well as some frank autobiographical allusions — “At 25 I turned out the light/’Cause I couldn’t handle the glare in my tired eyes,” Wilson sings at one point.

After releasing her 2006 comeback album, appropriately titled “I’m Not Dead,” it took third single “U + Ur Hand” to resuscitate Pink’s challenged career. The lead single from upcoming fifth album “Funhouse,” “So What,” pairs personal lyrics (and jabs) about her recent divorce (”I guess I just lost my husband, I don’t know where he went/So I’m gonna drink my money/I’m not gonna pay his rent”) with insatiable melodic verses meant for massive car singalongs and a chorus combustion followed by a fist-in-the-air refrain. Pink reunites with frequent collaborator Max Martin for what already appears a can’t-miss.

Trisha Yearwood’s buoyant “They Call It Falling for a Reason” captures the exhilaration of cascading into love: that spine-tingling rush that takes one’s breath away and makes head and heart spin. Written by Matraca Berg and Jim Collins, the infectious uptempo tune has a soaring melody and upbeat lyric that listeners will identify with and chant right along to. Yearwood turns in a gorgeous, engaging vocal performance, shimmering with sassy charm. This single is further proof that her “Heaven, Heartache & the Power of Love” is one of the finest albums by a country female artist in years.

The 11-episode BBC special is the perfect launching point for dreams (and a bit of learning) about far-off places. Narrated by Sir David Attenborough, the series features breathtaking cinematography of natural habitats and animals spanning 62 countries. Not rated. Ages 7 and up

These adventures have all the elements of great summer film fare: mystery, humor, fast-paced chases, and great scenery. In the first, Benjamin Gates (Nicolas Cage) races through Washington, D.C., and Philadelphia in search of a treasure hidden during the American Revolution. The hunt takes a worldwide turn as Gates heads to London, Paris, Mount Rushmore, and more in “NT2.” Rated PG. Ages 8 and up

Ok, we know most kids don’t want to even *think* about school during their summer break. But they’ll forget all that when they see this collection of short documentaries. The quick-paced narratives illustrate how local environment and a little ingenuity can be combined to create one-of-a-kind classrooms, such as a school where lessons are taught by solar-powered lanterns. Not rated. Ages 5 and up

This heartfelt live-action film tells the tale of a curious kitten and his faithful pug pal. The two enjoy making mischief until Milo takes a tumble into a nearby river. Otis sets off to rescue his friend and the two embark on a brave journey back home. Rated G. Ages 4 and up