Adele is a transcendent talent. Her voice, pitched somewhere between contralto and mezzo-soprano, soars to the heavens; her delicate vibrato, as on “Hello,” conveys a purity of emotion; and my god, the lady can hold a note like no other. But the British chanteuse’s latest album, 25, was not her best, boasting a smattering of hits and a fair bit of filler. It lacked the unity of vision of, say, Beyoncé’s Lemonade—an allusion-heavy ode to motherhood and black excellence, and unfiltered critique of America’s iniquitous institutions. On Sunday night, most expected Queen B’s magnum opus to walk away with the Grammy Award for Album of the Year.