Living for a Song allows Johnson to challenge himself artistically even as he pays tribute to a dear friend.
Sundark and Riverlight takes one of the most progressive catalogues in pop and makes it sound like a Picnic with the Pops concert.
Sugaring Season features some of the strongest songs of Orton’s career.
The album honors what’s made Simone such an enduring icon.
Unfinished Business finds the 75-year-old dynamo as rowdy and fearless as she’s ever been.
Tori Amos's Gold Dust has the feel of a concert album, and is thus inessential to everyone but her die-hard fans.
Greater variety in its production may have elevated Traveling Alone above some of its more staid genre trappings.
The songs that work on Bodyparts are those on which the band embraces its progressive sexual politics.
Much like Sigh No More before it, Babel is just too serious.
Even when Ben Bridwell threatens to get a little too AAA and formal, Mirage Rock is never less than pleasant.
The only thing noteworthy about the album is that George Lucas allowed Big & Rich to refer to themselves as Jedis.
Kill My Blues plays as a truly collaborative effort.
They’ve left Hot Topic, but they don’t seem to know where they’re headed next.
Little Big Town makes a shameless bid for the mainstream success that has unjustly eluded them for the better part of a decade.
Andy LeMaster and Todd Fink build a distinct tone without pulling focus from the quality of Azure Ray’s songwriting or their intricate vocal harmonies.
Morissette’s trademark songwriting idiosyncrasies are very deliberately scaled back on Havoc and Bright Lights.
The album plays so fast and loose with country-music signifiers that it raises questions of why the trio chose to play with them at all.
Swift’s finest songs are flawless in their construction and showcase her effortless, preternatural mastery of pop conventions.
Cabin Fever is a politically charged set that finds Lund at his quick-witted best.
The album’s only truly grave errors come from two covers of ‘80s pop songs.