Candy Salad lives and dies on Suckers’s ability to deliver the quintessential payoff: a high-energy, riff-laden chorus.
Dross Glop is scattershot, meandering, awkward, and often boring.
I Love You, It’s Cool fails to deliver on the promise of Beast Rest Forth Mouth.
Beneath all the shattering percussion, well-timed sound crashes, and plethora of borrowed ideas, the album is rather skeletal.
The album plays like the antithesis of the work that’s cemented Daniel Rossen and his bandmates as the foremost purveyors of intricate.
Break It Yourself’s cover is a poor predictor of its contents: a series of thoughtful stream-of-conscious performances.
Visions is a flawed but intimate glimpse into the fantasies of its creator.
The album finds Tennis held hostage by their own limited strengths.
The album has its highlights, predominantly featured in three of its opening tracks.
The album largely tampers the more obnoxious moments of swagger found on A Brief History of Love.
Inni is beautiful and alluring, yes, but ultimately a recycled bit of nostalgia likely to please very few.
That Parallax is no great departure from Deerhunter’s ouevre does little to dampen its gorgeous vision.
McCombs’s typical black humor arrives quickly, plainly, and at the expense of himself.
Nightlife could have been more appropriately titled Eyelid Movies: The Addendum.
With Tarot Classics, Surfer Blood returns in a format that perfectly complements their breezy garage-pop sound: the EP.
“Rapprocher” adequately describes the jump in mood between Class Actress’s Journal of Ardency EP to her debut full-length.
Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming sounds much more like an M83 wannabe’s poor imitation than the real deal.
In the end, TKOL RMX 1234567 does a better job at delivering Radiohead’s snowy ennui than its forebearer.
When Annie Clark’s blank mask falls, the glimpse at the face underneath is brief and cryptic.
The Drums’s musical formula is fairly straightforward and yet artfully delivered.