The crowd was young and boisterous, and one particularly drunk teen was making yours truly look like a no-fun-having old coot.
It’s not exactly a secret that greatest hits packages can be hit or miss, especially for an act that has had no recognizable singles.
Gone are the so-called “ugly verses,” the ones that made Donelly’s big, bleeding choruses even more potent.
Nina Sky is a surprisingly solid debut, but the one thing the album lacks is its own distinct personality.
The Fever just wants to party like it’s 1999…or 1969.
Not much has changed in the universe since the release of The Orb’s Adventures Beyond The Ultraworld.
It’s obvious that Martina’s the one wearing the pants this time around.
Championing the art of oral sex may seem daring but it just ends up sounding downright regressive.
Brandy’s got some big shoes to fill on her fourth album, and it’s a challenge she willingly signed up for.
More Mariah than Whitney, the former Miss Atlanta shows promise as a songwriter.
Enter the Mother of Reinvention. Madonna would probably prefer Mother of Evolution, or even Revolution.
JoJo is pretty damn creepy.
The album is a wish-you-were-here postcard from the ’80s.
Guitar solos work for the Eagles, not three wispy-voiced Cali girls.
Ramsey’s got the pipes, but she deserves better than this rather pedestrian assemblage of songs.
Incense and polyester get stale after a while. Unless you’re Lenny Kravitz.
Múm’s Summer Make Good could be a companion piece to Nicolas Roeg’s Don’t Look Now.
While the hooks here are undeniable, Avril’s lyrics are often vague or archetypical.
The album sounds as if it was indeed created long before daylight.
Katie Melua’s Call Off The Search is no musical Ovaltine.