Many of Hill’s political messages are unfocused and vague, weighed down by buzz words like “system,” “deception” and “corruption.”
Carlton’s classical training surfaces throughout the album on ballads like “Rinse” and “Wanted,” but where her piano soars, her voice hesitates.
Live at the Albert is a must-have for Williams fans and it might just recruit a few more.
It’s a sad reminder of another young talent’s seemingly squandered potential.
We remember Lisa “Left Eye” Lopes and Layne Staley.
The times are perfect for a quirky, carpe diem movie like Life Or Something Like It.
Aim’s acute sense of mood and soul is that of a true beat master.
Perhaps 18 should have been called 13 and ended with the eerie yet comforting sentiments of “Sleep Alone.”
Brill, formerly of the much-sought-after and now disbanded Envelope, is one step away from his “big night.”
Every once in a while, you’ll find a great pop record in the least likely of places.
C’mon, C’mon achieves its intended classic rock ether and even revives Sheryl Crow’s trademark quirk.
Michelle Williams’s solo debut, Heart to Yours, affords the singer an opportunity to prove she can hold her own.
The Sweetest Thing is just downright asinine.
Even more by-the-numbers than his debut, Avant’s Ecstasy draws on the proven formulas of his fellow R&B crooners.
The largely downtempo Uninvisible is couch music (or table tennis music) at its best.
The Dolls’s generic brand of pop/rock makes one yearn for the prescription strength of Third Eye Blind or Soul Asylum.
South, though inconsistent at times, is an album you don’t want to end.
Brisebois’s angst-ridden attack on the world’s hypocrisies mysteriously failed to strike a chord the way Alanis Morrisette’s did just one year later.
A compilation steeped in techno, ’80s retro, French new-wave, and Detroit house, all deftly mixed by house maestro Steffen “Dixon” Berkhahn.
Rich people have money. Aside from that, they’re basically just like you and me, and nothing quite compares to watching them perform painfully ordinary tasks.