The album chronicles the euphoric highs and harrowing lows of a parasitic relationship.
These restless songs flit between lapses of focused meditation and fretful apprehension.
Though the rapper pontificates on his wealth and street cred, the album’s biggest boast is his vulnerability.
Rather than significantly alter or challenge the singer’s previous approach, the EP merely embellishes it.
The visual album proposes a pan-African vision of legacy, abundance, and unity.
On her third album, the British singer-songwriter settles into a sense of immediacy.
An effort to appreciate the present before it slips away into the recesses of memory forms the album’s foundation.
Despite glimmers of authenticity throughout the album, it’s hard to discern who Gomez is, musically or otherwise.
The album is steeped in warm acoustics juxtaposed by austere observations about life and love.
The singer-songwriter’s guileless musings serve as a reminder of what young, unjaded love can feel like.
There’s no denying the album’s imposing maximalism, but its bells and whistles feel like sensory overload.
The album often feels cerebral and off-kilter, and its dreamlike ambience at times turns nightmarish.
The album aims for an enthralling vision of infatuation, but the band’s message rings hollow.
The singer-songwriter imbues her sophomore effort with a multitude of intertextual meanings and nods to her predecessors.
DeMarco has a knack for composing simple yet alluring melodies that feel weighty and timeless.
The album fails to yield anything truly novel within the scope of blues-rock.
The album serves as a reminder of the magic that can result from looking to the past to inform the future.
The album feels more like an American Eagle ad than a documentation of an authentic transformational experience.
The album is the duo’s most personal work to date, but they seem reluctant to let loose and lean into the music.
Chaz Bear's sixth album as Toro y Moi bends the boundaries of club music, albeit with mixed results.