The singer's new single is filled with plenty innuendo and feminist messaging.
The album has all the familiar hallmarks of the E Street Band’s signature sound.
The band’s uniquely existential and observational approach to rock is, for the first time, beginning to wear thin.
The Pumpkins have transcended any one moment or movement, instead reveling in the entire tessellation of 20th-century art.
Against a backdrop of hopelessness brought about by personal heartbreak and global disasters, the album is an act of self-preservation.
The album is an enjoyable, if predictable, outing from an effortlessly reliable songwriter.
The album sounds like the soundtrack to an imaginary teen drama co-directed by John Hughes and David Lynch.
The album is a ratification of “bigger and better,” an example of steady improvement through impeccable craft.
The album feels stuck looking back to tried and true trends in both K-pop and Western pop music.
Removed from the fog of nostalgia, it's clear just how middle-of-the-road the singer's early-‘90s output was.
The album embraces a balance between composure and restless dissatisfaction.
Looking back at the emotional exhibitionism that defines the rapper's work, it’s starkly clear how much of himself he’s put into it.
The album is tantamount to the relatable but rote sadness of a Twitterdecked epigram.
The album is only partially successful at maintaining the singer’s impeccable songwriting.
The video, directed by Tarsem, finds the singer awakening in a desert surrounded by pomegranates and a broken bicycle.
The album reveals the interconnectedness of the singer’s view of both the world and herself.
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.