We ranked the Queen of Pop’s discography, from her self-titled debut to Confessions II.
Ambition makes Amanda Mair a winning debut.
The album cements Kelly Hogan’s status as an interpretive singer with few equals.
WIXIW pulses with a strange, inimitable energy.
In attempting to honor the sounds of the past, Young ends up turning them into toxic sludge.
In retrospect, the greatest achievement of Doc Watson, who died yesterday at 89, might have been his endlessly curious middle-aged brand.
Resplendent chaos is usually the jurisdiction of Doldrums, a.k.a. Toronto producer Airick Woodhead.
If there’s one thing Scissor Sisters have never wanted for, it’s a distinct voice.
Beneath the yelps, gasps, and exaggerated accents, Regina Spektor is a romantic.
Valtari proves that Inni was more of an unfortunate blip than the sign of impending stagnation.
An album as tour diary, Among the Leaves finds Sun Kil Moon as glumly introspective as ever.
Ufabulum brings back the breakneck BPMs and glitchy textures that characterized Squarepusher’s earlier work.
Ice Choir pays tribute to Kurt Feldman’s longtime infatuation with the radio-ready new-wave bands of the ’80s and early ’90s.
The album adheres so doggedly to formula that it often sounds dated.
The songs here are delicate traps that slink by on whispers of sex and menace, with big, cathartic moments sparingly sprinkled in.
C’mon, punks. Gimme, gimme, gimme…a moan after midnight.
For all of Willie Nelson’s many talents, he’s never developed any semblance of an internal editor.
Rest in peace high up where the stallion meets the sun.
On The Only Place, the band sounds like they’re struggling to come up with a new template.
Trespassing marks a strutting step forward for Lambert.
Even when the tempo gets a little sleepy, neither Presley nor T Bone Burnett simply rest on their names or reputations.