The songs rarely cohere into anything greater than the sum of their individual parts.
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.
The only thing that actually elevates Bloom from the linearity of its reverb-caked narcosis is the effort of vocalist Victoria Legrand.
“Take a Walk” exists in that rare category of catchy, danceable music.
The hollowness of Strangeland’s I’m-okay-you’re-okay writing might be a more forgivable offense were the album’s production not so consistently garish.
While Dr Dee is no Parklife, it does contain kernels of classic Damon Albarn.
With A Different Ship, Here We Go Magic has essentially removed the “psych” from psych-folk and replaced it with monotony.
Propulsive drums, dense synthesizers, and Emily Haines’s enticing contralto are a reminder of Metric’s refreshingly kinetic, potent side.
This is a great tribute to the grueling power of fatigue, an album that turns a dearth of ideas into a virtue.
Jones is usually at her best when she looks to the past for inspiration.
Tigermending trades equally in healing and destruction.
It doesn’t hurt the album that there’s a healthy dose of mythology, both self-provided and past-rooted, to pad out its structure.
Underwood rises to the occasion when given the opportunity to tackle multifaceted, well-written material.
Santigold may not possess Kanye’s megalomaniacal charisma, but she’s just as much of a pop-music savant.