The songs rarely cohere into anything greater than the sum of their individual parts.
As the new video for “All of the Lights” begins, you might doubt for a moment that you’re watching a Hype Williams clip.
Americana and modern folk are often dismissed for their dour self-seriousness, and Smart Flesh, unfortunately, falls into the worst of those trappings.
For as strong as McKenna’s songwriting may be, the album quickly settles into a moderate tempo from which it never strays.
Ambitious, yes, and occasionally invigorating, but we have to call bullshit on II.
Guider may be a little jagged around the edges, but it’s that one-take immediacy that gives the record its legs.
It’s only in the last few weeks that Adele has made a credible bid for her own place in the upper tier of female pop singers.
The album is the musical equivalent of curling up into a reflexive fetal position and entering a calmer, more pensive world.
The album is aided immeasurably by Barwick’s ability to sustain its rich aura while avoiding self-indulgence.
Formless melodies bleed into one another, and tracks come and go without much effort or care in announcing their arrival or departure.
Comparisons to Eminem are inevitable, but Marshall always kept artifice close at hand, whether it was animated beats or equally cartoonish alter egos.
The album frequently inhabits the same tropical-pop terrain of bands like Vampire Weekend and jj.
A combination of traditionalist songwriting and avant-garde sonics is what makes the album such a compelling listen.
Go-Go Boots suggests that one of America’s finest rock bands is in a full-on slump.
Yuck possesses a spirit that bands have spent their entire careers trying to find.
“Perfect Life” is Belong’s poppiest effort yet, but there’s no mistaking the dirty, clinging crunch of each instrument for the work of any other group.
One-album wonders weren’t in short supply in the ’90s, but many were far from disposable.
Katy Goodman has got a good shot at cornering the market of 21st-century Shangri-La candy pop.
Conor Oberst’s songs at least retain the ability to sound firm even when their insides are mushy.
The album is a matchless musical world where Polly Jean Harvey reigns with autonomy.
Mostly, the album incites questions that have nothing to do with music, like what exactly goes on at a Zulu farm.