The songs rarely cohere into anything greater than the sum of their individual parts.
The song’s message is certainly one that the world’s youth needs to hear now more than ever.
Asobi Seksu continues their Cranberries-flavored dream-pop voyage with their fifth album.
The album finds Mogwai going easier on the ears than they have since 2003’s Happy Songs for Happy People.
Is it possible that Cut Copy has played things a little too cool?
On Tell Me, Mayfield emerges as a singer-songwriter with a powerful and distinct voice.
The album of the year lineup lacks a Social Network to really make the Oscar comparison complete.
Violet Cries is darkly gorgeous but not much else.
Elephants at the Door is an inspiring victory of DIY determination.
Trail of Dead’s Tao of the Dead further bloats their repertoire with songs calibrated to induce despair.
The U.K.’s most stylish avant-pop renegades continue doing for indie what Tarantino does for cinema.
George Michael’s solo debut was one of the last pop blockbusters of the 1980s.
On The Party Ain’t Over, Jack White turns his authenticity fetish on Wanda Jackson.
Another week, another shrill country duo making a horrible first impression.
Lee should be aiming for more than just “pleasant” by this point in his career.
Is dance music really all about the vocalist?
Tristen’s Charlatans at the Garden Gate flies in the face of convention.
The Dirtbombs is a garage band with one foot outside the garage.
The choice of violent imagery belies the apparent sweetness of the group’s nine members and the single’s simply massive hooks.
Spiritual Mental Physical is stocked with a lot of stale and unfinished product.
Murphy talks about what it’s like to work with PJ, turning the camera on his homeland, and his love of David Lynch.