We weren’t sure if Madonna could surprise us anymore. Until she did.
Kills shines during the moments when she gets to strut out.
This is a work of obviously borrowed ideas from a group highly capable of succeeding with their own.
Madlib is easily the most idiosyncratic producer hip-hop has ever seen, and when he’s paired with the right rapper, the results are peerless.
If only Mike Ness was as concerned with keeping his own sound fresh as with giving patronizingly modern “updates” on the work of his forbears.
Dye It Blonde is drained of the fuzzy promise that defined the band’s debut.
No one reveres British culture more so than its own working class, playing up to their uncouth stereotype with a dogged pride.
Little Dragon seesaws from bright to heavy textures, yet Nagano never gets sucked into the drama.
To the Decemberists’s credit, they’re committed to the idea of challenging themselves.
Is it fair to say that many of us attach no actual “nostalgia,” in the strictest sense of the word, to the singles of the 1990s?
Red Barked Tree is as quietly diverse as 2008’s Object 47.
The lo-fi production lacks the overall punch of similar albums by Jimmy Eat World and Guster, but the Davenports still get their point across.
Dann Huff’s predictably too-slick production does the duo no favors.
If this isn’t just meta indie meant to entertain folks who love indie rock and not a whole lot else, then what is it?
With this mixtape, M.I.A. has made great strides toward liberating her music from herself.
An album like Best Night of My Life has a tall task in proving, against every indication, that it’s not entirely pointless.
Ghostface manages to steal the show despite the esteemed roll of guest spots.
Who is Keri Hilson?
Basement Jaxx’s lopsided, Schaffel return to form, may very well have been commissioned by Audi to sell their A7 Sportback.
Just Charlie is a family reunion, and Uncle Charlie brought the potato salad.
Sometimes, when everyone agrees that something is pretty great, it’s because it’s actually pretty great.