We weren’t sure if Madonna could surprise us anymore. Until she did.
A vocalist of unparalleled intuition and depth, Burke is able to mine genuine emotion from even the most pedestrian of material.
This is joyful, colorful, uplifting music, bursting with complex horns and restive use of time signatures.
The Dark Leaves finds Matt Pond PA spinning in an ever-deepening hole.
The album is a mildly interesting listen, but proves to be nothing less than a regression into ennui-drenched acid folk mimicry.
Here Lies Love makes the case that the sprawling concept album shtick should be left to the prog rockers.
The album remains deceptively complex, no matter its stream-of-consciousness flow and sparse instrumentation.
McCready is going to have to exercise better taste in material if she wants to make a full-fledged comeback.
This is easily the most loaded, fascinating country debut since Big & Rich’s Horse of a Different Color.
Nonstoperotik delves both overtly and suggestively into the seamier edges of Black Francis’s psyche.
Hippies is the kind of inconsequential romp that feels like a much shorter album than it actually is.
Go’s biggest surprise—that shouldn’t really be a surprise—is Jónsi’s remarkable vocal performances.
While there’s something to be said for the band’s playing to its and Jones’s many strengths, there’s also something to be said for risk.
The sad truth is that Dylan’s songs here don’t really merit the gorgeous production job.
Universal still hasn’t gotten with the times, hence this barn-burner of a video having been pulled from YouTube.
It goes without saying that Wu-Massacre is reliant on the superb chemistry between Meth, Ghost, and Rae.
Thankfully, the conscientious songwriting throughout Weathervanes overcomes the schmaltz with ease.
Pieces is a tightly packed collection of clichés.
The album is consistently uninspired, with each song showcasing an incredibly gifted performer grown wearyingly complacent.
The album packs an entire SXSW’s worth of musical styles and instruments into a scant 19 minutes.
Erykah Badu’s psychological rebound so far outpaces the litany of social ills she explored last time around that it’s frankly off-putting.