The album turns the rapper’s formal minimalism into a source of excitement.
Cursive, Omaha’s little band that could, did.
As Neko Case’s brand of macabre, modern American gothic music has become more obtuse and difficult, she’s only seen her popularity expand.
The album confirms that Earle has far more going for him than just his lineage.
That nearly every song has a point of comparison that exists outside of the album’s context itself makes for a scattershot, confused listen.
Wrath continues the use of the Dimebag Darrell-inspired riffs and swinging rhythms found on their last album.
Hold Time is further proof that M. Ward provides a powerful jolt to what might otherwise be a tired genre.
At least this time around they don’t solicit guest appearances from fucking Liam and Noel Gallagher.
The album is a compromise between the experimental and the pedestrian.
Ruins of Berlin is both a testament to Romweber’s ongoing influence and a compelling record in its own right.
Whatever mystique Hungry Bird may have held is diminished by the actual hearing of it.
Like most Young Jeezy songs, “My President” is a monster.
The album befits fleshes Whitmore’s voice out with heavier backing than he’s used to.
Asobi Seksu’s Hush releases the band from its gooey shoegaze cocoon.
The album is one of tremendous sadness.
The album is tremendously affecting, but it’s also the first time a Thursday release isn’t an unambiguous improvement on its predecessor.
As the album proceeds, Morrissey simply sounds like a superior version of the singer he’s always been.
Effectively a one-man tribute album, To Willie feels comfortable, if not slightly self-indulgent.
Light of X overcomes its over-production by virtue of basically skillful songwriting.
The musician incorporates a variety of distinct influences, from smooth Memphis soul to heavily distorted psychedelia.
The curious Mr. West’s folie de grandeur didn’t, as initially widely predicted, blow up in his face.