We weren’t sure if Madonna could surprise us anymore. Until she did.
For all the thunder the band seems to have recaptured, some songs fall flat in the search for mainstream appeal.
Margot is most memorable when their lyrics side with the folk tendencies of their signature folk/baroque-pop/indie mixture.
It’s no secret that in music, as in life, success and failure are largely dependent on timing.
This Is It is an intense 12-cut give-and-take between Stern’s six-string, Zach Hill’s frenetic drumming, and John-Reed Thompson’s bass.
Dig Out Your Soul is more rewarding than spending time with cunts like Death and All His Friends.
In Ear Park is a seemingly self-defeating musical paradox: unassuming, anthemic indie rock.
There’s a weightless quality to the album that’s perhaps all too fitting with Pickler’s empty-headed shtick.
It’s been three mighty cold winters.
Musically, Robin Thicke’s dick is in the right place.
The music aims for brutality and melody but misses the mark entirely on both counts.
Could it be that psychological complexity in rappers has become another tired cliché?
So let’s spit: Ten years on, Aquemini is the single strongest aspect of one of the art form’s deepest benches.
Snowflake Midnight manages to offer compelling surprises in its ever-shifting arrangements and its densely layered effects.
Too much of the album ignores what makes Lewis a compelling artist in favor of empty, not entirely successful style hopping.
Dear Science is a structural marvel in the way that its music reflects its tone.
By the time Jennifer Hudson gets back to good old-fashioned balladry, it’s too late.
These videos maintain M83’s underlying sense of sadness and longing.
Lil Wayne’s voice makes him (I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again) the Stephen Malkmus of hip-hop.
Furr is country-chic posturing that works from a distance.
No moment on the album sounds out of control or wasted.