We weren’t sure if Madonna could surprise us anymore. Until she did.
One of the best soundtracks of the last decade just got a little bit better.
Trans Am really like Kraftwerk and Brian Eno.
City Beach combines laidback pop melodies with half-tempo hip-hop rhythms and a healthy dose of modern rock’s nervous energy.
There’s no denying the reverence or the sheer talent that Southern Culture on the Skids bring to Countrypolitan Favorites.
The Cost is both the Frames’s most accomplished album and deeper and more rewarding than U2’s recent work.
Just ‘cause you’re from New York doesn’t make you Steve Reich, dudes.
Satan Is Real is probably the only album that is in both John Waters’s and Pat Robertson’s record collections.
It’s the new Cold War, and it’s being fought by sensitive musicians in tight pants.
The album is so majestic that it remains with you like a cherished memory…even if it is a fuzzy memory.
At the ripe old age of 35, Rob Crow’s legacy rivals that of many musicians who’ve served twice as long in the biz.
I’ve always liked the Dixie Chicks, if not for their music then for their outspokenness and refusal to play by Nashville’s rules.
Whitney Balliett was less a straight-ahead critic than a combination analyst, social historian, feature reporter, and sketch artist.
This isn’t exactly a fully-formed concept album, at least not in the traditional sense.
Monta could very well be the rock literati’s next big find.
Ironically, the sound of Ono crying on a background track is far more pleasant.
Despite the quirky vocals, much of Like, Love, Lust & the Open Halls of the Soul is old school.
This is what you might hear riding an elevator if you lived inside a J.G. Ballard short story.
In Sergio Leone, Morricone had a boss and partner who reserved a prominent place in his films for music.
We all have them. Songs we adore that radio manages to murder with heavy rotation.
The group has expanded their palette and broadened their strokes on the misleadingly titled Writer’s Block.