Madonna’s most focused effort in decades, the album earns its nostalgia by prioritizing it.
Is there a general consensus in the industry that Mary J. Blige is owed something?
It’s hard to know whether to laugh or cry at pop music’s steadfast refusal to let talented vocalists simply sing.
On Down in New Orleans, familiar gospel melodies have been wedded beautifully with the syncopated swagger of a Dixieland funeral parade.
Diana Ross might want to more carefully consider her career before signing up for obvious gimmes such as this one.
Oh, My Nola is inspired and life-affirming.
Meet The Smithereens is a diverting, inconsequential bit of nostalgia.
Here & Now isn’t a limp, star-studded cash-in, but neither is it a disposable piece of memory lane fluff for the Time Life set.
Of Montreal mastermind Kevin Barnes is some kind of unhinged, tragically little-known genius.
The Shins experiment with their trademark sound without sacrificing any of their peerless melodicism.
Though Ghost is often revered for their originality, they’re not breaking or rewriting any rules here.
Stars of Track and Field’s music lies somewhere between Radiohead and Mark Kozelek.
It’s safe to say that You Am I captures a good cross-section of their talents on Convicts.
Learn to Sing Like a Star might be Hersh’s most coherent, consistently listenable record since Hips and Makers.
The album’s form is at the very least consistent with the band’s feedback-heavy, rambunctious live performances.
Madeline’s debut album touches on love, sexual politics, and…circuses.
Why so damn pissy, Lily?
Rudd imbues his songs with an array of sounds and textures like traditional and classical Indian slide guitar, organ, and didgeridoo drones.
Doiron’s sometimes off-kilter vocal arrangements are a perfect match for her lyrics.
Ciara and producer Rodney Jerkins give no indication of R&B’s present or future interest in dance music besides nostalgia for the ’80s.
What’s a retrospective when entire chunks of a career are unaccounted for?