The album sounds beamed in from an earlier decade, but it runs deeper than nostalgia.
“The Saints Are Coming” is a dubious collaboration between U2 and Green Day.
The music gods have not been kind to former members of Belle and Sebastian.
With Sordid Sentinels you get the joy of Pavement’s top-shelf rarities without the hassle of tracking them down.
Cazwell’s mini-album is the queer-eyed rap cousin to Justin Timberlake’s blue-eyed soul.
9 is enough of a departure to prove that Rice can rock as well as he can lull—and still tug heartstrings.
The album gives you the sense of hearing something truly ancient being married to something very modern and present.
Wintersong is a seasonal showcase for McLachlan’s cathedral-ready soprano.
Playing with Fire settles into its mediocre groove early.
What the hell is Nikki Sixx doing writing the title track for a Bat Out of Hell album?
The Killers’s Sam’s Town is the kind of autofellatio that could destroy a band’s career.
When is Willie Nelson going to work with Toby Keith again?
The album’s strings are sexy and cinematic, the guitars ominous and foreboding.
Supply and Demand is every bit as polished and confident as Amos Lee’s debut.
As 2006 winds down, Lloyd Cole must be feeling like he’s having a pretty great year.
Public Warning is less of an instant classic and more of a promise of things to come.
Once Again never really reaches the heights of Get Lifted.
Executive producer is one title Sean Combs can wear proudly.
It was fitting that the final stop on Goldfrapp’s U.S. tour, at New York’s Roseland Ballroom, began with Cerrone’s “Supernature.”
In a recent column, Andrea Peyser likened Madonna’s recent adoption of an African AIDS orphan to taking home a souvenir.
Long Island Shores is simply pretty for the sake of being pretty.