A visceral examination of art and nature when both are pushed to the brink.
For all the so-called weighty subject matter, there’s not much meat on these bones.
Atomic Bomb finds U2 in the unique position of being one of the only rock acts capable of making the universal seem achingly personal.
Damn if instrumental post-rock groups don’t have the goofiest album titles in the business.
Carrie Underwood is trying to beat the odds with her debut album Some Hearts.
Much like Stevie Nicks’s Trouble In Shangri-La, Aerial sounds dateless.
Eurythmics’s Peace was a marked departure from the new wave duo’s more famous synth-pop output from the 1980s.
The album eschews the major problems of its predecessor while presenting an entirely new set of obstacles for Big & Rich to overcome.
The album documents an impressive career, even if it eschews Alanis Morissette’s pre-history for what she considers her finer moments.
Working with their grandmother, Olga Sarantos, the Friedbergers fashion off-kilter vignettes from vivid memories of a life, viewed in nostalgic retrospect.
Catching Tales pushes the polyglot approach of Twentysomething even further.
The Moon Was Blue is a welcome return from an artist who, hopefully, plans to forge even farther ahead.
What keeps The Body Acoustic from being perhaps as essential as it could have been is the inconsistency of the guest stars.
As strong an album as it is, 12 Songs suggests that the follow-up could be even better.
Aside from “Hung Up” and “Sorry,” the insanely catchy second single, this isn’t the mindlessly fun dance album we were promised.
It’s fitting that Stefani should open her Harajuku Lovers Tour with Debbie Deb’s “When I Hear Music” booming from a giant tower of speakers.
Blame Mariah.
For all that Columbia’s PR people are making of Bacharach’s original lyrics, this album is best when it’s cruising wordlessly along.
Descended Like Vultures sounds foremost like the work of a proper band, rather than a DIY effort from one immensely talented guy.
It’s impossible not to view Timeless as anything more than enthusiastic, pitch-perfect karaoke.
I wonder what Nietzsche would say about the throngs who beg musical geniuses to, please, quit while they’re still ahead.