Future seems content to be set dressing for Metro Boomin’s elaborate production.
Think of Metric as a poppier Yeah Yeah Yeahs or Breeders and think of Live It Out as another step toward indie-pop splendor.
The deeply felt personal passion that Etheridge displayed on Yes I Am remerges in her new songs.
The album is so stacked that you’d think Lil’ Kim was going away for 12 years, not 12 months.
Some wags would argue that deep-fried shoegazers My Morning Jacket have never really known restraint.
The Magic Numbers sound less like the love children of Teenage Fanclub and more like a not-so-dour Kings of Leon.
Sheryl Crow remains a strong writer and singer, to the extent that Wildflower earns more than just a passing recommendation.
It turns out that all the conspiracy theories and rumors surrounding Fiona Apple’s long-delayed third album were only half-truths.
Gretchen Wilson’s All Jacked Up sounds like a collection of b-sides and outtakes from last year’s Here For The Party.
My Better Self finds singer-songwriter Dar Williams in typically fine voice and form.
Much of Libra harks back to Braxton’s previous ballad-heavy successes.
Guests like hype man du jour Fatman Scoop offer little aside from their apparent contractual obligation to brand Ben-Ari as “the hip-hop violinist.”
The ominous, swirling blend of post-punk catharsis and intense, coiled melody that fuels such Echo classics as Ocean Rain is in full effect here.
As you might expect from the weak source material, none of the players are ever really stretched or challenged by the “Lamentate.”
Even on the album’s best moments, the band is overwhelmed by its rather obvious influences.
Loveless has found a comfortable middle-ground between her peerless brand of mountain soul and the sunny pop-country of her commercial heyday.
The album illustrates that coming up with an airtight, fascinating thesis can present an unclearable hurdle of its own.
What Alive & Wired does best is reconcile the considerable charms of the band’s studio output with the immediacy of their live shows’ energy.
Takk… often sounds like a faithful reproduction of the outsized pop of Radiohead’s The Bends.
Dance producer and pussy hound Armand Van Helden was never one to ride the front end of a trend.
Black Rebel Motorcycle Club drops the calculated hipster façade and crafts one of the most earnest and surprising albums of the year.