The singer has yet to discover a sound or sensibility that truly distinguishes her.
There’s not a song on the album that hasn’t been written better a hundred times over, and with more memorable hooks.
The album foregrounds the cold-blooded calculation of its technological origin while still capturing emotions that are recognizably, powerfully human.
Golden Smog distances itself from its alt-country roots on Another Fine Day.
I dare you to tell Rahzel Brown that beatboxing is a thing of the past.
In case her new album’s title hasn’t tipped you off yet, Pink wants you to know she’s not dead.
Crushing Love is as sharp and insightful as 2005’s Made in China was juvenile and sloppy.
The quality and the spirit of I Stand Alone reveal why Elliott has been and continues to be such an influential figure.
On her sophomore album, Psalm One can’t quite be either a champion vocalist or an irresistible entertainer.
Pica Pica is an intimate affair that still shakes the rafters.
Round achieves a kernel of accessibility that’s necessary to survive on a label like Interscope without surrendering the tics that make her tick.
Decemberunderground is destined to give AFI that larger mainstream audience they missed out on the last time around.
In the Maybe World is an accessible, if lyrically opaque, work that should please fans of avant-pop.
The film’s soundtrack is as ephemeral as the exhaust from Lightning McQueen’s tailpipe.
There’s a certain intangible glow radiating from The Loon.
It’s always a bit disarming to see someone who has performed thousands of times comment candidly on his or her still-developing skill of tuning an acoustic guitar.
Ambient snippets provide the connective tissue between the album’s 10 songs.
The album is a black hole of pomp and nothingness, a perfect document of the times.
Since this is still ostensibly an album of outtakes, there’s perhaps an even stronger case to be made for excising the instrumental cuts this time.
For the uninitiated, listening to a Peaches album is like being socked in the face with a rubber vagina.
Sinners Like Me doesn’t capitalize on Eric Churchs distinctive writing with an identifiable sound.