Australia’s psych-rock jesters fend off ecological doom with cosmic fury.
The album adds ’70s soul to the rapper’s predictable mix of self-declaration and catty peer-dissing.
Consider Vega, recently separated from her husband, producer Mitchell Froom, a reborn folkie.
Tenacious D is meta-music, perpetually self-conscious and self-referential.
This remarkable effort signifies Mayer as the genuine article.
Garbage’s Beautiful Garbage will be shrouded in the bias of its predecessors.
We all knew that Journey’s Steve Perry-less reunion was never going to spark the big comeback of piano-driven pop/rock.
Though not as innovative as her debut, the album stands as one of the most definitive pop artifacts from the indulgent Reagan Era.
Tracks like the edgy, punk-infused “Burning Up” incorporated electric guitars along with the most state-of-the-art synthesizers of the time.
This is a cover album that covers about as much of Amos’s split-psyche as it does her diverse musical influences.
Last night, the Irving Plaza floor both brewed with anticipation and stewed with “what-if-they-don’t-play-any-old-stuff?” anxiety.
It’s fitting that PJ Harvey’s 2001 tour commences in the Big Apple, the city that breathed life into half of her new album.
Rufus Wainwright is gloriously pompous.
Jay Kay and his minions (old and new) faithfully recreate ’70s disco-funk as if it were cool.
The day Jeff Buckley died marked the beginning of the search for a male singer-songwriter who could take his place.
Maxwell’s third studio effort, Now, faithfully delivers more of the same.
For those who have questioned Macy Gray’s loopy public persona, The Id will be a confirmation of their worst fears and fantasies.
Babyface’s music always sounds better when someone else is singing it.
Everybody is influenced as much by the Beastie Boys’s brand of punk-infused hip-hop as it is by the Rat Pack.
Glitter’s biggest flaw is in its effort to be everything to everyone.
Not bad for a band that doesn’t even exist.