The album sees the singer-songwriter moving in a different direction.
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.
Blige’s albums have harnessed the potential for hip-hop perfection, yet she falls short each time and Drama is no exception.
In an attempt to make a less introspective album, the singer revealed more of herself than ever.
Not bad for a band that doesn’t even exist.
Mel meets the challenge of distinguishing herself from the Spice Girls.
Born of the Napster era, Björk’s Vespertine might just be the first commercial D.I.Y. electronic album.
Usher’s confessed influences resound clearly on the album.
Imagine post-Indian-excursion Beatles miraculously transported into a high-tech 21st-century recording studio.
If you’re lucky enough to earn a few bucks off of this, start saving up for that PhD.
The hunger that Madonna creates in the public is often more palpable than the art in her pop.
Celebrity’s slower numbers recall the banalities of that other boy band.