Nowhere near their best effort, What Is There still manages to retain enough of the widescreen essence of its predecessors to transcend its fixation on sonic baubles.

Vapor Trails does an amiable job of signaling the welcomed return of Rush.

Borrowed Heaven's lyric sheet is filled with high school diary hackneyed favorites but if you like your pop - unadulterated pop - presented and played extremely well you're cheating yourself if you don't check it.

It seems like Parquet Courts might be taking notes from labelmates Girl Band, producing some of their most uncompromising work to date. Monastic Living is a very curious move for the band.

Magic is bright and punchy, a digital-age production through and through, right down to how each track feels as if it were crafted according to its own needs instead of the record as a whole.

Rowe seems even more like an instrument rather than a lead voice, but it's all comforting, if not revealing, made more for background or late-night listening than complete emotional immersion.

Repeated listens bring a number of sounds to the surface--a hint of heartland twang, plenty of pop melodies, and an endearing messiness (evident in the half-sung, half-shouted background vocals)--but We Built a Fire is mostly concerned with mood, which it casts during the first minute of running time.

13 doesn't really feel like one of the man's most inspired or immortality-bound efforts, but rather just another reminder of Wino's prolific consistency.

This is Bolton doing what he does best, and doing it so well that anybody who picks this up thinking it's a compilation won't be disappointed with what resides inside.

Overall, chronically anti-romantic moments are eclipsed by sweet, somnambulant melodies that may not quicken the pulse but often hypnotize nevertheless.

Fans of the ever-prolific artist might enjoy it simply because it is unmistakably a Mark Kozelek album, but his dry, straightforward readings won't do anything to convince listeners who don't share the same sentiments for these tunes.

Breach, is an inward-looking set of songs written during a deliberate period of isolation. Later recorded in Chicago with producer Brian Deck and Steve Albini, its slightly more expansive sound is evident on tracks like the lush "I, Nietzsche" and spiky "Alapathy."

The band's organ and raspy vocals give Red Bedroom a jolt of early punk, which, combined with an adept sense of rock ‘n' roll, has signs that the Fever has been spending equal time listening to proto-punk and garage rock bands of the ‘60s.

Anyone who missed Hype Williams the first time around should start with any of the group's early albums rather than this, but there's no guarantee that they'll make any more sense.

It's hard not to find this album kind of disappointing, a confirmation that no matter what they do, Oasis Mach II will never have the sheer abandon or thrill as Definitely Maybe through Morning Glory.

While tracks like the hard-hitting "How You King?" and "Fraud" do a decent job at showcasing his New York City-honed flow, unfortunately, for Montana's cause, the real draws on the album still include a famous friend or two.

Walk It Off is hardly a disaster, but it is a strange, lopsided album--despite its focus, it just doesn't play to Tapes 'n Tapes strengths as much as it should have.

Levine and company aren't the focus here, they're the connective tissue on a softly amorphous album that sounds entirely like latter-day Maroon 5 without ever quite seeming to belong to them.

demon time unfortunately turns out to be underwhelming.

If you're riding and vibing with Lorde, this bright shapelessness is superb mood music. If you're not riding her wave, Solar Power can seem elusive, even cloying, as it circles and sways with a smile.

Ultimately It's Only Me sticks to the formula that's taken Lil Baby to the top, but somehow fails to communicate the personality and creative fire that was hard to miss on earlier albums.

Dramatic and sweeping, the Las Vegas band works in the same vein as pop giants Coldplay, offering up track after track of hooky and emotional midtempo jams.

Despite the obvious stylistic proficiency at play, Double Jointer is a bit too au courant (maybe it's all that reverb) to have much of a long-term impact.

It's partly a party album like 2001's Bulletproof Wallets, but freer, more inspired, and tempered with pure street tracks that were missing last time round.

The whole point of doing acoustic versions is usually to lay bare the material, deconstructing it down to its roots, but for the most part, Acoustic feels a bit too polished and adjusted.

This Is the Computers sounds good enough on the one hand, but on the other, it's a bit of an on-off effort by the band, initially an example of sudden moments almost working more than the songs.

World Beyond amplifies how efficient Erasure's own arrangements are, while at the same time giving Bell more space to command the room, which he does, with nuanced performances.

She sounds lonely and afraid in songs like "Jealous" and "Dancing Lessons," yet her fierce confidence overpowers such insecurity on the pinch-hitting "No Man's Woman."

Stillmatic is all the proof anyone needs that Nas isn't as special as he was five years before the album's release.

Solid and pleasing, if somewhat predictable.

This LP will no doubt please listeners with an ear for more astringent experimentations, but for the most part, it seems like Rats on Rafts have drifted a bit too far into their own ambitions at the expense of their songs.

As it is, Come Back can only be considered a noble attempt at something Ferree just didn't have the skills to pull off.

Probably because neither of the artists concentrate on their usual instruments of choice, there is a childlike innocence that runs throughout the wash.

Human After All ends up being just not-bad (a first for Daft Punk); that may be hard to accept for fans that demand nothing less than brilliance from them, but just because it isn't an instant classic doesn't mean that it's totally unworthy, either.

Recommended for those interested in classical-rock fusions.

More Geddy Lee than Robert Plant, Josh Kiszka commands attention then alienates; his wail is the weak link in a group who is getting better at their period-accurate cosplay.

the Donnas once rocked as if they were tanked to the gills but they now sound like they're playing with ferocious hangovers they just can't shake--and it's hard to have a good party if the threat of the morning after hangs over the whole affair.

At times, it's hard to hear much unique about them. Then again, the boldness of Red Yellow & Blue--both the colors and the album--can't be denied, and Born Ruffians' energy does spark something special occasionally.

Coziness certainly has its appeal--it works as balm and a tonic--but it's hard to shake the feeling that Zac Brown Band overplays their hand somewhat by insisting they've reconnected with their roots. All those lyrics feel calculated and defensive, undercutting the grace of the music.

Too intelligent and well-crafted to dismiss but too disjointed and self-indulgent to really embrace, Love the Future is equally frustrating and promising.

Welcome to the Walk Alone ends up as neither a success nor a failure; instead, it feels more like a missed opportunity compounded by a bad decision.

They've managed to ignore their ill fortune and suffer through the hecklers, and have -- in the best possible way -- given listeners a 54-minute soundtrack for the paper bag scene in American Beauty.

While Whitechapel's capacity for hatred and discontent is nothing new (especially in the world of death metal/deathcore), the relentlessness of the album's execution is impressive.

If the album isn't quite a classic, it does represent its time in an unhurried, unselfconscious way: this is what big-budget rock sounded like in the mid-'70s, and expanding it to such an extravagant size doesn't hurt it because it always was bigger and bolder than its competitors.

Not so much a letdown as a comedown, One Way Ticket to Hell...and Back just shows that the giddy highs of Permission to Land aren't so easy to get the second time around.

That ["Only U"] and a couple other exceptions aside, the hour-plus set offers more variations on the narcotic, boast-filled slow jams for which Brathwaite and his fellow OVO Sound artists are known.

Healy's yearning, earthy croon is well intact here, and although he doesn't try to upstage his main band's act, longtime Travis fans and anybody in the mood for heartfelt, smartly crafted folk-pop should find much to enjoy on Wreckorder.

It is stronger all-around than "Supernova," the poor 2001 album that never came out in the States, with the stitches less audible than the average post-humous album. And yet, nothing here comes close to rivaling the best TLC material.

Pomegranates may need some more time to ripen fully, but Everybody, Come Outside! will still be a treat to some palettes.

Unfortunately, the Oranges Band can't sustain their head of steam during All Around's second half.

Even if Dopamine shows the scars of labor, that in itself is impressive, and it also emphasizes how, nearly 20 years into his career, Stephan Jenkins prefers to indulge in his idiosyncrasies and not polish them for reasons related to pop.

Shame that one-joke ideas like "House Party" get blown out of proportion, and even worse, the healthy helping of filler is obstinate, refusing to fade into the background because of over-the-top performances. 3oh!3 are nothing if not loud and shameless, so if you expect end-to-end excellence from their albums, you've got a lot to learn about cheap thrills.

Sure it's mature, soulful, and often beautiful, but it's also mostly forgettable.

The album might scare off some fans who were reeled in by his perky pop songs, but it might find a home with those who like their pop seriously murky and gray.

A compilation of the emo-punk band's favorite tracks, all reworked acoustically.

Macy Gray lets her freak flag fly, almost to the detriment of everything else.

At a scant four tracks, The Roadside EP hardly marks a major release from the veteran artist, but in lead single "Bitter Taste," he presents one of his better late-career offerings. ... The other two cuts, "Rita Hayworth" and "U Don't Have to Kiss Me Like That," are well-executed, if forgettable tracks that harken back to the singer's '80s heyday.

Too often, Airs Above Your Station feels scattered and fades into the background too easily.

It's largely unobtrusive and serviceable, distinguished mostly by Smith's elastic voice and increased specificity and complexity to the reflective and romantic songs.

We Are the Night is no departure, although it does reveal Tom Rowlands and Ed Simons showing some build-to-suit character instead of angling for the straitjacket-tight and over-serious dance music of their past ten years.

Whether it's highly relatable or a bit paint-by-numbers is up to the listener, although the blueprint here is an auspiciously well-tested one.

Overall, Black and White Rainbows is an interesting piece of the Bush discography, hinting at a late-era trajectory shift and a reinvigorated spirit for Rossdale and company. While he nurses fresh wounds that have stripped his world of color, at the very least he can still see beauty and hope through the gloom.

It's a bit of a shame that the record is so half-baked, but somewhat predictable as their creativity has been slowly waning with each new album.

Colonia may share with the Cardigans' late records that polished yet entirely too comfortable sound that reveals few insights, but it deftly presents Persson's uncomfortable vision of a world with little left to hold onto.

An added bonus for Orton loyalists.

The decision to rein in the forward-thinking, more ambitious, and colorful musical and textural steps she made on her last recording makes this rather monochromatic affair feel somewhat longer than its scant 33 minutes.

Stitched together as it is, One of the Best Yet is a priceless benefaction. Premier was no doubt compelled to see it through for himself and the memory of his deteriorated union with Guru. That regard for the Gang Starr legacy is felt throughout the set, a gratifying listen for anyone who can get past Guru's incapacity to authorize it.

Barbara shows that We Are Scientists know what works for them, and even if it never quite breaks the barrier between pleasant and great, it's almost always enjoyable.

Blue is an inarguably impressive full-length debut in terms of Communions' ability to evoke the sound and mood of a particular time and place, but it might be a stronger work if the groupmembers had actually witnessed the time and place themselves.

System goes down smooth, even if it's rather strange that it is so nostalgic for the pre-Clinton '90s, but this is so much a production piece that, apart from the acoustic 'Rolling,' the only song that stands outside of the sheer sonic gloss is 'Wedding Day,' a genuinely odd piece of kitsch duet with Heidi herself.

The album isn't a total disaster, though, there are a few songs that manage to overcome the record's flaws and deliver some excitement.

Like its sibling Unlimited Love, Return of the Dream Canteen benefits from the positive energy of these four friends just having fun in the studio, and is designed for listeners to plug in and bliss out without any expectations of mainstream-ready fare.

Time winds up a bit muddled, swinging from moments of genuine sweetness toward sharp saccharine, but even with all its flaws it's nice to hear Stewart engaged again, both as a writer and a singer.

A smashing success that avoids sounding too retro, as Geller's beats sound readymade for roller discos and bedrooms alike.

When Minaj leans into her untouchable strengths as a rapper, things get really exciting and an album of tracks as strong as "LLC" or "Barbie Dreams" would be one for the books. As it stands, however, Queen is another chapter of Minaj's good but largely meandering and inconsistent full-length album output.

Ultimately, Every Man Should Know is a record with something for every Connick fan.

As it stands, the album will at the very least provide a better measure of closure to Saint Vitus' turbulent but heroic career than the aforementioned, despairingly pitiful, mid-'90s demise managed to, and the group's important legacy certainly deserves that much.

Covering such a cherished and well-respected body of work is a brave move, and while Gilmore was always going to struggle to make these iconic songs her own, John Wesley Harding is a valiant attempt to respectfully add a slightly modern sheen to the 40-year-old record, which should silence any Dylan aficionados waiting to cry foul.

It might come off as too much of a mish-mash if not for the tongue-in-cheek glee with which Leroy pulls it off.

Throughout the album, Kylie sounds very game, merry even, and there's enough holiday spirit on offer to help even the grinchiest customer make it through the season with the bare minimum of humbug.

Sundara Karma have talent, ambition, and youth on their side, but so do a lot of other rising bands. In the end, it's personality and distinction that endure.

With an all-star cast like this, it's not surprising that Cloak and Cipher is beautifully played and layered. However, too often it feels like the album's overall sound comes at the price of distinctive songs.

Ultimately, while Frampton is never allowed to settle into one aesthetic sound on Red--moving from electronic pop to dance-rock to folk-pop--her honey-sweet voice and emotionally compelling delivery are enough to carry you along for the ride.

Mostly, Let the Bad Times Roll sounds like what it is: the work of middle-aged punk lifers who don't change their style, sound, or perspective.

Later cuts like "Love in the Time of Surveillance" and the nervy, angsty closer reveal some decidedly complex layers of sonic architecture. Toss in the requisite instrumental, the all-atmosphere "Make No Sound in the Digital Forest," and you've got a pretty solid Incubus record in your hands, albeit one that won't win over any of the group's detractors.

Reed genuinely seems to be stretching towards new lyrical and musical ground here, but while some of his experiments work, several pointedly do not?

Compiling the best tracks from each of their previous releases to make one solid EP would've been a better introduction to the band than The Printz is.

One does have to wonder if the songs would have had more impact if they were a bit less produced and mixed. Ultimately, the fault lies with everyone involved and their combined efforts lead to an album that is nice to have playing while idly doing household chores, but is unlikely inspire too many repeat listens.

Sheeran is naturally a laid-back performer, the pair fit almost a little bit too neatly: where certain hooks and melodic refrains would've been pushed into the spotlight on previous Sheeran albums, they're lying in the background here. That tender touch when combined with a preponderance of ballads turns - (subtract) into a curiously recessive album: its emotions are raw, yet its execution is reserved.

Timeless is a mixed bag, but it's not because of Mendes. His own playing and arranging is utterly elegant.

He certainly talks like he wants to make music that stands the test of time and really matters to people; if that's ever going to happen, he'll need to make records go beyond pleasant and enjoyable. Despite the handful of songs that touch of his potential for greatness, Fine Line isn't quite there yet.

The melodies go exactly where you want them to, as do the emotional beats, resulting in a lovely travelogue that avoids steering down any seasonal roads, and in doing so quickly fades from memory.

These songs aren't knockouts, but they're friendly and comfortable, the kind of sturdy roots-pop that seems like it'd be easy to pull off but must not be, as this delicate balance of conversational melody and guy-next-door appeal has proven elusive to Rucker for over a decade now

Call it a wobbly when it comes to quality, or a showcase for the young that's stolen by the old, but it's best to consider it a simple roster-promoting label compilation that just happens to come with an EP or so worth of fire.

As a whole, it's not one of their best records, considering the size of their discography, but it's not a bad little record. Fans will like it since the band is still shining as a tight unit and hasn't lost a step musically.

The overall mood of the album feels a bit broken and battered, but comes off too polished to let that feeling drive home.

Get Your Heart On! is every bit as tuneful as the group's debut.

Musically, the production never veers from the glossy, by-the-numbers approach of mainstream pop.