Brought up on a steady diet of singles, Templeman has some trouble stringing together a substantive 14-track set and a number of the cuts simply coast along on groove and tone without much else to recommend them. Minus the filler and occasional bouts of clumsy wordplay, Mellow Moon does little to damage the young singer/songwriter's reputation and adds a clutch of well-made tracks to his growing canon.

This is a disappointing backpedal from America's drill ambassador.

The sound of Come Home the Kids Miss You is polished and ready for the massive level of worldwide commercial success Harlow has been building up to, but it's difficult to find much substance beneath the expensive sheen.

The lack of variance in tempo across the hour-long sequence makes Heart on My Sleeve downright torpid at points. All upticks are welcome -- the one with an incongruous Kirk Franklin appearance included -- but slow and low is undeniably the singer's forte.

The overall impression of Parks' second solo album is less a collection of tightly crafted songs than of a willowy chunk of music captured during its slow passage on the timeline. How appealing this is depends on one's proclivities, but there is enough ear candy here to hold the attention, at least for a little while.

Like his other albums, the music is all very beautiful, if somewhat ephemeral. It's hard to pick out a memorable melody among these ten poignant missives, which tend to run together in a bittersweet blur.

In addition to often sleepy and forgettable production, Leray's flow leaves much to be desired and even guests like Nicki Minaj ("Blick Blick"), Fivio Foreign ("Mountains"), and H.E.R. ("Overthinking") can't save the day.

The overall effect is mercurial and uneven, but also fun and hooky as well as potentially cathartic -- especially for anyone who is over it.

It's the first truly disappointing album that the band have released and the first where they sound like they are running out of gas instead of hitting on all cylinders.

The energy and inspiration are there, but as the band attempt to write more accessible material, some of the uniqueness of their past work is compromised. Still, you can't say that the album is predictable, and even if not every song hits, the band's exuberance is undeniable.

Mainstream Sellout feels mostly like a middling attempt to further cross over into pop-punk, this time lighter on ideas and cohesion.

Alienating and cathartic at once, Island Family ends on the collage-like tech satire "Remote Control" for a shared cabin fever experience.

2 Chainz simply doesn't sound as inspired as he normally does, as this short set lacks the madcap wit and energy that flow throughout previous albums of much longer duration. A recharge and change of direction clearly seem necessary.

It's all in good fun, and there are some definite highlights, but Magazine 1 is more of a nostalgia exercise than a genuinely remarkable album.

Bulat's melodic, folk-leaning tendencies as a songwriter lend themselves well to this kind of makeover, one that adds a touch of elegance to nuanced vocal performances, if rarely improving upon the original recordings.

It's hard to see why most of this album exists beyond letting Ashworth explore and recreate two kinds of music she obviously loves to distraction. Whether anyone should follow along on her quest is up to their tolerance for sift rock platitudes and hard rock cliches.

The sense of low-key but heightened melodrama can be alluring thanks to the open-ended arrangements, yet much of Manticore unfolds at a crawl, so it feels much less visceral than previous Shovels & Rope albums even if it has a greater emotional range.

If formulaic in approach, cosmopolitan rhythms and trippy hooks vary, and any track or combination of tracks on the album is well-suited for front-of-house play or for a soundtrack to get the party started.

Sees the group shift away from the more anthemic direction of their major hits ("Love Killa," "Gambler") to an airier, more vocally driven set of songs: strummed-funk tracks like "Tied to Your Body" and "Blow Your Mind" pull heavily from Justin Timberlake's early-2000s run, while others like "About Last Night" and "Better" slide toward the nostalgic disco yearnings expressed by their 2010s contemporaries.

DS4 is caught between the woozy, floating sounds of WUNNA and an older, heavier-hitting sound, yet nails neither.

Still in command of strong technical skills and now rapping over instrumentals crafted with bigger budgets, Cordae falls short when he starts sounding a little too comfortably at home in the mainstream.

If Good to Be... sometimes is a little too cozy -- it's executed well and its unifying spirit is evident, but a cover of "Lean on Me" still feels a little overly familiar -- it's nevertheless a warm, welcoming album that's every bit as soothing and comforting as Keb' Mo' intended it to be.

Although lovingly written and tightly arranged, Havasu's consistently midtempo plod and the bittersweet nature of its subject makes for a somewhat dreary listen.

This is a perfectly adequate Ross LP differentiated by its mix of collaborators more than anything else.

A mellow blend of low-key, late-night, left-field pop and yearning R&B, the release boasts a number of intriguing high-profile collaborator.

The most compelling moments on McCartney III Imagined arrive when artists cut their own version of one of the album's tracks: Phoebe Bridgers finding the sweet, spectral pulse on "Seize the Day," Beck singing along to his funkified version of "Find My Way," and Josh Homme treating "Lavatory Lil" like a Desert Sessions jam. These moments help elevate McCartney III Imagined into something a little more than a curio.

Keem is a necessary, forward-thinking presence in the rap zeitgeist -- but The Melodic Blue is a set of variables and experiments, not the game-changer he's capable of producing.

Disc one is essentially a standard Alicia Keys LP, while the second disc is an album of remixes plus two more new songs. ... The latter half's new songs are two of the album's higher-profile collaborations: a tentative-sounding missed opportunity with Khalid and Lucky Daye, and an intoxicated duet with Swae Lee where Tyrone Davis' coasting 1979 hit "In the Mood" does most of the work.

It's honestly admirable that the Melvins were willing to take a big risk with an album like Five Legged Dog, but the finished product fails more than it succeeds.

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.

The energy throughout the album is so steady and positive that, even at a low volume, it can have a pacifying effect on the soul.

Like nearly all of Calix's music, absent origin is complex and challenging, but it reflects an unmistakably unique perspective on the world.

Windflowers is a wonder of detailed production and easy elegance, though it also suffers from a sameness in tone that dulls its overall impact. It's certainly comfortable, and maybe that was Efterklang's intent, but they are at their best when throwing in the occasional left-turn or sonic shake-up.

It's too relaxed, too casual to be considered major. Its low-key nature is also the appeal of Willie Nelson Family -- it's the sound of an informal jam session by one of the best musical families in America, so it's easy to enjoy even if it feels decidedly minor.

Even when the bagpipes show up on "Welcome Tae Glasgae," Motorheart is all riffs and falsetto screams designed to forget reality and dream of crowds packed with headbanging, beer-soaked hedonists singing along to the same songs.

While Imposter doesn't get the blood pumping as much as 2015's Angels & Ghosts, fans in need of a soundtrack for brooding will find this to be an ideal outlet.

The polish and punch of latter-day Dan remain, but things are indeed different. Becker's tart presence is missed, Fagen's voice is wispy, and the smooth professionalism does indeed seem as if it was designed to feel at home at venues like the Mohegan Sun casino.

The sacred has always sat comfortably with the profane in Rod Stewart's art, and he's holding true to that on The Tears of Hercules, an album that's alternately baffling, absurd, sweet, and endearing.

With a more engaging set of songs, Barnett might easily transpose herself into the mode of introspective singer/songwriter, but alas, Things Take Time, Take Time just feels a little too dull.

Conviction is always evident in her soothing voice, even when it's modulated to a jarring extent or sounds somewhat garbled.

Throughout it all, Carlos Santana plays vibrant, vigorous guitar and he sounds as engaged playing with Corey Glover or Kirk Hammett as he does a posthumous Chick Corea. That these diverse strands don't quite get threaded together is OK: as a collection of moments, Blessings and Miracles does the job.

The record is at its best when it's close to an old-fashioned duet album.

Given its mercurial disposition and fleeting playing time -- nothing here reaches the three-minute mark -- Lily We Need to Talk Now ultimately feels like a sampler, if one that whets the appetite for more.

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.

It's no masterpiece, but it's decidedly not the most cringeworthy Ministry release, either, and it's much easier to appreciate the band's creativity this time around.

This isn't a record where the songs and arrangements are at the forefront, it's an album that's all about the show and spectacle. Its pleasures are slightly fleeting but they're pleasures all the same.

There are great moments here, particularly a spare, powerful reworking of Talking Heads' "Listening Wind," and the participants never sound less than sincere, but coming from a band whose heritage includes "Ghost Town," "Doesn't Make It Alright," and "It's Up To You," Protest Songs 1924-2012 never quite reaches its potential.

Both acts channel traditional folk music's power to express extreme desire, sorrow, and emptiness, occasionally driving the bitterness home by pushing the decibels into the red.

The Metallica Blacklist is fantastic for cherry-picking tracks from your favorite artists or listening in on the more outlandish interpretations of metal classics, but taken as a whole, it's daunting to the point of making even the highlights difficult to appreciate.

Aisles is a bit of a one-trick pony, but a cool one that seems prime for themed dinner parties and TV sync placement.

Like many artists who have stripped away the noise and rough edges from their sound, what's left over isn't as interesting as it could be, and it's hard not to imagine that the songs on Cool would be better off with a layer of liberally applied grungy fuzz coating them.

As it stands now, the album is an overlong, undercooked, and cliched listen that will no doubt appeal to the Drake fans who can't get enough of him, but will leave anyone looking for something new sadly out of luck.

Donda isn't without its highlights, but taken as a whole, it's both confused and confusing.

The follow-up delves into dysfunctional relationships, death, and despair with a more polished yet still hooky, jagged indie rock co-produced by De Souza and Brad Cook (Bon Iver, Waxahatchee).

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.

Stylistically in line with The Baby, Scout serves as an understated addendum that packs a sentimental punch.

It's not a buried gem or a return to form but a snapshot of an excellent musician having a pretty good run in the studio.

While this is a loving tribute to Frank Navetta (who died in 2008), if you were hoping for more of the subtle but genuine forward growth the band has shown on later-day albums like Cool to Be You and Hypercaffium Spazzinate, what you get instead is a journey into the past, with all the good and bad that phrase implies.

While Ty Dolla $ign's street gospel support on the title song is a fine match, H.E.R. more often is too accommodating, most so on the Lil Baby meeting "Find a Way," where she drops de rigueur references to her bag, haters, and one of rap's most popular luxury cars. On a more discreet level, however, "Bloody Waters" -- a heady Kaytranada production tricked out with a delectable Thundercat bassline -- is a brilliant sequel of sorts to her Academy Award-winning "Fight for You."

Unlike their first two albums, which landed high on the breeziness scale, Mirror II is a tougher listen. It's clear that the band want to grow and expand their musical horizons but less clear that they are able to do that successfully. That being said, ultimately there is enough craft to the songwriting, energetic verve in the performances, and painful truth in the lyrics that the album is worth listening to, and the band is worth sticking with if only to see where they go from here.

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.

At only 23 years old, she already has four albums to her credit and while her talent is obvious, a touch more vulnerability wouldn't hurt.

Preacher's Sigh & Potion sounds a bit jarring at first, but it makes more sense considering Dear's family background, and it does have a kind of rootsy, lived-in charm the more time one spends with it. Even if the songs don't always work, at least they feel like earnest personal expressions rather than forced, miscalculated "who is this even for?" hybrids.

Baptize hits hard early on with a trio of nosebleed section-aimed sonic missiles: the pummeling title cut and its equally unrelenting successors "Save Us" and "Underrated." Therein lies the rub. What follows is no better or worse, just largely the same, with Saller delivering post-hardcore banalities with gusto and the band peppering those surface-level maxims with blazing riffage and fist-pumping gang vocals, ad nauseam.

A solid collection, but the shadow cast over the project by DMX's death highlights some of the inconsistencies and adds a heaviness and sense of unfinishedness that's palpable throughout.

The songwriter goes on to defy social etiquette with more of her direct lyrics about sex, desire, and self-loathing on songs with titles sure to offend or at least embarrass a few parents. Ulven tests the line between potential catch phrases and potential cringes on more than a couple occasions here.

The customary meeting with dancehall stars, "Where You Come From," closes out the set in fine style, but doesn't prevent the album from contending for Khaled's most disposable project.

Taken together, The Power of Rocks is a pleasantly puckish jumble -- which in this case may well mean mission accomplished.

The set employs the unique, off-beat flow preferred by the Michigan underground, which Yachty adopts well enough on tracks like "Concrete Goonies" and "Final Form."

As always, his saving grace is his expert control of his voice and good musical taste, qualities that prevent Latest Record Project, Vol. 1 from being as sour as its creator.

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.

Compared to Dekadrone, BN9Drone doesn't quite lift off, staying closer to the ground for its duration, and at 64 minutes (including a false ending), it simply goes on for roughly twice as long as it needs to. A shorter dose of it can be effective, however.

Swift largely re-creates the arrangements and feel of the original 2008 album, yet her voice and phrasing has aged, giving the music a hint of bittersweet gravity. That said, it's only a hint; Fearless (Taylor's Version) serves the purpose of offering new versions that could be substituted for the originals for licensing purposes. It's to Swift's credit that the album is an absorbing (if long) listen anyway.

If In Another World doesn't quite feel like a classic Cheap Trick, blame that on the group's dogged adherence to their old blueprint; they follow it so closely that they don't allow room for adventure, mistake, or fashion. Maybe that means the album doesn't quite seem fresh, but it does hit its marks in a reliable, satisfying manner.

Lovato's frankness is disarming, forcing a listener to reckon with the depths of the singer's distinction, yet the album works best when it veers toward lighter territory, letting the slick R&B rhythms and sugared hooks carry Lovato's emoting.

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.

What's striking about the compilation is how a roster as diverse as Eric Clapton, Shaggy, Mary J. Blige, Annie Lennox, Herbie Hancock, Sam Moore, and Julio Iglesias doesn't sound especially eclectic; when the common denominator is Sting, all the guests adapt to his particular ways.

Consistency is a virtue in this case: maybe Starr does little more than deliver what he promises, but he does deliver, and that reliability is a comfort in times of uncertainty.

It's hard to tell what Smerz are going for on this perplexing mess of an album, but there's clearly a lot of potential to their ambitious fusion of modern classical, R&B, and experimental club styles -- they just haven't made their vision clear yet.

If the format doesn't seem as fresh as it did back in 2016, when Full Circle was the first record released from the sessions, that's only due to it being the fourth in a series of albums. On its own merits, Still Woman Enough is strong and vibrant, a testament to Lynn's enduring gifts and place in the firmament of 20th century country music.

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.

Detroit Stories is stuck in a confusing limbo somewhere between tribute to Detroit and another album of the kind of campy, theatrical, radio-geared hard rock Cooper has been turning in since Hey Stoopid. Never quite committing to either concept, Detroit Stories ends up feeling like a handful of solid covers of classic Detroit tunes with some Alice Cooper extras thrown in at random.

While the individual songs may not be as fun on average as those of its predecessor, Lines Redacted does drive home the feeling of dissatisfaction while, like a Ramones under the influence, locking into an admirably irreverent, distinctive persona.

Ultimately landing like a skill set in progress more than an artist fully formed, Super Monster is nevertheless sweet and full of winsome promise.

The Third Chimpanzee unmistakably feels like a side project. It's intriguing to hear what sounds and moods he can create outside of the context of his band, but even compared to the more fully realized MG, the EP merely sounds tentative. However, it's worth noting that the striking cover art was painted by Pockets Warhol, a capuchin monkey, which is fascinating.

In sum, those who had trouble with To the Bone, Wilson's well-executed homage to the progressive pop of Kate Bush, Tears for Fears, and Peter Gabriel, may have even more with this. Most fans, however, especially more recent ones, shouldn't find The Future Bites an inconsistent entry in Wilson's catalog, but an arguably minor one that steps sideways instead of forward.

While a bit muddled and confusing, the album certainly invites the audience to listen attentively and figure out their own interpretations.

If emotionally unresolved, Ongoing Dispute does deliver on engaging hooks and rousing choruses, at least until that wistful outro, "Friends on Ice," which closes the album in a wash of chiming guitars and circular thought.

This is a warm, low-key affair, a record about family bonds and togetherness that gets by on its gentle, endearing vibes.

This is a relaxed, generous affair, an album where the featured star and his guests defer not just to each other but to the songs they are singing.

A few of the pieces are a bit more abstract, such as the meditative "Illuminations," the title cut to Devadip Carlos Santana and Turiya Alice Coltrane's 1974 collaboration (which remains strangely overlooked within both legends' catalogs), or the performance art avant-disco of Justine & the Victorian Punks' "Still You," a 1979 Peter Gordon production. Otherwise, the group tend to focus on relaxed yet sophisticated pop with a bit of a funk tinge to it.

Not quite as malevolent as the title indicates, it's a little more openhearted than Faiyaz's earlier output, but it does contain flashes of the cynical outlook and more of the remorseless (if sensitively delivered) slow jams for which he's known.

Arriving the same year as the quasi-concept LP Migration Stories, Think of Spring, with its lo-fi esthetic and ambling gait, is compelling at times but feels more like a lark than a passion project.

His cadence and phrasing often recall those of Petty, so initially it's not hard to imagine these tunes as a collection of writing demos for his departed friends, but spend more time with Wreckless Abandon, and it becomes clear how Campbell's taste and aesthetic meshed with Petty so thoroughly, he can write a pretty good Heartbreakers record on his own.

There's some ambling charm to Greendale, but Return to Greendale won't convert doubters. Instead, it'll play well to the album's fans, as this sounds like a leaner, muscular version of the studio set.

Four or five less tracks and a little less time spent extrapolating on the end of the world would have made for a far more engaging listen, even taking into consideration how rare new material from Busta Rhymes can be in this phase of his work.

The faintly cosmopolitan dance-pop grooves and finely measured ballads offer few unexpected turns. They're set apart more by a lack of gospel and soul, consequently rendering Love Goes plain by Smith's standard -- unfortunate for an artist whose instrument is anything but that.

Such an intense, sustained focus does mean Positions succeeds in sounding sexy but it doesn't do much outside of that: apart from the title track, few songs stand out as individual songs, the rhythm and productions are all painted in shades of grey, and Grande disappears into the setting of her own design.