ICONOLOGY is a good placeholder while fans wait for the next chapter of Elliott's brilliance, but overall seems truncated and undercooked.

While lyrics stick better than hooks here, the album is not without a handful of low-key anthems (including the latter track's high-flying, Auto-Tuned "it's gonna be okay"), and the atmosphere manages to be consistently warm and inviting despite its mechanical veneer.

While it was unfinished and framed in '80s studio tropes, their attempt to complete it with modern charts and muddy, hip-hop-styled mix weighs down what remains of the original proceedings.

Even solid instrumentals begin to blur before the halfway point arrives, and the monotonous wash of mediocre content and phoned-in performances becomes exhausting long before the collection ends.

The band have never made music that's sounded so modern and disconcertingly eager to please. It's a sea change that's hard to swallow, and despite the presence of some decent tracks, Wallop is the band's weakest album to date.

All the songs aim for intense, tormented statements and end up being about nothing. In this way, ! is more numbing than visceral. After it's done, it's hard to remember anything that was worth latching onto.

It's clear after four albums that the best Bon Iver is the one that manages to keep the arrangements in check and doesn't swing for the fences. I,I takes many mighty swings and at best knocks out a few infield hits, while striking out far too often.

They fare better as a dancey new wave party band than they did emulating Joy Division on their album before this, but for all its energy and drive, Spirit World is light on truly striking songs.

Mixed results notwithstanding, This Is Not a Safe Place is further proof that these four musicians belong beside one another. They won't make the long-list for the Patrick Fitzgerald Shoegaze Poet Award, but they still create quite a sighing racket.

Immunity is nothing if not consistent in providing Clairo's confessional lyrics and seemingly thematically detached vocals with a cushiony-soft landing. What she loses here in charm, she makes up for in lyrical depth and an enveloping sense of comfort, if drowsy melodies tend to waft by rather than stick around.

Although it elevates the value of the underrated and divisive Stay Together and houses a handful of strong earworms, Duck ranks as one of Kaiser Chiefs' weaker overall efforts.

Nothing is as distinctive as past delights like "I Will Come Back," "Wait & See," and "Okay," but it's all sturdy and even-keeled, programmed for start-to-finish listening.

A secondary release in execution and intent, this is recommendable only to serious fans with a justifiably insatiable curiosity for what the artist creates.

Para Mi renders some of the best elements of his songwriting into more accessible forms. Removing the layers of fuzz leaves Cuco's multi-colored songwriting in clear view, revealing an artist still finding his way. This can make for moments of awkwardness, but it also brings his endearing vulnerabilities to the forefront.

The sad country warmth of "Play the Game" and the starkly fingerpicked front half of "Soon" are soothing in their implied heartache, inviting listeners to lean in and try to untangle McMahon's lyrics through her downcast mumbling. Sadly, those same mumbled vocals sometimes become a hindrance during the slower sections of the album, distracting from the otherwise well-written songs. Still, delivery affectations aside, Salt serves as a solid introduction to this sensitive and engaging artist.

Its glassy, placid groove isn't a reflection of his blandness, but how Sheeran knows that this is the sound that defines global pop in 2019.

At times, his contemplation gets a little too meandering, and some songs fall on the wrong side of the fine line between anthemic and clichéd. Nevertheless, The Soft Cavalry is a promising debut that's held together by the emotional commitment Clarke and Goswell bring to each of its songs.

The band surely meant for this to be a stopgap until their next album, but rather than giving this a spin it would be more rewarding to go back to Con Todo el Mundo and enjoy its many charms instead. The ways they explore the outer reaches of dub on that album are truly exciting, while this comes off like a school assignment in comparison.

It might not be a coincidence that the most emotive and well-defined songs are collaborations. "Needed" (Dan Wilson), "Patience" (Ólafur Arnalds), and "Save Me" (Doveman) are also the standouts on this abbreviated set, which feels almost as secondary as Blood Remixed.

A substantial portion of the album is either reverential or referential to a degree that it can sound more like an exercise in homage or a licensing tactic than a distinctive work.

If Down to the River isn't as adventurous or hungry or exploratory as any Allman Brothers Band album, there's nevertheless a deliberately cultivated warmth that's designed to appeal to Allman fans-and, given a shot, Down to the River may well appeal to that audience.

While Father of 4 is still far more interesting and better constructed than most other Migos-related solo offerings, it re-enforces the notion that the group's chemistry is a stronger force than any one of its individual members' talents.

This retro vibe is appealing and it also helps undercut whatever lingering sense of fatality hangs over the album, since it suggests that Ride Me Back Home isn't a statement, but rather just another enjoyable record in a long line of enjoyable records.

There are enough hooks in this bouquet of confusing-if-passable genre-hopping tracks to keep him on the path to future hits, but nothing comes remotely close to the lightning in a bottle of "Old Town Road"'s accidental perfection.

Return to Center can feel like a bit of a lark, but it's administered with enough gravitas that it's easy to dial into the flow.

Not only were there not many musicians hanging in the studio this time, but all of Rise seems stitched together on the computer, with each of the three core members doing their part when they cleared time in their schedule. The result is a drag, the sound of a revelers who have no idea that it's well past time for them to head on home.

A sequel to the comparatively energized Snax, this charmingly disjointed EP of sorts--14 tracks, 25 minutes--functions as another intermediary release between Bodywash and its proper follow-up, planned for 2020

While the experiment works, for the most part, in tandem with Devine and Hull's always thoughtful and occasionally profound words, the album becomes formulaic as songs reliably start as acoustic song, then gradually ascend into the atmosphere.

The most surprising thing about SHE IS COMING is how detached she sounds on it.

Of the production teams, Vincent Pontare and Salem Al Fakir (aka Vargas & Lagola) deliver the best product, elevating "Peace of Mind," "Tough Love," and "Excuse Me Mr Sir" above the pack. A generic middle stretch is bookended by Tim's other highlights, which benefit from a group of high-profile guest stars, of which there are two clear standouts.

A Fine Mess is quintessentially Interpol, almost to a fault. While it's a little undercooked compared to the songs that appeared on Marauder, the EP may still please fans wanting more of that album's vibe.

His talents as a rapper and lyricist are still stunning, and much of the production is solid, but the album ultimately feels like a one-sided conversation with an insecure friend. You love them, but kinda wish they'd just go to therapy and get back to you once they've worked some of those issues out.

Pike's solo material is loose, scattered, and unpredictable, and while it isn't quite as focused or engrossing as his work as part of groups like Szun Waves or Triosk, the unmistakable sense of mystery makes it worth checking out.

She retreads just about every move she has made before, even though the crop of new fellow songwriters and producers almost outnumbers the familiar likes of Ester Dean, Pierre Medor, Christopher "Tricky" Stewart, Rodney Jerkins, Jasper Cameron, and Theron Thomas.

Offenders and highlights aside, Here Comes the Cowboy might have been trimmed down to a solid EP or mini-album, but as a whole it just doesn't live up to the standards DeMarco set on his first three albums.

While it's doubtful anyone is looking to Giuda for their depth of content, there is a bit of déjà vu to these ten songs which, thematic setting aside, sound very much like the band's first three albums.

Guest spots by Young Thug and the Weeknd inject some much-needed personality into Bad Habits, but it's not enough to save the album from its own blandness.

They don't expand their horizons, preferring to stick to the hyper-charged British indie they minted with their 2014 debut, The Balcony.

An hour-long LP with little joy or even relief, one that is nearly static in energy level despite a carousel of producers.

Every track seems to hint at a grander version than what was delivered, but the loose ends and modest scale are alluring, since they appear to offer an insight into how this fiercely imaginative, quietly fearless singer/songwriter challenges herself.

It's a record filled with good intentions but pitched squarely at the faithful converted.

Lavelle's trading on past glory and continued sifting through fallout can be wearisome, but his high level of enthusiasm can be sensed throughout.

Appealing ideas and sounds, but the songs tend to be rather blah, suggesting that the LP's cancellation had more to do with the fact that Gaye had yet to find an album within his sessions than anything to do with it being too controversial for its time. Still, it's worth a listen to hear Gaye stretch out and figure out how to move forward: surrounded by Detroit and L.A. studio pros, he's making supple soul, even if it's not especially deep.

In shifting gears to stoke their creative flames, Within Temptation have created an immersive--if not wholly original-sounding--set of songs that play to both their strengths and weaknesses.

Juice WRLD is wrecked, angry, and using drugs to cope, and even though his appeals come through at times, much of Death Race for Love transforms the listener into the shoulder that Juice WRLD is crying on.

Though it's only a lean 40-minutes long, Harverd Dropout feels like it lasts forever, losing its shine quickly as Pump runs in place, futilely reaching for the personality that made him a star.

Less immediate than its predecessor, Let's Try the After still manages to engage the listener with its innovative instrumentation and serpentine melodies, and as a bite-sized sampler of where the band is headed, it more than suffices.

Abandoning sculpted hooks for rambling poetry that surges as much for punctuation as emotion is a canny move by Palmer: it forces attention on the lyrics, since the rest of the record feels deliberately amelodic. As such, There Will Be No Intermission is an album designed to demand attention, even if it doesn't necessarily command it-it's too obtuse and willful for that.

Snapped Ankles' wild eyed formula is better taken in one song at a time, as sitting through the entire album can quickly exhaust the senses. Even though Stunning Luxury is an overwhelming blur at times, small doses of its feral excitement can be infectious and even catchy in their own surreal way.

If Future had simply focused on these standouts, The Wizrd could be impeccable. However, given its runtime and filler moments, this remains yet another serviceable trap buffet that would benefit from some trimming to maximize impact and allure.

Best of the lot is "Isn't That Enough," built on a loping riddim in the mold of Sly & Robbie's work on Grace Jones' cover of "Nightclubbing," though Khan is uninhibited and impassioned, as always. Even when a surplus of synthesizers, organs, and flame-throwing guitars threaten to overtake her elsewhere, she cuts straight through with full-tilt, life-affirming power.

At its best, Pop Monster injects plenty of fresh ideas into the Broods' repertoire, offering a handful of confident and polished gems that could have made for a stunning album if they had just sharpened their focus. Otherwise, lackluster inclusions that echo Lorde's sophomore shift dull the effort, which distracts from the excitement that occasionally shines through.

While Deer Tick enthusiasts will smile at alternate versions, fun covers, and the spare track or two of credibly considered new originals, the casual listener should begin anywhere else in the band's storied (and often great) catalog.

While the best material here represents stylistic evolution or at least enhancement of the best parts of Cherry Glazerr's recent sound, Stuffed & Ready as a whole spoils quickly, fizzling from righteous anthems of anger and self-questioning into monotonous and self-absorbed alt-rock rewrites.

Everything on Encore is amiable but not especially defined: they play with the ease of a group who has made their living on the road, but they lack urgency, even when they're singing about hot-button issues. Despite this lack of fire, Encore is a definite step up from the covers albums the Specials made surrounding Y2K: they feel like a band with a purpose, even if they're not making an especially big deal about it.

The album points to the potential of future solo albums from both Girlpool members. Even though some of the huge shake-ups of instrumentation and songwriting styles work well, Tucker and Tividad rarely sound like they're connecting and it makes What Chaos Is Imaginary harder to connect with.

At once slight and overdone, Why You So Crazy is one of the least rewarding trips the Dandy Warhols have taken their fans on during their career.

Taken on a strictly musical terms, The Teal Album is pretty anodyne stuff. Weezer replicates the arrangements of beloved songs, adds a bit more fuzz on the guitar solos, and flattens the vocal affectations, which amounts to one weird trick: Weezer doesn't attempt to make the songs their own, yet these versions unmistakably sound like Weezer.

FIDLAR strike out in a variety of different directions, landing some new tricks but slamming a lot more. The result is a scattershot collection that just doesn't hang together very well.

Mercurial as it is in terms of stylistic influence and intensity, the album feels woven together by a modestly shifting shared palette, and lyrics full of yearning and awareness.

Dummy Boy is unlikely to disappoint 6ix9ine fans, but for everyone else, there's little to back up the hype and controversy associated with the self-professed "King of New York."

Each of the songs are immediately reprised by dub versions, and these indulge in all of the spacy echo and delay effects one would expect, often improving on the originals. Overall, though, the music just doesn't seem quite as pushed to the outer limits as Back on the Controls. The Black Album isn't a major disappointment, but it isn't exceptional, either.

There's an abundance of low-wattage boasts about financial and libidinal surpluses, most of which could have been composed by a generator. Softer and more melodic cuts are indicated with all-lowercase track titles. ... If Yachty can find a way to be his goofy self and elevate his writing, he can rebound.

Apart from the sly and sweet 2-step rhythm on "Wasted Times," the sound of the EP is bleary R&B with beats that drag and lurch, suited for Tesfaye's routine swings between self-pity and sexual vanity, chemically enhanced from one extreme to the other.

Skins takes that unrealized potential and cobbles together these tracks--basically b-sides and outtakes--strictly for fans who needed just ten more reasons to hear his voice.

The spacious nature of Sequence makes it a challenging listen even for those versed in experimental approaches. At times the band's long-winded emptiness is as easy to lose focus on as it is to be mesmerized by. Patient listening, however, reveals a tightly focused and deliberately crafted work by a band pushing their art forward at an aggressive pace.

Despite the often bleak themes at play on the album, there's also a refreshing hopefulness on many of the tracks that speaks to Healy's own recovery and willingness to say yes to even the most frothy pop trend. However, taken as a whole, the album is often as disparate and difficult to wade through as the social-media landscape it hopes to comment on.

This Is My Dinner isn't a radical departure from the albums Kozelek has been pumping out since Benji, but it's clear evidence of how tedious and self-indulgent his style has become.

There's much to admire in This One's for the Dancer & This One's for the Dancer's Bouquet, but the good ideas don't always sustain themselves in the execution, and perhaps the coming Spencer Krug projects will reflect a concision and clarity of focus that is not always apparent here.

This kind of well-manicured production, when paired with a series of songs focused on internal journeys, ultimately has a lulling effect. There is a pulse, but it's soft and turned electronic. There is emotion, but it's been intentionally encased in a digital cocoon, one that flattens the group's bold accents (such as an embrace of vocoders) and turns Delta into soft, shimmering background music, ideal for any soothing setting you'd like.

The album is charmingly pretentious, confounding, and a good time all at once. Closer "Pebbles" is the only song here borrowed from their debut EP, Gothenburg, released six months earlier.

Even though No Tourists is yet another same-sounding entry in the Prodigy's late-era discography, it's also another satisfying dose of thrills designed to wreck the dancefloor and the mosh pit.

Only with "Who Want the Smoke?" does the first half rise above the preceding album, yet Yachty's the third wheel, eclipsed by verses from Cardi B and Offset. He's more at ease on the lightheaded "melodic" tracks of the latter half, back to goofy-vulgar observations, musical crib-mobile melodies, and occasional openhearted moments that sound natural rather than forced.

Always in Between might lack the momentum that helped Glynne's debut propel her to the top of the charts, but it offers enough highlights for a fun listen.

Overall, IC-01 Hanoi is interesting and shows that the band does have impressive range, but it's not quite an essential piece of the UMO puzzle.

Forever Neverland contains enough catchy moments to warrant a listen, but mostly remains fodder for de rigueur 2010s alt-pop playlists.

There's nothing rebellious about the music and not much natural, either--but its immaculate anodyne tones are soothing, and that's superficially pleasing, even if it doesn't remotely seem attached to the Richard Ashcroft of lore.

Jake may be the weak link, but he merely reveals how the whole band seem to have learned their moves from watching late-night concerts on Palladium while buying pre-worn vintage-styled T's at Urban Outfitters. For the band and audience alike, Greta Van Fleet is nothing more than cosplay of the highest order.

It's quaint yet enjoyable but doesn't deliver the same power or joie de vivre of its far more boisterous predecessor.

Quavo Huncho is enjoyable but unmemorable. It's not quite a Migos album, but it comes close enough to tide fans over until album number four.

Wwhile it's hard to argue that Evolution lives up to its moniker, the familiarity of the architecture is lent considerable gravitas by the overall execution, which as per usual, leaves nothing but perspiration in its wake.

Origami Harvest may not work for everybody, but for those who take the time to explore the unexpected bends and folds in Akinmusire's construction, a wealth of discoveries can be found.

Jassbusters has enough chops to pull off the kind of slick 70's MOR soft rock that seems to be Mockasin's bailiwick, but as a whole, there's just not a lot to these songs to keep things consistently interesting, and the album comes off as more of an indulgent lark in Mockasin's growing canon.

Apart from the two new songs that bode well for future albums of original material, there is absolutely no reason for Echo fans to choose a spin of The Stars, the Ocean & the Moon over another listen to the songs in their original perfect state.

Blood Red Roses is indeed a personal record, capturing the snazzy life of an aging old sap who to this day has never seen a dull moment.

While it does contain a few songs that could be split off and saved, it mainly goes to show that she makes for a better melancholy dream pop artist than a singer/songwriter with her toes dipped in Americana and soft soul.

For what it's worth, buried beneath the posturing and obnoxiousness lies a glimmer of promise. However, Bhad Bhabie requires some polishing and maturity if she's ever going to grow beyond a mere novelty.

It's just enough of an update to feel fresh, yet familiar enough to be nothing but a dose of glitzy, cheerful nostalgia.

The ones that stand out, like "Slow Wake Up Sunday Morning," "Rang Tang Ring Toon," and "Baby Where You Are," usually have some softly strummed acoustic guitar in the background, but even with accompaniment Magic Ship feels ephemeral. That said, it's understated vibe can be transfixing, and its intimacy disarming.

Throughout, Thug injects his distinctive presence when necessary, pulling the best out of the YSL crew and serving as a tasty sampler of their individual talents.

Figuring out the why of Returns to Valley of Rain is probably fruitless, but if Gelb wants to move forward into the past with Giant Sand, at least he's doing so with style and swagger.

Generation Rx can feel a little bit deliberate: it may be little more than half an hour but it feels a bit longer, because the tempos are moderate and the melodies studiously avoid effervescence. All the same, Generation Rx winds up showing a way forward for Good Charlotte.

A clutch of unapologetically hedonistic singles in 2017 kept the Bomptown rapper visible and also pointed toward the approach taken with his third proper album.

Everything on In the Blue Light is deliberate, gentle, and subtle, placing as much emphasis on the words and melody as the instrumentation, which isn't necessarily the case with the dense original albums.

As sheer performance, Eminem's vocals remain a thing of wonder, which is why it's so dispiriting to hear him circling the drain, relying on old tricks instead of expanding his worldview. He has the musical skills to mature; he's just refusing to let himself act his age.

All in all, Mass Gothic have made an album of serviceable, if not shinning, indie pop. That said, it is a step forward from their debut and an overall solid effort from which it's possible to glean some truly compelling moments.

While Book of Travelers may be a less-immediate collection than some of his previous work, its contemplative nature is worth investing a significant amount of time in.

While the songs on Basic Volume explore similar sounds and themes as his previous work, they're sharper and more focused.