It's unclear what the band has been doing during its lengthy hiatus (their last full-length was released in 2002), but keeping up with current music trends was evidently not on the to-do list.

There's nothing too exceptional about Live on the I-5, but given that this is the first new release from the recent reincarnation of Soundgarden, it's worth a listen.

With more focus and restraint, there's no reason to think Moore, Gordon, and Ono couldn't have really run with their collaboration and made something great. Instead, YOKOKIMTHURSTON feels like an overly conceptual exercise. Maybe that's by design, but a little melody would have gone miles here.

Despite more of the foul-mouthed impish fun, Ten$ion doesn't offer much punch or cohesive power.

Wake Up is happy and very danceable, but it should only be consumed in small, commercial, or movie trailer-sized doses.

Fiasco's quite skilled at making catchy what is inherently a message many don't want to hear. He's at his most blatant, though, when he mixes his unique voice for the truth with emotional sentiments.

The Ghouls of Ghost B.C. are, first and foremost, putting on a show (as evidenced by the bombastic live show recorded here), and the winking song selections and dramatic musical choices of If You Have Ghost continue that grand stage performance.

The reality is the bulk of the album falls short of offering anything to write home about.

Young’s prolificness and penchant for producing in the moment often makes for mixed bag records, and Peace Trail is no exception. But if the execution flails in spots, the intention behind these 10 tracks is still plenty inspiring.

Vinyl is not a good format for Montage of Heck, an album that requires a fair amount of skipping around just to qualify as tolerable. I’m using the word “album” loosely here, because this one fails as an album in almost every conceivable way, jettisoning any sense of unity or context in favor of positioning itself as an aural complement to Morgen’s documentary.

As toe-tapping or even eyebrow-raising as some of rEVOLVEr's 17 songs are (overlong at 66 minutes of no skits, just music), there's little to nothing here to put it over the top.

Wiz doesn't often come across as having much of direction, but things like that are what make him strike as more lost than ever here.

Haerts is a frequently catchy mastery of tried-and-true sounds, but ultimately there’s not much that deviates from the sugary, straightforward formula that caused the group to explode in the first place.

Rather than braving the road less traveled, Yudin doubles down on his replication of trite indie rock tropes.

Nothing stands out too much, though, and that's a trait it shares with the rest of the band's ouvre. Nonetheless, this is another good effort from a great band who are coming close to veteran status.

Fitz and the Tantrums is an album that feels, by some bizarre paradox, like both a product of contemporary market forces and a depressing relic of an era of the music industry best forgotten.

If The Offspring want to stay in their comfort zone, there are plenty of fans who won’t object, but it won’t keep them relevant. On the plus side, Let the Bad Times Roll offers hints of creative tangents that could revitalize the band next time around – if they’re willing to challenge themselves.

The end result plays like a record for the band much more so than the fans, who might be hard pressed to hang in there with it for repeated listens after the curiosity factor wears off.

He’s had time to hone his wallflower tendencies, translating them through robust lyrics that capture the depths of human longing, loneliness, and self-awareness. His downfall is his passive delivery of the lyrics, which he often muffles as though he’s a forlorn adolescent poet scribbling verses in his college-ruled notebook.

Like One Love, Nothing But the Beat is about what gets people moving on the dance floor.

Tranquilizers is a fitting companion piece to Velvet Change, providing two ends of the spectrum that Jones has found himself in. His evident comfort with this material is encouraging, but it’s clear that there’s still room to progress for Dog Bite.

The Temper Trap establishes a willingness to experiment on the new album, but the band doesn't produce anything as accessible as "Sweet Disposition" or "Fader", the two biggest singles from Conditions

When you boil it down, Purple Naked Ladies' biggest fault is that it's generic.

Our current decade shows relative promise for the red-capped skeletons in our dusty CD cabinet, with Staind left proving pleasant results can occasionally lie past an act's alleged retirement age.

Operator drags the listener kicking and screaming into what sounds like the soundtrack to the depths of hell, where the only music available is an unrelenting, want-to-bang-your-head-against-the-wall symphony of noise.

[“Coloratura” is] the song that most resembles the free spirit of Everyday Life and how much they’re capable of pulling off in a 10 minute, sprawling odyssey. Even more, it shows how resistant Coldplay are to becoming Maroon 5. If the rest of Music of the Spheres is any indication, then unfortunately, that’s where they’re headed.

These songs, plus several others, are ultimately frustrating because they never achieve Die Antwoord’s self-professed new direction. Even more frustrating, the few tracks that try something different end up being some of the group’s strongest material to date.

Man of the Woods, a funky, country-laced experiment that’s not nearly as bad as its already damned reputation suggests. Though the lyrics might be.

There are few truly wince-inducing moments through this tidy little collection, and when they arrive, they’re blessedly brief.

Despite the occasional glimpse of colorful ingenuity, Medicine is an utterly sour experience.

All in all this is a refreshing, infectious, and unpretentious album that’s big on sound.

The album is at its best when guests take the microphone and falls short nearly everywhere else.

Even in Hymns’ clumsier moments, the band never try to be something they’re not.

Unfortunately, Hold My Home is not another baby step in the right direction, but rather a collection of slack-jawed tunes surrounding one or two borderline gems.

Essentially, throughout the course of Mine is Yours, the band trades every characteristic that made them so charismatic for its commercial counterpart.

With Immortalized, Disturbed don’t even try.

Like Daft Punk’s soundtrack for Tron: Legacy before it (a film also directed by Joseph Kosinski), Oblivion is symbiotically dependent on the silver screen.

The problem with Jekyll + Hyde is that, with a few exceptions, a listener equally unfamiliar with the band and its role in the Nashville music scene can barely hear the difference.

Her syntax can look clumsy on paper, almost like she's trying too hard to express sentiments than make statements, but on record her words seem to flow and fit the music perfectly.

The classic Jane's rough edges have been smoothed out and coated in electronic confections, but there is a darker, grinding groove beneath that sonic sheen.

Until the Horror Goes could probably use a little more of this resignation.

The overly complicated percussion is an impractical fit for his songwriting style and offers little for the listener to cling to.

Wonderland may have worked better as a series of EPs, but as is the album fails to be more than the sum of its parts, possibly even hindered by poor arrangement of tracks and the odd inclusion of "The Kids Will Have Their Say."

Full of internal references to diamonds, fires, love, music, and seizing the moment whenever possible, Deja Vu’s lyrics play like pop music Mad Libs. When they’re not bland, some verge on violently tone-deaf.

American Spring shows Anti-Flag can still put up a fight, but they’re not landing punches here as cleanly as they used to.

The Sounds' latest release is another attempt to gain entry into the world of success that eluded them when their contemporaries took off into permanent stardom.

While nothing on this record comes close to rivaling any of his past material, you can't deny the urge to indulge yourself in something labeled, "new Michael Jackson," and that's where Michael succeeds.

While first single “Believe” seems to mimic the worst qualities of a Coldplay deep cut, the album’s remaining 11 tracks adhere more to The National’s tightly wound brooding, and with good reason.

Hollywood is an improvement over 2012’s O.N.I.F.C., but it serves an overly similar purpose.

The album’s lack of originality extends to its music as well as its sloganeering.

The resulting eight songs [four-song EPs: EP-1 and EP-2] are appropriately and unambiguously mixed.

It's bubbling with the trite sounds of heavy metal c. 2002.

Though only 11 tracks long, No Fixed Address feels rushed and half-hearted.

For now, Hood Billionaire is a half-baked testament to how difficult it is to make great records in rapid succession.

Junk of the Heart may not convert any of The Kooks' detractors, but its hooks should be enough to satisfy fans of their light, catchy pop.

The album takes The Hood Internet to the next level, and it proves they have the chops to work with more than just already beloved songs.

Even among these highs, the pairing of Lovefoxxx and Sitek has resulted in a few highly combustible selections which burn themselves out quickly and with little lasting effect.

Dimension delivers because of Joe Perry.

Christopher's hyper-saturated synths sound less like a reverent throwback and more like Twin Shadow in an irradiated snow globe.

Jesus Is King is impersonal, repetitive, boring, and somehow too long at just 27 minutes. Some albums grow deeper with subsequent listens; Jesus Is King shrinks.

While some of that experimentation and ornamentation is thrilling, some is unneeded. Phase One works better when excess is lopped off.

Of course, The Black Album is not completely void of redeeming qualities, and there will likely be many listeners who are pleased with what they hear at times. Those listeners, however, may not be those who fell in love with the version of Weezer that existed in the middle of the ‘90s. Instead, the listeners within that sector may feel something comparable to watching a good friend make a bad decision.

On their debut, Greta Van Fleet proves their ability to resurrect the sounds of the past, but not necessarily that they’re ready to make those sounds into something they truly own.

Witness has great singles, forgettable singles, forgettable filler, and songs that go clunk.

Executive produced by Major Lazer, the affair is an approachable relative to Jamaican roots and dancehall.

Altogether, Acoustic Sessions just lacks a lot of emotional depth, ditching conflict and challenge for sap. Shame.

Hollywood offers few surprises, leaving listeners with memorable hooks and impressive sonics but little information about the man at the center of it all.

Gold Cobra props itself up as the best thing we've seen from our most hated band since even 1997, and the two albums following that had enough singles to fill a greatest hits compilation one record ahead of schedule.

Being surrounded by the attention of reputable producers and recorders helps make an album like Night Visions find its place on the charts. But leave room for the twinge of disappointment that comes from the lack of that Imagine Dragons edge that made them stand out in previously heard singles.

Donda is Kanye West’s best album since 2013’s Yeezus. Those who stuck with him through thick and thin will love it, while the rest of us can safely dip our toes back in the water.

Fishin' For Woos, the surprising 11th studio album from the band, lacks just about everything a record needs to be taken seriously.

Rather than bursting forth with something new and unique, they wind up rehashing stale sounds and leaving the listener with an entirely unmemorable experience.

The music never threatens to eclipse the message. If anything--and this might sound like a strange criticism of a Christian rock album--it’s too reverential.

James Morrison drizzles his velvety-as-butter voice all over each of the 12 songs on The Awakening, his most recent foray into contemporary soul, where the balance between the cheerful and the cheesy works more often than not.

Nothing's wrong with stylized (uber- or otherwise) music (Paul's Boutique was, after all). But it helps when the craft behind the glitz is just as compelling.

Morrison has a talented voice, but you might as well stick to Glee to hear it.

While this blissful resistance to sophistication has always been present in Matt and Kim’s work in the past, on New Glow, they seem to have regressed even further from twee hallmarks like “Daylight” or “Let’s Go”.

Vultures 1 won’t be the worst hip-hop album of the year, but it’s repetitive, redundant, and far too impressed with itself to be enjoyed by anyone but true believers.

The State of Gold is a perfectly competent album, but after Pond’s 17 years in the music biz, competent isn’t enough. The primary problem with The State of Gold is that it exhibits a failure of imagination.

The swirling pallet does drone a bit, but the band has certainly carved out their own unique sound that should impress synth-heads and orchestral pop fans alike.

Everything I Thought It Was feels less like a terrible Justin Timberlake album and more like wasted potential. Man of the Woods was terrible, but at least he took a risk. This one is fine, frictionless, and overwhelmingly safe.

The Offspring's newest release, Days Go By, is both disjointed and mildly out of its element, containing one-third of this act's best output since pre-Splinter by a minuscule margin at best. It's just good old fashioned "meh."

Us and the Night offers some bland, platitude-driven positivity, but only once shadowed by equally vague problems. There’s a thin line between building out themes for an album and getting stuck in a rut, and this one unfortunately sounds like it falls towards the latter.

What The Sea of Memories does is inject some life into the Bush brand, proving that Rossdale isn't ready to call it a day.

“Same Bitches” sounds like a song Ty Dolla $ign once made and ultimately scrapped, and Post was more than happy to turn another man’s trash into his treasure, no matter how awkward or forced he sounds among more natural fits G-Eazy and YG.

The beats are so simple that they’re a nonfactor, and there aren’t very many funny lines--which was Wayne’s most redeeming quality in the past.

Here And Now might prove to be a step above the last effort, but likewise a step high enough to hang its creators on a barn rafter.

It's definitely enjoyable, but it's also inconsequential.

We Are Only What We Feel, if you go in expecting very little, can provide some background noise pleasure. But it only lights up for three seconds at a time. And then it’s trash.

So much of Ardipithecus is impenetrable, even distancing. The album is a headscratcher, one that shows plenty of promise but also a personality abstruse to the point of mystification.

Revival is the most pleasureless record he’s ever made, so stymied by his worst tendencies that like many other inept apologies from 2017 it only points out how much further he has to go rather than how far he’s come.

The album lacks the urgency of successful rap and rock, instead wallowing in a blah middle ground in its best moments.

This Machine is not the result of the Dandys turning a corner or shifting direction, but rather taking the best of where they've been and applying it to where they're going.

Nothing on the record comes across as natural, and it’s not until the album’s iTunes bonus tracks--“Brightest Morning Star” and “Now That I Found You” in particular--that Spears sounds like she’s singing for herself. But, on the album proper, neither the pop figurehead nor the real woman behind it can be found.

It's impossible for any Pollard release, solo or otherwise, to go too long without delivering something memorable, but he comes close to blowing it here.

My Damnation serves as minor evidence that Chelsea Grin might not become a throwaway copycat. Fans can only hope polish doesn't push these Utah rockers away from their current path and towards the poppier territory of their more famous neighbors.

If you already like 3 Doors Down (and plenty do), then Time of My Life will be another album worth listening to; if you're one of the people who liked "Kryptonite", it's probably not worth bothering.

Curve finds the band rehashing other artists' creative moments in the sun but never making anything their own.