The record is, ahem, a solid debut that should provide a jumping off point for something great next time ou

There is also a vibrato-drenched version of "Moon River" that seems more of an afterthought than a statement, but even that hangs in the air quite well. There is some pretty astonishing virtuosity as well as clear thought, and that's what sets this record and Orcutt apart from the excesses of technique. The man makes music as well as notes.

Although decidedly a step up from their last effort, the sloppy and forgetful Sidewalks, Lightning still finds the duo stuck in the same routine.

Where their last record, Black Masses, sped, this record swings.

The sense that this project comes from a place of honesty and respect is clear. Unfortunately, as ever, [Jamie Stewart's] voice remains the double-edged sword that cuts the enjoyment of his work in either a "love it" or "hate it" direction.

Carved into Stone is a bit hard to warm up to, but it finds the band reaching out and, in doing so, writing their catchiest material since they snapped our fingers and necks so many moons ago.

It's a shame to find Grizzly Bear spinning their wheels.

It certainly sounds diminutive in scope after the triumph of Iteration, and, despite the new gear, there's not much that sounds especially new or exciting here, just the usual Com Truise stuff in a slightly reduced register.

Wall of Eyes is an album of background music, a cinematic compilation that feels like a collection of songs that just weren’t good enough to be on its predecessor. It’s too jammy, too undercooked, too unedited — an overextended comedown without the requisite high.

While Wale remains fairly proficient throughout, that clever, memorable wordplay of old is what's most notably absent from this session, and that's a shame.

Too often, they rely on imitation of their influences, rather than pushing the genre forward in a compelling way.

Essentially a pared down version of last year's singles box set--minus the singles, of course, and with a couple of additional tracks--it brings together acoustic takes on old favourites, a handful of covers and a muddy live cut.

DAMN. is the first time in Lamar's career that he hasn't broken new ground, explored old themes in new ways or exhibited sonic growth.

With a lazy pace and slightly detached vocals from Standish, these eight tracks seem to sway like strips of bleached cloth hanging in a light breeze.

The songs are engaging and incredibly catchy, but lack emotion ― that intangible quality that will take this feel-good record and give it staying power.

Forced Witness is perhaps too heavily grounded in the sounds of the decade [early '80s], to the point that a "heard it before" spectre hangs over the album.

The short, sweet The Way packs enough pop-tinged punk energy and emotion to satisfy Buzzcocks faithful, at least.

"Black Health," "Sober-delic," "Edgar the Elephant" and "Cardboa Negro" are the most compelling tracks, showcasing a midtempo churn where McDonald's rock'n'roll pedigree really shines. ... Despite the presence of these successes, Death still sounds like a band treading water.

Gallery falls short of living up to what Idle Labor promised, feeling more like a case of the leftovers.

The lesson should be that there are some great songs buried beneath all the studio trickery, and focusing on that would serve Dr. Dog much better next time out.

These songs feel ripped from sets you'll most likely never see, as the technical skill of Villalobos conspicuously reminds the listener of the less boring record it could have been.

There's more of the same on Dormarion, the singing drummer's reliably affable third album for Merge, which has a little something for everyone, but stops short of total engagement, like a slightly too tipsy party host.

Bringing in a slew of analog instruments, mostly to give each track its own disposition, Lissvik pulls together swinging piano, shuffling guitar, drums and loads of modular synth lines, and though he does a great job of keeping the album instrumentally diverse, he falls into the same textural and spatial avenues throughout much of the album.

The production is on point and the rhyme patterns are above average, but there's a distinct lack of cohesion.

While the band's earlier material sounded lo-fi out of necessity, Underneath the Rainbow disappoints due to its inauthentic attempt at sounding like an album recorded long before its time.

"Big Bank" and "Today" are two of a handful of songs plagued by lazy flows and bars, the former rife with braggadocio duds like "I be on that Little Caesar's shit, hot and ready." Still, Black's raw pen game and unabashed authenticity show promise; he just needs to heed his own words.

It's all good, but none of it is great. Still, if this is merely the first taste of an eventual vault series of releases from Townes Van Zandt's musical archive, it's more than enough to make us hunger for more.

This sophomore effort builds off her debut, but loses the plot in a mass of electronic blackness and vague grievances.

They would have been wiser to trim more of the fat from the 12-track, two disc affair. In comparison to Death Magnetic's thrash-first approach, Hardwired features more mid-tempo material reminiscent of the band's divisive Load/Reload years, which bogs down the record's second disc in particular.

Diarrhea Planet's self-indulgence and cheesy grandiosity might be less appealing if it wasn't so tongue-in-cheek--that's a huge advantage of being a band that doesn't take itself all that seriously. It also makes Turn to Gold a boisterous and joyful affair. But reaching these new levels of gaudiness, they risk being written off as a gimmick

The band has framed Get Hurt as a shift in its Springsteen-meets-Replacements sound, but they're overselling things a tad: only a couple of songs, like the title track, truly feel all that different from their last couple of records.

Analog Fluids of Sonic Black Holes does not always work, but in the moments where it does, it is bound to sit in your stomach for a long time.

Taken as a bit of a lark, Skye's I<3UQTINVU exists as a bag of mostly disposable — but exciting! — what ifs. Without the grounded warmth of Ellery's songwriting, the album has the perhaps unintended effect of sending us back to the originals to appreciate the duo's more controlled creative alchemy.

Overall, this is an album that blends choral and electronic to create something that amounts to little more than unobtrusive background music. It lacks both the cultural depth of world music and the dynamic disco beats of their earlier offerings.

Big Box of Chocolates, like its name suggests, can favour quantity over quality and a mix of good and not so good, but if you take it as it is--an easy-going record made by '70s rock enthusiasts--it packs enough good vibes to keep you listening.

Richard remains a testament to boundary-pushing, genre bending and expectation-shattering art, though Second Line's tempered grandiosity ultimately leaves her ambition underserved.

The songs, although well assembled, lack the edge that the band is known for, which could be hazardous.

The drums are unquestionably positioned as the star and as a result, Harmonic feels much more like a jam session crossed with a vanity project than a genuine album.

DROGAS Light isn't quite memorable, but Lupe's talent shines enough to save it from total obscurity. Not a bad effort, though.

It's more fun than 2010's Darkly, Darkly, Venus Aversa, but with a slightly less lurid and lingering "oomph" than classic Cradle of Filth.

As convincing as Liam Gallagher is when he audaciously boasts that he's "got the Midas touch" early on in the album, As You Were doesn't ever quite turn to gold.

In some ways, it feels like a more subdued, mostly instrumental version of Mess, one where they cycle through moods and shift textures but rarely heighten them beyond their initial parameters. Still: setting mood has always been one of Liars' strengths, even if 1/1 feels more like a curio than an essential part of the canon.

Ab-Soul is more successful when he mines his own sorrow.

Rather than offering a bold new step in Reznor's long, winding career, Not the Actual Events feels more like tentative first steps towards something bigger.

The vocal delivery throughout (care of guitarist Woody Weatherman and bassist Mike Dean) is pretty weak, especially compared to Pepper's attention-commanding style, and that, combined with a somewhat jarring mix of fast punk, smothering, Sabbath-ian metal and good-ol'-boy Southern rock, just whets the appetite for the return of Pepper and the big rock.

It may take Butler a few more albums (he has promised in interviews to continue writing and recording as a solo artist for years to come) to carve out his own identity from the monolithic entity he's a part of, but there are plenty of plausible ideas on Policy for Butler to continue exploring.

CLB is a serviceable enough Drake album, but he has a number of prior projects that showcase his dynamic rap abilities and frenemy quarrels at a much higher calibre.

Unsurprisingly, the tracks that feature Redway's voice chopped and sampled and without straight lyrics, "Beseech" and "Extract," are the most satisfying ones on the album. These two tracks point to the duo's real potential.

Drank is an interesting take for fans to indulge in, but not an album you're likely to take any inspiration from, given its lack of real exploration.

For Professional Use Only's long run time and failure to effectively sequence and transition between instrumentals for a more cohesive experience hamper its impact on the casual listener.

Ultimately, beatmaker Tommy "TBHits" Brown outshines the veterans, co-producing two of the record's more engaging tracks--"Better Off" and "Goodnight n Go"--which are inexplicably relegated to the end of the record. Those songs manage to accomplish what the rest of the album attempts: bringing a new fire to pop-R&B's familiar formulas.

Although both fans and newcomers alike would benefit from a more substantial, cohesive project, it's enough for now.

Rather than phoning in the record fans expect, AC/DC made one that suits their own needs.

Mark Kozelek Sings Favorites comes off as if it was created to serve Kozelek more than to stimulate the listener, making the no-frills, stripped-down set easy to fall for to but tough to return to.

The Competition may be Lower Dens' most accessible album, but its best moments come when the band slow down and strips back their sound.

The first half of the record clashes significantly with the latter half, which is... eclectic.

Despite the dream team behind it, American Utopia has much to like but little to love, perhaps its most apt, if unintended, critique of the country itself.

Medium Rarities isn't essential. A few tracks stand out, but the real excitement lies ahead. Mastodon's last few albums have crept up the top 10.

As rich and resonant as some of these synth tones are, it's ultimately an album that's more conceptually interesting than it is musically appealing.

Despite its brisk pacing, Starz still suffers from bloat. Songs like "Iceheart," "Dance in the Dark," and "My Agenda" could have been left off the track list and made the album more coherent and enjoyable to experience.

For all its vulgarity, predictability, repetitiveness and reckless musings on drugs, Juicy J's trippy music succeeds because of its spirit. His new album (his first since trading 666 for Taylor Gang) bottles that infectious energy, that reckless intensity, that raw hustler's "kapow!" and delivers it in an accessible package.

With so many of its songs employing fade-outs, Siberia also has this palpably unplanned feeling, which doesn't always pay off.

It's a traveller's record, but not one for the wide-eyed, "wanderlusting" tourist; rather, it's one for the detached and disoriented, Bill-Murray-in-Lost-in-Translation voyager. It hits this note strikingly, but it's a shame about the sonic mishmash.

A Better Tomorrow never really coalesces into a satisfying whole.

While The Home Inside My Head is by no means the band's magnum opus or a step forward for pop punk as a whole, it's definitely a worthwhile listen for fans of the band and genre.

Pollard races through each song with all the gusto of the late '90s. His enthusiasm, though charming as ever, falls just shy of justifying what often feels like a collection of chaotic, unfinished demos.

Domo's Genesis is a step in the right direction, but he's walking to his destination, and not anywhere near where he needs to be just yet.

While the layers of oddball narrative that Black brings to the table help distinguish it, aesthetically it's at least five years too late and feels like something aimed squarely at hip, divorced dads.

On Last Place, the band returns to the same well again, and while there is enough here to sustain some nostalgia, that well seems drier than ever before.

In•ter A•li•a feels like a band trying to recapture the sound of their youth.

Mark of the Blade is a bit hit-and-miss. Musically, the new touches work well and flow with the rest of the album, but the clean vocals in particular feel forced and sorely out of place.

It's all very un-Explosions-like, but it works to not only create diversity in their discography, but also as a moody album that can provide moments of levity.

With so many loose threads, JACKBOYS isn't the compilation album one would hope for — instead, it seems rushed and put together to make a year-end release.

Grace/Confusion could have been a great 20-minute EP. Instead, it's a listless 40 minutes that works best as background music.

Be Myself is hardly a classic, but it's another solid, light-hearted sounding collection with some clear standouts on it.

A Wonderful Beast stands as a frustrating listen; a demonstration of what Calvin Johnson can do when he's motivated and what he can do when he's just fucking around.

Though the album lacks a unifying aesthetic, and a couple of pieces have a slight "interlude" quality, the strongest elements highlight Lipstate's unwillingness to place definitions or limitations on her music.

The production is top-notch, but Ghost rarely shifts into uncharted lyrical territory, holding back Sour Soul's otherwise consistent production.

"Nuage d'Ivoire" is one of Par Avion's highlights, while some slower pieces, like "Reflections," seem to drag on a bit.

This revised version offers fans a chance to listen closely to those musical constructions, at their most skeletal, revealing an often wondrous gestation process: just one that never quite compares to its own final product.

This new record still finds them wavering. By not taking a side, they fall flat in the middle.

The production is top notch, Tip is rapping tighter than ever, and clearly knows who and what to work with, but the rare glimmers of originality and risk only further exposes the safeness of this Pharrell-tweaked new T.I. album.

Most of the album feels too much like a work-in-progress.

The Art of Hustle has vision, but it's occasionally weighed down by Gotti's efforts to recreate the success of his biggest single yet.

The result is that Pyramid is an imperfect and uneven album that satisfies two different audiences, as the front half is packed with wandering jam band noodling while the second half tightens into a slightly more focused and rhythmic set. It's just a shame that Jaga Jazzist wasn't able to give the listener a more cohesive and unified version of what they were trying to achieve with Pyramid.

Although Slay-Z's flat lyrics might be a little uninspiring for the sober listener, its vigorous beats and dizzying pace are perfect for settings that require more moving and less thinking.

Striking a balance between sinister and comforting, it's a compelling sign that Cold Specks remains an artist to watch.

The album is frustrating, with no middle ground, and the strengths don't quite make up for the weaknesses.

After challenging themselves on Whorl, Simian Mobile Disco push their craft as far as their comfort level will allow on Welcome to Sideways.

Most songs fall into well-worn territory about young love and teenage politics, while there's sameness to too many of the songs. But when it works, and it often does, their charms are undeniable.

As a listening experience in and of itself, Messier Objects offers very little to stimulate or engage and will likely only resonate with the most diehard among the Notwist's fan base.

The Punishment of Luxury continues the band's ongoing reunion without significantly altering their course. A few songs here could end up in the band's permanent setlist, but for an album so concerned with our present-day living, OMD seem too content to linger in their own past.

Information is a decent effort that unfortunately doesn't quite bite as hard as it should.

The Replacements were so luminescent because they played their bizarre, specific brand of rock for the kids at the front, all snot, spit and sweat. In trying so blatantly to recapture that magic, The Deadbeat Bang of Heartbreak City can't help but feel like a lot of smoke and mirrors.

Johnson has made great creative leaps with every new album he makes, but with Back to Land, he seems to have finally backed himself into a corner.

New Material's subjects are too broad for incisive commentary, and its themes of disenfranchisement and helplessness are played too straight for dark comedy. Ultimately, it's about as expressive as those one-word titles would suggest.

Golden is bereft of relative stinkers, but there's little to bring listeners back.

On their self-titled debut, E focus on each member's strength, leaving listeners with an album that's at times more combative than it is collaborative.