California plays out less like an album and more like a collection of songs; uneven and disjointed, it's hard to take in as one larger whole.

At their best, the Men imbued borrowed styles with urgency and fervor. Drift attempts to conjure the same spirit, but it's too divided and derivative to be vital.

Spring certainly isn't the worst Weezer album (don't worry, Pacific Daydream, that title still belongs to you!), but it's frustrating to hear them sabotaging their own songs in a futile attempt to pin down the sound of a season. So far, SZNZ feels less like a lofty concept and more like silly gimmick.

Dahlia's a talented artist, but though the album aims high, it runs out of steam landing in the realm of just okay.

Despite her great pipes however, the band's arrangements make much of Born of the Sun feel like amateur hour at Medieval Times. A talented producer would be able to focus on McCarthy's strong voice and balance some of the band's more freewheeling tendencies.

There's a thin line between owning up to the voracious hunger needed to reach a new level of fulfillment and being trapped by the desperation to regain a title that is no longer his. Ludaversal finds itself somewhere in between.

Wiesenfeld's hazy side project is nice, but it would fare better if he punched it up slightly-- for active listening

On Pentagram, Gui Boratto seems uninspired, but worse, unsure of what made his music so inventive in the first place.

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.

Aforementioned moments of experimentation show a continued development of Future's "Hendrix" alter ego, but there's something to be said for getting to know him over a longer runtime.

Beneath the Skin is too humdrum to garner any new acolytes.

While the album is far from his best work (the disjointed opening track is a strong first clue), it still merits a listen.

Beaus$Eros yields some positive results while laying the foundation for some interesting future projects.

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.

Green's harder edge and presence as a musician can be heard lyrically, although her soft vocals fall flat, shrouded by a sea of synthesized blips and bleeps from the ubiquitous drum sounds.

Though his skill is absolutely unmatched, homophobic references and overly misogynistic bars in 2018 do feel excessively out of touch. It's not his best or his worst--but, it's definitely what fans deserved eight months ago.

WALLS sounds safe and comfortable. The songs coast along with a mellow fluidity that serves to establish a decidedly mature, if complacent, sound.

While there's room to reflect on things like dynamics and vocal mixing (Perry's ancient cackle sometimes gets blurred, patios aside), and while Perry is one of the best mixologists in history, Must Be Free is not his best.

Spread over 12 songs, Del Rey becomes so ordinary, even bland, that no amount of little girl vocals or pouting can save her.

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

There's an overemphasis on influences here that makes Stranger Things more recognizably likeable than imaginative.

Although Bieber created a decent body of work, it's hard to get past that the sentiments of the overall message is skewed by the lack of effort towards creating music that addresses any sort of justice or lack thereof.

While Funeral isn't necessarily a flop, the album would have ranked higher in Lil Wayne's discography had he cut the tracklist in half and opted for quality over quantity. Overall, Funeral lacks replay value compared to the multiple "best of the year" albums that Wayne has proven capable of creating.

There are moments here where he manages both [his popstar ambitions and his affinity for paving his own sonic path] in one fell swoop, but on his third time out, he can't sustain the momentum for an entire album.

With its jarring synthetic brass--which is neither as charming or amusingly ironic as its creators seem to think it is--Someday World starts off on the wrong foot from the very first bars.

Most of the material just hovers around the same tempo, tone, lyrical style and sound dynamics, robbing the listener of any sort of emotional peaks or valleys that are so important when floating a double album. It's simply a shame that the execution of Cyr fails to match the naked ambition Corgan's concepts promised.

Lysandre, while far from being reviled, received only a moderately positive response, one that was tainted with apprehension and frustration at its lack of ambition. A New Testament is even less ambitious, yet still enjoyable.

Encyclopedia finds the Drums throwing everything at the wall, seeing what sticks, and then releasing the results as an album.

Rainbow Arabia attempt to pay tribute to the heyday of synth pop, but overlook the small details that could have made FM Sushi a pleasurable, Technicolor retelling. Instead, the listener is left with black-and-white new wave Cliff Notes.

Brandt Brauer Frick are still immensely talented, and you can hear glimmers of greatness crop up in the background here, but they've sadly jumped the shark on this one.

As a standalone release, devoid of the visual context it's designed to pair with, Rat Film doesn't always find lasting purchase, but it does in parts. ... Still, Rat Film shows off increasing nuance and range in Deacon's abilities as a composer.

The Age of Absurdity is tacky, unoriginal, occasionally annoying and altogether not good. Most of the blame falls squarely on vocalist Neil Starr, whose lyrics stumble through sleaze rock clichés that were already dated in 1988.

This is a collection of songs that wink at what previously made this band great and hint at some interesting paths forward, but ultimately declare that BNL have simply become unrequired listening.

It has brief sparks of a fresh creativity and has plenty of potential, but doesn't take steps bold enough to totally reinvent itself, making for a record littered with moments that let it sink into the forgettable parts of the band's catalogue.

Don't You puts up a strong front that should connect with fans of all those aforementioned artists, but Wet's debut only connects with contemporary R&B, never pushing it forward.

Ultimately, there isn't much to recommend with Black Panties.

For much of Meteorites, strings attempt to fill in the hole that was the band's characteristically dynamic, propulsive low-end, to mixed results.

It doesn't take long for the desire to have Auerbach dial down his magic formula just a notch to take hold.

The band maintain a proficiency at writing catchy riffs and intoxicating grooves, merging the likes of Sabbath with ZZ-Top, but the feeling of repetition, combined with a lack of impact like they used to have, may leave fans wanting.

While it is unlikely that many listeners will find this song [Just Waves] worth revisiting, the rest of the EP is strong, and recommended especially to those already familiar with the group.

The diversity he curates quickly turns messy, though, as a surplus of talent doesn't guarantee musical versatility.

The 20/20 Experience 2 of 2 includes a few pop gems, but as an album, it pales in comparison to its older sibling.

Eight months on, Unknown Mortal Orchestra return with Blue Record, a chilled acoustic EP that grooves down and quietly electrifies.

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.

By the end of the project, Quavo Huncho begins to feel more like a mixtape, with Quavo popping out to add a few unenergetic verses and repetitive adlibs rather than a strong solo debut. Quavo Huncho's individual features provide more of a draw than every solo track combined, proving that Quavo still needs some time to grow and develop as a solo artist.

Innocents contains some great vocal performances and catchy hooks, and despite the tent ropes being held down by the weight of mediocrity, it'll please many Play-era Moby fans and radio listeners as ideal background music for patio conversations about how their stocks are performing.

Satellite Flight: The Journey to the Mother Moon occupies a space between what is and what's coming, but Kid Cudi's admired originality falls short and is almost lackluster here in comparison to his previous works.

A Better Tomorrow never really coalesces into a satisfying whole.

For fans of Animal Collective's trippier inclinations, Tangerine Reef is a pleasant bit of oceanic escapism. For new listeners or anyone looking for the next "My Girls," this is decidedly inessential.

If the record's volume number wasn't enough to suggest that Lil Wayne's long-running Dedication mixtape series was getting a little stale, a few short verses into this repetitive and lyrically lazy affair should definitely set those thoughts in motion.

While it's a great attempt at a first album, Pick a Piper's tune could have been a bit sweeter.

A Head Full of Dreams might have been a poptimist masterpiece. Instead, it's just another Coldplay album, with all the baggage--both positive and negative--that entails.

The only trouble is that nearly every track captures the same sense of John Hughes-worthy nostalgia, with no cut standing out above the rest.

Though certainly not as compelling as Vile's more recent work, the Jamaica Plain EP is worth a listen if only to dig deeper into the musical past of one of modern indie-rock's most celebrated performers.

It's clear the Blaze are still passionate about the music they make, so listeners looking for an album full of songs like their earlier material are sure to be satisfied. Those looking for adventurousness and growth may not find all that they're looking for.

Songs like "How Will I Get Through This One," "If You Ever Have Forever In Mind" and "I'm Pretty Sure That's What's Killing Me" are good, but not in a "tour de force, let's re-introduce the band to a whole new generation with some familiar, but next level stuff"-type of way.

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

If they dropped the ambitious approach of 15 tracks and stuck with the most notable eight or nine, Let's Go Sunshine might have been a bit more consistent and interesting.

Too often, the album is weighed down by pedantic, average beats and too many run of the mill guest verses, indicating Meth's generosity is a bit of a weakness. Ultimately, it dilutes The Meth Lab's potency.

There's relatively no atmosphere and groove this time around, and many of the songs seem forced, as if he's tried to ensure this one goes mainstream.

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.

As you can imagine, BE doesn't tread any new ground sonically, but for fans of the group, and likely Beady Eye themselves, it's a welcome distraction as we wait patiently for an Oasis reunion.

Too often the band fall prey to the conventions of the music from which they're borrowing.

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.

The results sound predictably off-the-cuff, and several tracks like "Jaw Dropper" and "I've Got Money On My Mind" sound like little more than microphone level checks. But when Williams decides to say something meaningful, as on "Dirt," "A Good Day To Feel Bad" and the title track, his sage-like delivery is as devastating as ever.

Commerce is pulling more gears than art here. Simply skip the lows and ride the highs. Because when Khaled does hit, it can still be fun as hell, like gorging on popcorn and 'splosions.

Pink Floyd's final farewell doesn't deliver anything particularly unfamiliar to those acquainted with the Gilmour years. However, The Endless River serves its purpose as well as a collection of unreleased material can--it remembers an integral band member while reflecting on past glories in a reserved, respectable fashion.

Although its brighter moments ("Adam and Eve," "Cops Shot the Kid") save it from being a complete fall from grace, overall Nasir is disappointingly heedless. Hopefully his next effort is more honest.

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.

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.

Evolution certainly doesn't sound like anything they've done before. At best, Evolution could add a few more bangers to their roster and slip by unnoticed. At worst, it could knock the band down to Creed levels of self-parody.

Anxiety, anguish and unrest can often produce great art, but so can spiritual harmony. It's just a shame that in the case of Turnover, contentment sounds so bland.

Masquerading as a complement to SYRE, ERYS is a near replica of Jaden's previous effort, whose similarities run too close to repetition to make a true impact. The four-song arc that introduces the album (the "PINK" to SYRE'S "BLUE") doesn't quite hold the same ingenuity the second time around.

Free Spirit is Khalid's coming-of-age story: it's well-constructed, but already feels too predictable at this point.

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.

It was always going to be tough for Dashboard Confessional to repeat what they were, but while maybe Crooked Shadows doesn't hit the heights that A Mark, A Mission, A Brand, A Scar did in 2003, it's still a welcome return.

Hexed is better than its predecessor, I Worship Chaos, and certainly marks one of Bodom's better efforts of late. Old-school fans and newbies alike will be sure to find enjoyable aspects, but will quickly figure out which songs to omit when crafting their next workout playlists.

Despite 7 not being a fantastic project by any measure, the EP proves that Lil Nas X isn't a one-hit wonder and can find longevity in his career as long as he continues to show off his versatility.

No Pier Pressure throws out that decade and a half worth of good will by doing the exact opposite, stacking the record with guest stars like Nate Ruess and Kacey Musgraves and "updating" Wilson's compositions with heaps of undercooked stylistic diversions.

Green is too talented to not make a decent-sounding album, but Heart Blanche, while delivering Green's usually masterful take on gospel-influenced and pop-minded R&B, feels listless and lacks passion.

O.N.I.F.C. starts off with "Intro," a Cardo and Sledgren joint that sums up the production: 808 drums, skittering hi-hats and saccharine melodies, although the atmosphere is meaner than Rolling Papers.

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

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

Sadly, precious little restraint is found on the stuffy, haughty Closer Than Together.

All in all, there's ample material on here for fans, even if Mount Ninji lacks a lot of the bite that made albums like Ten$ion and Donker Mag so fresh and exhilarating.

Immaculately produced and performed, it's hard to imagine Man of the Woods not being a hit, its tracks a steady stream for playlist fodder. But sound and feel are no substitute for soul.

Across the record's 12 tracks, Lavigne tries on a variety of styles, inhabiting each with ease, but rarely manages to rise above and make the sound her own.

Levi hasn't exactly grown with each and every album, and his wheel spinning has gotten the better of him again, because, apart from a couple of catchy tunes, Medicine isn't very exciting.

The music lacks the sheer immensity that must have graced it originally, as it's virtually impossible to recreate something so grand at home.

Aoki initially carved a niche with this sound, but we have to wonder when a progression from the safety of this oversaturated market will eventually occur.

While his intentions may have been pure, Snoop's attention to the assembling of this album needed a little more love.

The tracks are well-produced, but lack the soul to make a deep enough impact.

Blacc Hollywood, an LP titled like it might bring some overarching theme, is the audio equivalent of the Transformers quadrilogy: a series of in-your-face, mass-appeal blockbusters that lure crowds and teach them nothing.

Corny super group-nostalgia act trying to live up to the untouchable legacy of the members' previous bands? Or timely, and much-needed visceral response to trying times? It depends on your outlook. Prophets of Rage might not be the rap-rock group we need, but maybe they're the one we deserve.

The sparse "Phone Tap" tells a tale of drug dealing paranoia, while the Big K.R.I.T.-assisted "Brimstone" is a remorseful hymnal. These moments are still few and far between, and the rest of Ross' tales of pushing fall short of revealing whether his ascent to boss status is factual or purely fictional.

As a standalone collection of songs, the Aladdin LP doesn't reach the heights of his recent recorded output, but it's an interesting companion piece that will please the Green faithful and fans of the film

It could have been much better. Kanye's foray into gospel should have been a heavenly experience, but it's half-baked, incoherent and ultimately falls short of godly.

The Diplo-directed record is a somewhat sloppy mish-mash of reggae cuts that rarely attain an authentic air.

Despite poor production choices and lazy song structures, Pop Smoke's energy and solo spurts of brilliance won't allow for this stale posthumous release to tarnish his legacy.

Animal Ambition showcases a very creatively confused 50 Cent, trapped in some sort of musical purgatory we can only hope he find his way out of.

It isn't inherently bad, but it isn't great either.

Beyond a few flaws, Matt & Kim have put together a fun record, and in the pop game, that comes first.

It's not quite as bad as you might think. I mean, it's only embarrassing 40 percent of the time, which for Seinfeld, is pretty impressive.

It's clear Atreyu crave rebirth in the crucible of lifeless arena rock, but with a selection of tracks this dull and inoffensive, they'll probably get their wish.

While not an absolute mess, I Am Not A Human Being 2 isn't very good.

There are good moments here and there, and the only sin Harlow truly commits is that much of the LP is boring and forgettable, not even bad enough to be entertaining besides a few head-shaking lines.

The album is so riven by corporate overtures that it bears no resemblance to its prequel.

We can say that the real Slim Shady does show up and prove himself on a handful of Revival's songs, but many of the more 'noteworthy' moments are buried under a mountain of contradictions and cringe-worthy attempts at shock value.

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.

Evans tries to preserve authenticity by enlisting producers like Chucky Thompson, Stevie J and DJ Premier (who all worked with Biggie in life). It's an understandable move, but the album's production is simply too dated to resonate.

The current release of the album otherwise known as Donda 2 — is a noticeably unfinished album. ... Not that the album is unfinished to the point it's entirely unsatisfying; there are clear winners here.

One gets the sense that as an artist, PND has yet to even scratch the surface of his potential. Two serves as evidence of such; perhaps the third and successive instalments will see continued artistic progression. Or not.

Tory Lanez manages to inject Memories Don't Die with a few quality tracks, but overall it misses the mark on classic appeal.

It's a lack of originality that turns the sound stale rather quickly.

It's a puny representation of a big sound made all the more unlistenable by the nuisance of the vocal lines.

While there's nothing abhorrent about this album, it's so unobtrusive that it's practically not there, just one more forgettable release from a guy we're all secretly rooting for.