Talahomi Way is so strongly rooted in a sense of location that it makes little sense in transit on a pair of headphones, where its fine detail is compressed and channelled directly into your ears, and the images painted by the lyrics are forced to compete with your own changing scenery. Music like this needs to inhabit a space, preferably a sunny one.

Woodkid has a sound that is unique in the music landscape, and most of the songs on this album are exciting, evocative tracks that play to the most basic of emotions: love, loss and redemption.

There are glimpses at what Alt-J may attempt in the future if they want to continue collaborating, and few would complain if that’s the case given the high points here, but at present, Reduxer is full of missteps from a band who seemingly can’t help themselves at this point.

It’s a solid record; put it on and forget it.

If the past had him outcast and an outsider, Leisure Seizure could be ideally marketed with those label heavyweights like a fabric hook-and-loop fastener.

The album also crammed full of innovative bleeps and squeaks - if you're familiar with Four Tet you'll know the sort of thing--which add more of a unique selling point which in the end isn't all that necessary, because this is a somewhat dazzling album from some great talents, and it has an abundance of riches.

The biggest issue with Songs of Surrender is that U2 often fail to be malleable enough to truly stretch their wings and radically reshape these tracks. They too often, to their detriment, play it safe.

It's a fine record on its own terms, but the it's just not possible to circumvent the expectations that come with his dayjob.

Ten Kens are hook-savvy, brilliantly subtle at change-ups and they really capture your attention without making your ears bleed.

Overstuffed and a little undercooked, Lions suffers from the fact that Hatebreed’s influences aren’t terribly diverse, and many of the short, hard, and fast numbers tend to blend together in a way that won’t appeal to anyone without a working knowledge of the American hardcore canon.

It's a cleanly produced album, sure, but it lacks the attitude of the era from where it came, the 1970s.

They do rest a bit comfortably on what they do right, circumventing the idea of exploring new territory. This is, of course, a curse and a blessing. In presence or not, Azure Ray's stark simplicity will always remain intact.

The themes explored throughout the record’s massive 130-minute runtime are remarkably current--for example the Orlando shootings and the Paris attacks--and it’s these moments where the album commands absolute attention. Not even Kozelek can command it entirely for 130 minutes, though.

Only three tracks are of sufficient quality to have seen the light of day and it means you can't help but question the motives behind the release of such an inessential collection.

Fike doesn't make much of an effort to flesh out any of his genre-fluid ideas. Instead, he's content with writing half-written bouncy hip-pop anthems (Cancel Me) and tryhard "indie" jams (Double Negative) in hopes of charming everything and everyone.

Despite many good songs on this album, you will definitely get a sense that Depeche Mode is in a holding pattern.

The rest of the record, for all its flash, leaves us in some bland middle ground- lacking the impact and craft of great pop music, but too fleeting in its appeal to work as anything else.

Light Asylum works best if approached as a work of fantastic campness; after all, this would explain the whip-cracking sound effects on IPC.

On the new one, the drums still thunder and the space rock vibe is intact, but something is missing--and I’m not sure that something is Ben Curtis.

Considering the nine other songs on this album mix lazy production with unfocused rapping, The Return of Mr. Zone Six is a largely forgettable album.

Not everything dazzles, but it’s truly shocking what does.

here's no escaping the fact that although Mazes are quite capable of a good tune, there's often very little to separate one track from the next.

With the exception of the more melodious tracks coming in pairs and slightly hindering the flow of an otherwise excellent album, Specter at the Feast is a very good effort from BRMC, and an example of the continued revitalization that started sometime around Leah Shapiro’s arrival to the band in 2008.

Wait For Me hugs the middle of the road with such caution, it’s strenuous to either love or hate.

Abyss isn't a failure--their audacity to upend themselves, contriving each and every step of the way with an expansive sound that masks away the more attention-grabbing arrangements is worthy. Props to them for sounding like everyone else and no one else at the same time.

They are only a few steps away from making a truly great record, because they certainly aren't lacking in talent, they just need an identity to give it a purpose.

The only problem (and I don't even know if its a problem) is that every track registers as an epic of some sort, so much so that the album itself registers as a pleasurable, cathartic blur rather than a cohesive statement itself.

A miserable buffet of rock ‘n’ roll cliches, from saccharine ballads to off-color glam to bland MTV rock. It’s essentially homeopathic rock muzak.