This is straight-up punk: Pounding bass and drums, furiously played. It’s the original screamo. For the most part, it rocks.

The best moments come when the duo find a balance and Drake falls back on his crate-digging prowess. ... Sadly, there’s not enough of this to go around, making Her Loss another disposable Drake project that will fade away in a few weeks—one that could have been so much more.

In the three years since Rogue Wave’s last album, frontman Zach Rogue has discovered the synthesizer. This isn’t bad in theory, but in practice the newfound instrument does little to lift Rogue Wave to the next level.

The problem is the songs. Auerbach can sing with feeling (see the cover of Jerry Butler’s “Never Gonna Give You Up,” which features vocals reminiscent of vintage Todd Rundgren), but his lyrics are so banal they hardly seem worth the trouble.

For those still enthralled by the lyrical twists and midtempo folk-rocking of 1972, this record will be manna from heaven.

The overall accumulation of the album's atmosphere might be its greatest success.

Ritual Union is an album that has about as many standouts as skip-overs. The standouts are songs that won't get old, but the skip-overs aren't the type to grow on you, more the type that a significant other might use in the morning to fuck with your fragile early stages of consciousness.

Unfortunately, the rest of the album is just plain forgettable—a flat stale gray of staid sentiments and middle-of-the-road rock.

Though it has its moments, Fear of the Dawn isn’t quite wild enough.

Frontwoman Shingai Shoniwa scales back her Billie Holiday persona but is no less a dominant presence, showing herself to be equally adept at giddy twee (“Wild Young Hearts”) and crackling synth-pop (“Saturday”) as she is girl group sing-alongs .

The recording has a dry, boxed-in character that, for better or worse, defines the listening experience. In strictly psychoacoustic terms, the band feels disembodied from the audience, from the room, and from itself.

Though it slips occasionally into a humdrum loop, Darker Days is a solid indie rock album that’s sure to please PB&J’s fans as much as your run-of-the-mill radio listener.

Mr. Kravitz: The radio would be a lonely, segregated underworld without you. But, at this point, that full-on funk album sounds pretty damn nice.

Night Network is the first Cribs album the Jarmans have produced themselves, and they dial in the sharp-edged indie-rock sound that characterized the bracing guitars and punchy rhythm of The Cribs’ earlier records. It’s in the songwriting that things sometimes fall apart.

On its own, the album is loud, sometimes cranky and also the least essential entry in Simpson’s catalog so far.

Her voice is what stitches these songs together, though what is probably supposed to be evidence of her range often feels like she’s trying on musical costumes. The result is a lack of cohesion that turns Shake the Spirit into a series of genre exercises. They’re impressive for what they are, but there’s not enough depth to merit digging much below the surface.

Think of the best moments throughout the Grandaddy discography and you will rarely praise them for their consistency. Blu Wav is nothing of the sort, and frustratingly so. By Lytle’s own accounting, seven of the 13 songs on the album are waltzes, which, it turns out, might be far too many waltzes. The lonesome, ambling tone works on a few occasions.

Goma and Pratt help contribute to what is perhaps the most sophisticated sound the Pains of Being Pure at Heart has yet achieved, but there’s something to be said for the immediacy that came with the raw and more spacious feel of the band’s previous albums.

There are some lovely songs on Para Mi, though; you might just have to slog through some unfortunate synths and occasionally cringe-inducing lyrics to get there.

Dionysus is a great album to play while relaxing, or, even better melting into a deep meditation. It’s short by contemporary standards, coming in at just over 36 minutes total, so don’t expect to plan a whole dinner party around it, but it’s perfectly suited for the main course. Just don’t expect Dionysus to show up when this is played--it’s too cluttered to work as the intended invocation, a showtunes version of ritual celebration.

(together) is still a decent collection for hardcores that couldn't get enough of the Antlers after Burst Apart... but casual listeners might be left confused, bored and, well - bummed.

By expanding their musical palette, Martin and Taylor leave less room for themselves, resulting in songs that are competent but nondescript.

While it’s certainly enjoyable in moments, it doesn’t command that you subscribe to anything in particular, and in that sense the shadow of some of his earlier works’ obvious antecedents is lost for the worse.

Even if this sudden maturity results in deeper sounds, it doesn’t always result in deeper songs.

Fans of BRMC, fans of bluesy psych rock and fans of anyone that’s still out there trying to do it with a guitar will love Wrong Creatures. For fans of rock music that jolts you awake and holds you by the throat, It’s just not gonna rock you like it used to.

Since both Switchfoot and Nickel Creek were touring during this record’s gestation, Foreman and Watkins wrote songs individually and passed them back and forth in parts. They make a pretty solid team as-is, and if their approach to songwriting were more unified, their sound probably would be too.

24-7 falters when it tries anything except balls-to-the-wall, though.

The album (somewhat) finds itself towards its end, where Goddard’s sonic explorations and falsetto, paired with simple drum work, are better suited.

With his first solo release, Finn hasn't gone too far away from his core aesthetic, but the move is enough to justify his own album.

Highly listenable pop songs that defy easy answers. The persona has its moments too.

Had Blake been inclined to temper critical pressure and career anxiety into raw material, Overgrown may have evolved into something much more compelling. Instead, mistaking the volume knob for an instrument, the album uses louder/softer fades to mask dynamic limitations and muddles through overstuffed mixes.

The fine-tuned spaces let you hear every rough callous scrape across the acoustic strings, every quick intake of breath before a verse.

Album highlight and instrumental freak-out "Climb Down" even sports frantic rock 'n' roll saxophone that would've fit in nicely on the new Black Lips album. Unfortunately, these lively moments are watered down by a majority of low-key material, verging from enjoyable to listless, which in turn makes Is That You in the Blue? a mixed bag overall.

Underwood nails two tried and true country traditions: the drinking-to-death heart-wrencher (“Spinning Bottles”) and the faith-based, family-first hymn (“Kingdom”), proving both times that big, emotional ballads remain her bread and butter. Much of the rest of the album finds Underwood exploring pop and R&B sounds more than ever before. Sometimes, she’s successful. ... Sometimes, she’s not so successful.

As they’ve grown bigger, their songs have become increasingly interchangeable, and while that’s made for a certain measure of consistency, it’s anything but exciting.

Like any artist following up a successful record, 10000 gecs was always going to suffer from great expectations. While it keeps the duo’s cocky, chaotic spirit at its core, the material never feels like a step forward, nor does it ever capture the magic of their debut.

The 400 Unit--named for a mental facility in Isbell’s current hometown of Florence, Ala.--lays out blistering riffs on 'Good' and 'However Long,' but slower songs like the maudlin 'Cigarettes and Wine' and the zitar- and horns-laden 'No Choice in the Matter' are overlong and languid, lacking energy and urgency.

Because of this seeming resistance against leaving their comfort zone, Bleachers becomes so opaque it practically evaporates by the time you finish it.

There are plenty of seeds sewn throughout Simple Math that could likely blossom into Manchester Orchestra's first real breakthrough, but here, we're stuck in the growing pains phase.

There's nothing Sadier's fans won't enjoy about this record. But that doesn't mean there's much to love.

Pink Friday, while certainly far from profound, is neatly rooted in predictability and vulgarity. But then again, would we have Minaj any other way?

For the most part, it’s the dirty or profane that plays the best.

Atop the stinging double-stop guitar licks of the Bottle Rockets’ no-frills latest, optimism and good intentions knock heads with the reality of human imperfection.

The Nocturnals serve up a lumbering cavalcade of forced metaphors ("I'll be the record, you be my record player") and lumbering arena rock that approaches Spinal Tap exploring the feminine mystique.

If this album is a misstep, it’s a minor one with more than a few ?moments of redemption--the latest missive from a talented group of musicians likely to find their way back to the path before long.

There's No Leaving Now settles too readily into a single slumberous mood. It's all pull and no push.

Keeping the raw emotion of a war that killed an estimated 40 million people out of the equation likely helped Field Music get their job done, but a touch more sentiment would have gone a long way toward taking this album beyond its research project roots.

“Free,” is also one of its most interesting, as Meath all but whispers her way through a reflection on love and illusion while synth chords (but no beat) gently pulse around her. The middle of the album, though, lines up too many tunes that never catch fire, and thus run together. ... To its credit, Free Love does close on a strong note with “Make It Easy.”

Ludacris’ force-of-nature vigor attempts the Herculean task of yoking the mess together but can’t quite tame a rambling array of singles.

Together, Bobby and Rushent steer the Pipettes into charming territory, making up for the girls' gauzy voices with killer songwriting and period-appropriate production.

Tender Madness is catchy and musically inviting, but it falls short of the mark the members have set for themselves.

Jurvanen's restraint can be winning when it's not taken too far.

Radical Optimism appears more as a series of vignettes than a fully fleshed-out record.

Experiments are fun! But they’re only worth their while when the results make sense. Fever Dream doesn’t quite, but it also doesn’t not. More than anything, it’s a head-scratcher, a record that would be more easily evaluated coming from an entirely different artist.

Beyond The End won’t change that perception, not even remotely, but it does serve as an ideal example of Harcourt’s fearless embrace of whatever creative concepts inevitably come his way.

The result is an album that is bold and ambitious, but not really a pleasurable listen.

While this album’s forays into club kid territory miss the mark, there’s plenty to like about it.

Songs that make up the rest of the album showcase interesting hooks and tasteful instrumentation, but it's definitely the case of the whole being less than the sum of its parts.

This album feels like it’s trying too hard to get me to sing along, to partake in transforming its songs into soccer field-sized anthems.

There's plenty of pleasant stuff to sink one's ears into on jj n 3. There's just not enough underneath it.

At heart, the Sea Dog remains a sad-eyed lady of the lowlands.

Mayer’s albums were maturing one after the other, combining electric blues and clever songwriting, but he takes a few steps back with the lovelorn Battle Studies, a superficial meditation on the jagged down-slope of a relationship—the romantic blitzkrieg that recalls, among other genres, his early acoustic sound on "Room for Squares."

At their best, Shiny matches the sheer majesty and emotional depth of Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness. At their worst, they sound like a third-tier Muse cover band (“Seek And You Shall Destroy” is a particularly low track).

Where Honey celebrates the diverse community that informs Samia’s experience as a person and an artist, Honey does not necessarily give back, returning an inconsistent set of identities that do not always highlight what makes her a promising artist. Samia instead sinks into the honey like quicksand, encasing her to the point of occlusion.

There’s nothing too big, surprising or out-to-sea strange about what’s contained here, but there’s no doubt the record still succeeds.

Chocked with perspectives, inexpensive times and homegrown storytelling, Women & Work is the perfect album for when you're on your way to a family reunion and hoping your country family will be appreciative of your taste in music.

Standing on the Rooftop sounds like a self-consciously boho summer album: pleasant enough for a backyard soiree and a bottle of verde, but too breezy to linger once your guests leave.

Trim away the fat, and you're left with a strong nine-or-ten-track album, or (better yet) an absolutely stellar EP.

Relying heavily on organ, choir and warm strings, the album waivers, toeing the line between worship and wonder as well as the perfect and the imperfect.

Ultimately, Shriek is an admirable reinvention.

Each of their albums experiment with genre, but GINGER is all over the place, never really sure what it wants to be. But moving forward, it seems pretty clear the group from that “BOOGIE” performance is a thing of the past, for better or for worse, and they’re attempting to evolve into something else. It’s just unclear if becoming the boy band of their dreams is the best use of their talents.

These more versatile songs [“Healin’ Slow” and “Still and Quiet”] in Visionland suggest the band is in the middle of an expansion of their sound, one that honors Banditos’ foundation while also challenging them and pushing them beyond that comfort zone. They’re not quite there yet.

Good Sad Happy Bad is a collection of intriguing sketches that might have been developed into a record; instead, they’re left to suffer in demo-like ambiguity.

Most of these songs feel like a collection of unused material from their last two album sessions that really should’ve just been scrapped. It all seems phoned-in and apart from the singles, the rest of the tracks shouldn’t even suffice as b-sides. You’ll find yourself returning to exactly three songs, and in a tracklist of 11, they’re completely outgunned and overshadowed.

On balance, No Line on the Horizon represents what "October" did all those years ago: a decent step forward that nevertheless recalls the past more clearly than it spells out the future.

Every time The Strokes tap into their old power, they get distracted by a shiny but fruitless new direction. But not every risk here is a wash. ... Despite The New Abnormal’s surprises, it tends to resonate most when The Strokes don’t try to be something they’re not.

HEAL ultimately sounds like a transitional album, and as such reveals both unexpected strengths and weaknesses.

The sloppily played garage rock riffs complement the slapdash nature of the lyrics, and--as you might expect--it’s that loose, under-rehearsed and under-written methodology that is both the album’s strength and its downfall.

It's more raw, pointed and hard-hitting than anything they've released in years, yet it's littered with head-scratching filler and awkward sonic diversions.

Fifth falls in line on both counts, highlighted by the wistful, contemplative power-pop anthems “None of This Will Matter” and “Things on My Mind” but also lined with a lot of forgettable folk-tinged Middle of the Road rockers, the latter swirling together in a nondescript sea.

Argos' delivery on Brilliant! Tragic! is a necessary and not unwelcome change, a way to keep the songs compelling and unpredictable.

As both a concept and an insular set of songs, it works. But for an act that’s always found its footing in the future, it’s puzzling that the duo find their present rooted so firmly in the past.

Close-knit is fine, but on Messenger, the band has pulled themselves in too tight.

Ultimately, B4.DA.$$ is a lackluster album with little appeal beyond its dry technical flourish and fleeting moments of vulnerability.

Often hushed and challenging, his greatest device remains the tactical use of open space, delineated sharply by skeletal guitars and the loose insinuation of movement.

Recorded by Deakin, Avey Tare, and Geologist, Tangerine Reef is also, for better or worse, the first Animal Collective album recorded without Panda Bear, whose melodic gift is frequently missed here.

There are some great ideas and moments that make up the first two thirds of the album.

Much like "T.O.R.N.A.D.O.," Rolling Blackouts is a natural disaster in musical form-a messy, lo-fi garbage bag full of genres and cultures, overflowing with left-field sonic trickery: corny turntable scratching, shit garage drums, twinkling glockenspiels, and enough spunky cheerleader bravado from frontgirl/rapper Ninja to start a whole squad.

It's impressive, and for what it's worth, Mascis fans will dig the new effort.

When There Is No Year abandons the synthwave influences and embraces Fisher’s clear admiration for Foucault and other critical theorists, it’s easy to remember Algiers’ unique appeal.

While there's decent fun to be had here, the Junior Boys have disregarded the dynamic intrigue of their previous work.

Mostly Mama comes filled with soul-aflame adolescent angst that generates lines like “I am the joke of existence / I am no one” with guitar squall to match.

Ronson's strength has always been in surrounding himself with like-minded artists, both burgeoning and established, and that's largely true on Record Collection, a typically ambitious if uneven effort.

While it’s a novelty to hear 21st-century artists stretch so far out of their comfort zones, several sound out of their depth.

Warm and thoughtful as the intentions behind it, the music on Relations at times skirts close to the territory occupied by those Persuasive Percussion albums that clutter up used LP bins.

Most often, Gem Club seems content to wallow in its pretty tones. Sometimes, that's enough.

It regularly pushes an interesting idea into your mind, but reliably recedes shortly thereafter.

When two legends unite, you expect pure, unfiltered brilliance. Watch The Throne has moments of that. On the whole, this album is a half-hearted victory lap.