he lasting memory of the album is that it seems comfortable, familiar, without pushing any boundaries enough. It is a safe album, and a good listen in places and evidence of Meek’s skillset. However, it doesn’t feel like it will be enough to reverse the losses that so many feel he has suffered of late.

There is a lot of energy evident in these tracks, but it’s misused. Instead of revitalization, there is misdirection.

The concept of the record is solid, but the execution is lacking.

Most of the album, though, is artier and moodier than his previous works, from the percolating unease of “Burn Out Blues” to “Get Lost”. At a mere 30 minutes, Mister Mellow is also a notably brief work and feels all the more so for having only five tracks that exceed the three-minute mark.

The back half is full of heartbreak, happiness, and all things teenage life over some really good instrumentals varying from trap to reggae to ballads. It has arc. It has feeling. But for some reason, Yachty thought that bragging about himself, calling out haters, and trying to prove that he can rap (he shouldn’t so much) was more important than creating something focused and sincere.

he two albums fail to cohere both sonically and conceptually. Throughout, Butler’s approach begins to wear a bit thin.

The two albums fail to cohere both sonically and conceptually. Throughout, Butler’s approach begins to wear a bit thin.

It’s a fairly dark record overall, musically and lyrically.

The musicians clearly care about their chosen source material, and as a result, the album features faithful recreations of stirring originals. ... The record also sounds a bit too clean, the product of the most pristine production money can buy. The closest we get to a little grit is the standard “I Just Want to Make Love to You”, but its flanged ending is still a controlled chaos.

Blast Off Through the Wicker has the groundwork of a strong album, but many will find it at times too rough around the edges to be accessible and too preoccupied to be engaging.

If listeners can battle the overused simile, then it is not difficult to find the record likeable, even amidst the unforgivable whoas that occasionally penetrate the background (“Cut and Run”, “Ghost”).

There’s no story to be told, just a small collection of tunes, some of which work beautifully, some of which fall utterly flat.

Take Me Home and Make Me Like It is raw, it’s extremely unpolished, and it’s undeniably in the moment.

No big entrance here. It’s just a low-stakes rock record made by some buds.

A curious album to be sure, Lindsey Buckingham/Christine McVie could just as well have been released as two separate EPs.

As Light Return is an unlovable oddity worth hearing.

Saint Etienne will always be interesting, and may still have a classic album in them, but maybe they need to drop the intellectual tendencies and simply embrace the music of the idols whom they so clearly adore.

On its sophomore LP, Slow Dancer lingers too long in one mood, but it’s an undeniably inviting mood.

There’s absolutely nothing wrong with Pop Makossa, it’s just hard to pinpoint things about it that rise above any other Analog Africa album. Consider it a pleasant addition to your collection--just don’t expect to want to listen to it more than once.

Laurel Halo’s penchant for abstraction has long served her music well, but Dust veers too far in the direction of academic detachment, suffering from its own inertness.

Trouble Maker is more of the same; retreads of staid ideas, sounds and themes better suited to teenage ennui.

There is little innovation within these sounds: there isn’t a song on here that feels like it couldn’t have come out in the past decade or so.

London Grammar’s music remains gorgeous, but the band too often limits themselves with their own conservatism.

Above all, uneven though the collection of songs may be, the spirit of this life-force of a band will always uplift and restore--in an unsettling world (to put it mildly), we need that.

Ultimately, Ti Amo is a quality Phoenix record with catchy songs, an uplifting mood, and a breezy running time that will invite easy repeats sitting on a beach or imagining you were. It sits nicely within the band’s discography and will no doubt be remixed with ease and contribute to summer playlists.

Relaxer is eight songs that exist as their own little worlds, tenuously connected to one another through little melodic motifs and overlapping lyrics. It is proudly, defiantly, alt-J, with barely a wink to a potential mainstream audience. It is hit and miss in both the best and worst senses of that phrase.

Parking Lot Symphony is a fine document of Shorty’s blend of New Orleans funk, modernized brass band fire, and old school soul. Four albums into the journey, though, the formula has been varied, repeated, and--perhaps--exhausted.

Here, despite the gorgeous instrumentation and rich analog-sounding production, he more often than not simply gets a little too sleepy for his own good.

Where Badlands established Halsey as one of the more talented and dynamic artists of her generation, Hopeless Fountain Kingdom is both overambitious in theory and mundane in practice.

50 Song Memoir might not lift itself into the same orbit of greatness as its gargantuan twin, but it’s still a strong work from one of the most singular songwriters of the last 30 years.

Volume 1 is an enjoyable throwback record fit for fans of any of its members, at least for a few spins, but ultimately it’s less fondue and more cheese plate--still delicious, just not as rich as it could have been.

Serious fans of either of these two collaborators will probably want to pick up a copy of Room 29. For the casual listener, however, there is not a great deal to hold onto.

When the album is fun, it’s really fun, but when he tries to invoke a darker side, it just sounds unconvincing--and does a disservice to the light he wants to shine on his city.

It’s a growth record, and it shows Penguin Café coming into their own. It’s a beginning, but it’s imperfect.

[Jump on Board] has its moments and is a pleasurable listen. But it neither matches the killer pop soul of say “Black Eyed Boys”; nor is it a sufficiently radical departure to make it the stand-out album they had in mind.

Save a few strong tracks scattered throughout, Real High comes across as inconsequential background music of the aesthetically pleasing variety.

The songwriting and performances on Tenderheart pop when he integrates up-tempo and driving qualities with soft and steady vocal deliveries, aspects presented by both the excellent title track and the out-and-out rocker single “Trouble”. But, Outlaw closes the album similarly to its opening: quiet, subdued, and largely opposite the feelings he creates in its middle.

Occult Architecture, Vol. 2 is effective coming down from its predecessor, moving its listeners into the light.

The album is convincing as a collaboration between friends, the obvious downside being that it also sounds like an inside joke, an indulgence on a whim that few others share or can access. The record is a slow parade of gothic vaudeville, like a less-convincing Emilie Autumn album without the thrill of the accompanying subculture.

The absence of energy and livid instrumentation produces a track like “Little Uneasy”, an item that fits more into emo. The two songs highlight the all-too-clean finish of some strings and vocals; they detract from the experience of a warm self-deprecation. For a debut record, Morningside shows its depth well.

As with every Maximo Park album since the underwhelming Quicken the Heart, Risk to Exist also has a nagging tendency to drastically change the template with underwhelming results. Sometimes it works.

It’s the sonic equivalent of the stereotypical laissez-faire worker who breezes through presentations on sheer personality alone. Is that presentation good? That’s debatable. But you’d listen to it again and again if you had the choice.

With Abysma, Wiesenfeld certainly succeeds in setting a peaceful and quietly euphoric mood, at least for a time. The mood he constructs ultimately proves facile and a little hollow, however.

The Tourist is a good record, and this newest iteration of Clap Your Hands Say Yeah sounds very promising. The Tourist reflects the transition from a quintet to a solo project.

Teengirl Fantasy gesture plenty at dark, intense, minimal electronic music on 8AM. At times, the music briefly captures the effect they seem to be going for, but too often the duo fails to commit and develop their soundscapes sufficiently.

There’s no doubt that Electric Lines will be the basis for some excellent live sets. But as an album, most of these songs offer too little innovation, too little variation, and too little life.

It is absolutely a success in creating a mood, but it is ephemeral, forgettable. Ideskog would do well to take what she learned on Siberia and apply it to an album where she gets to hold still for a minute.

The album is as much a kind of career retrospective and odds-and-ends collection as it is a new creative document.

It can be an enjoyable affair, especially for those who are more willing to forgive its vagaries and embrace those high abstractions.

Musically, the album sounds like the Residents. That means that the synths are dark sounding, the vocals are a little distorted, and the instruments sound somehow in-tune and out-of-tune simultaneously.

Samurai is an often frustrating listen, but at a minimum, it is always interesting.

From Deewee is undeniably good, but it’s not great. With any luck, From Deewee will be remixed and reshaped into a juggernaut live set or a follow up album like Nite Versions.

Basically, the album is as bleak as the location that inspires it.

Sonically much of the record is fantastic, and you can expect their grooves to be carrying across many festival fields this summer. However, the band has a way to go to fulfill its ambitions and be considered a political band with any real conviction.

Finn has succeeded in differentiating his solo material from his Hold Steady work, but sometimes I wonder if his low-key musical approach highlights the depressing nature of his storytelling a bit too much. But most listeners know what they’re signing up for with Finn at this point.

Sensorimotor is an exercise in doing many things well but nothing truly great. If McIlwain focuses his efforts, he could create one of the great electronic records of the year. This, however, is not it.

Bands like Christine and the Queens and Mother Mother have attempted the same swagger-filled beats that Methyl Ethel have tried on Everything Is Forgotten, and each has successfully made a jam-worthy song. However, within the genre of indie, the same swagger groove tends to be artificial, and the same soul-searching loses its way amongst the noise.

At best, we have a middling collection of songs that are going to sound great in a packed arena. At worst, it’s a pretty significant step back from X, and once the initial novelty of its release wears off, it’s unlikely to enjoy the popular acclaim or the longevity of its predecessor.

Heartworms has some songs that longtime Shins fans will appreciate, and they should seek out those songs. But in the age of unlimited audio streaming, it is hard to make a case that the entire album is worth their time.

As it stands, the barrage of brutality becomes overwhelming and, as noted above, wears the listener down more quickly than it has to.

A Thousand Skies lacks the big, catchy bits that would make his songs take off. Instead, it ends up as a smooth record to listen to where it’s easy to zone out and let the music fade into the background.

The Courtneys have grown up, but in the tradition of many sophomore releases, it is not enough.

At his best, he’s always been an absolute singular and transcendent vocalist, among the most powerful, transfixing, transcendent singers of all time. That means even this muddled sort-of tribute, sort-of celebration, sort-of Jimmy Scott album still manages to remind us of that fact, and pull at our heartstrings.

Ultimately, there is a vagueness to Burch’s lyrics that do not push for a full understanding of the artist.

A fascinating and occasionally compelling work, the album is nonetheless often too insular to be affecting.

Finding ways to maintain the intuitive magnetism of her music while also fleshing out the characters and stories that bring the songs to life would make for a deeper and more nuanced work.

So while tastemakers are spinning his records and partygoers are responding (though it should be noted, that the biggest response, unsurprisingly, came to “Bad and Boujee”), the actual act of getting through Big Sean’s latest album is a tiring one.

The Pace of the Passing is fine. It’s the sound of an artist getting his feet under him, a first step for Nash that doesn’t completely work but shows the potential for something really special.

Some of the music on A Very British Synthesiser Group is as good as pop music gets, but as a package, you would be better off spending your money elsewhere.

Close Your Eyes is an utterly listenable pop playlist from one of New Zealand’s national treasures.

Listeners with a hunger for subtlety will find a feast here, played on classical guitar but in several styles and modes. Sonically, it might be inevitable that Towner’s music seems corralled into a chamber-jazz of folk-jazz pen.

It’s hardly groundbreaking in the way that Eno often was, and though it is pleasant, Reflection even falls short of the blissful ebullience present in the Eno + Hyde albums.

You’ll want to listen to some tracks over and over again, some just once, and some for 30 seconds or less. Nevertheless, the tracks that work demonstrate what put Surfer Blood on the map in the first place: power pop ambition, surf rock style, and an implacable conviction to swim forward even when the waters seem too rough to handle.

Overall, Communions are a serviceable band. Blue is a fine record from an already fine group.

It’s an album that embodies the idea of potential that isn’t fully realized.

Sports is an album that slithers around the body, but rarely ever hisses.

Whereas the highlights of Occult Architecture, Vol. 1 are artful in their simple arrangements and concepts, stretches of the album could be fairly characterized as too straightforward and simplistic.

Throwing Snow’s latest does not do justice to those environmental paradoxes. Instead, he hones in rigidly on a narrow conception of darkness and foreboding that grows stale. This rigidity gives the album a closed-off feel that ultimately constricts the flow of emotion and makes for a cumbersome listen.

If mixtapes were still a thing, this title track would be the easy choice. The rest of the record is a mixed bag of semi-painful crass jokes and country rockers.

All five members of the band do cool things in various moments on the album. And they have the basics of their genre down pat. But their songwriting needs some work if they ever want to progress from playing in bars for the patrons to playing in clubs for audiences that came out just to see them.

A few of these songs could be standards, and most of them hold up well, but, even given the nature of the album, the occasional sonic dissipation keeps it from being a true classic, even if it’s a nice, unique addition to Gelb’s catalog.

Young’s heart reaches out, but his music isn’t keeping up with it, no matter how quickly he records it.

As it stands, Lemon Memory is an improvement upon their debut.

While The Terror sharply divided fans and Oczy Mlody fails to to anything notable or interesting, Mlody isn’t a bad album: just a forgettable, dismissable one.

This isn’t the work of a group that has nothing left to say but is, instead, evidence of a group unsure of what it should say.

Youth Is Only Ever Fun in Retrospect is a strong introduction to Sundara Karma, with some true high points and it will surely benefit from good radio coverage, a positive critical response and most importantly, strong public support that this young band can hopefully build on.

An imperfect first outing that nonetheless shines with the promise of something better ahead.

Teitur and Muhly have a shared sense of tone that creates a cohesive whole, and while both artists have more interesting works in their repertoires, their ambition and empathy make Confessions an album meant for people who care.

The Pop Group’s name has always been a bit ironic, but strangely enough, a more focused, fine-tuned, pop sensibility is what they needed here to make this album a more accessible type of strange.

London Fog 1966 is a warts-and-all look at an iconic band searching for that elusive element that would make them so. For die-hards only, all others can skip ahead to the group’s more polished efforts.

The consistent sound here isn’t so much redundant as repetitive; it builds a world in a way that too few records do. It’s not a particularly deep work--and it’s certainly not as important as its maker implies. But if there is a deeper truth to be found, it’s going to be in the album’s texture which conjures a beautiful night where the streets are wet, and you might be sad, but not sad enough to go to bed just yet.

There’s nothing revelatory or jaw-dropping here, but these recordings still serve as a masterclass of folk guitar given by two of the best in the business.

Those already enamored of the duo’s well-defined aesthetic will find much to like, while those firmly anti-anything Zooey Deschanel will remain vehemently as such. The choice, one of literally thousands, is wholly yours.

The music itself is far from nondescript, and if judged from this angle, and on its terms, Requiem is a flawed, unique, and immersive experience.

Clear Shot makes few indentations and leaves few fingerprints behind; any temporary effect it had on your mood can be quickly wiped away and replaced by whatever music you choose to listen to next.

This record is where it all began before they [Welch and Dave Rawlings] (with the help of producer T Bone Burnett) put out their first disc. In other words, Gillian Welch fans will appreciate hearing the original sounds of the band.

Hamburg Demonstrations, for all its charm and cheeky wordplay and get-the-bar-to-its-feet swagger, doesn’t quite live up to the expectations that its forbear set for it. Nevertheless, this is millennial Brit-rock through and through.

Overall, the album has held itself up as a solid rock record over 25 years, and that’s quite the success. The demos are of mixed blessings, to be honest. It seems that they were pretty much just run-throughs for the sake of the album producer.