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.

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.

This is a recital of eight solo trumpet performances that are just kind of flat, even, and dull. The Monk tunes are redeemed by the fact that they contain tonally interesting renderings of great melodies.

Eating Us is at times agreeable to the point of innocuity.

Although So You Are... So You’ll Be doesn’t shoot for the furthest reaches of the cosmos, as White Hills has done in the past, it does contain enough psyche-warping moments to make for an enjoyable album--just not the grease-streaked, galaxy-gazing, guitar glory we were hoping for.

There are no standouts or outright bombs, just 10 Dum Dum Girls songs; no more, no less.

As a whole, Spooky Action feels like a mostly great demo: In many ways, we've heard all these songs before, in slightly tighter fashion, on the last two Deerhunter albums.

Unfortunately, Swearin’s touchstones seem to be catching up with them, and the result is a strong album that nevertheless feels overtly, distractingly derivative in spots.

Beware only sounds like loose, organic country, when really it proves just another contrived piece to the Bonnie “Prince” Billy brand.

The Bats have become an exciting band in their own right, and The Guilty Office is another solid installment in their discography.

In the end, AWOO disappoints not on the strength of its music, which is accomplished if not particularly thrilling, but from a sense of missed potential.

It suffers from the problem that comes from trying to sustain that moment of pure ecstasy: it's incredibly fun, but after awhile it becomes exhausting.

It is absolutely true that the musical and vocal performances here are Taylor's strongest. But in terms of messaging, she still needs to get in formation.

It’s the slower, acoustic ballads that may be Kings & Queens’ biggest surprise, and to which listeners may respond most strongly, one way or the other. The trouble is, Treay’s no pop singer; he retreats into a mumble, slurring his words.

The Sea and Cake sound like they’ve hit their stride, confident enough to let their pure musical talents do all the speaking.

Most of the songs are pretty catchy, but never quite work their way into your consciousness.

This band is awfully good at being annoying.

The problem with Challengers, however, is not its decelerated speed--it’s that the songs aren’t uniformly strong.

What I would like to hear from Eulogies next time 'round is some beefed-up production, some extra layers of sound, and a more melodic focus. I can hear they have what it takes to achieve consistent excellence; for me, it just didn't happen on this effort.

This is an album Tunstall likely needed to make, a catharsis in song that would inevitably sound far removed from her first three efforts.

My Friend Fish has moments that are more about sound than about song, something which take the focus away from Fleming’s commanding presence. But there’s still a lot to like here, especially when the songs become more than just genre exercises and form their own fresh sense of purpose.

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.

If one were to disregard the heavy-handed preaching, they would find a prog jazz album that is, if not necessarily uneven in quality, uneven in temperament. It makes for an eclectic mix but could potentially wreak havoc on an unsuspecting listener just looking for another jubilant crossover release. Best to know where you stand first.

The musicians are capable, it sounds fine, the songs aren’t bad by any means. But none of those descriptions are exactly praise--only one or two songs stand out in my mind when I’m not actively listening to the album, but active listening doesn’t give back the kind rewards that we expect from the non-pop records that usually require it.

The return-to-roots exercise that is The Dreamer isn't bad; it just seems unnecessary. This is a good album; on a song by song basis, I'd even venture to say it's great. But given what Miller has shown us in the past, this can't help but feel like second-rate.

It's an offering that might perhaps have been elevated by bolder statements, or at least intimations of an artistic statement. Nevertheless, Happy Birthday is a worthwhile release for its insistence upon being categorized as music without a category.

As strong as many of the tracks on Murs for President are, they are inevitably marred by the aforementioned duds. Without those, it would be a different story for Murray.

Fambly Cat just serves to underscore how good Grandaddy has been by rehashing without improving or building.