It's still nothing I'd recommend to the casual listener, but there are interesting ideas at work here.

For the first time in their career, Built to Spill have made an album that is both lyrically and musically indifferent.

Country is a hard genre to screw up, and if there’s anything that this album proves, it’s that Holly Golightly and the Brokeoffs have a pretty capable handle on the genre, even if it isn’t quite as perfect a handle that you would come to expect from someone of this pedigree.

If anything clouds the reflection offered by The Boxing Mirror, it comes in the form of a couple of odd production choices.

What really lifts this out of the ordinary is the undeniable craft that has gone into the song writing.

When Andrews focuses on her own story, she's an immensely compelling songwriter. It's when she speaks in a general sense about heartache that her powers are weakened.

J$P‘s strengths might outweigh its weaknesses, but it’s just not enough. Also, this album feels far too long at a mere 60 minutes’ runtime.

The record doesn't entirely succeed, but these tracks are built on durable structures and sentiments that make them deserving of the focus they'll likely receive.

An Introduction to… may well lead new listeners to Smith's back catalogue, but hopefully they won't stop where the compilation does. Smith's entire recorded works are worth exploring, even those not technically independent releases.

On Lullaby, the vocalist and songwriter certainly makes good on that declaration, his refreshing lack of desperation taking shape in a melting pot of Americana, new age and electronic music.

The material on show may be uneven, but there is more than adequate promise and sheer ability to make you think that one day Bill Ryder-Jones may deliver an absolute masterpiece.

Shelby Lynne carves out just one aspect of its creator's versatility. At times (as with the ending), it can feel a little thin, but Lynne's personality and vocal skills carry it through.

Anniemal is pleasant enough to listen to; when I played it in my car while I was stuck in traffic, it helped take the edge off. It reminded me of music heard in malls, peppy and buoying, but not so compelling as to distract you from the clothes.

The banality here neutralizes the complexity and thoughtfulness one finds elsewhere on this record, giving the false sense that the whole thing is more saccharine than it really is. Sadly, that's what happens when the good songs are as forgettable as the bad.

While Forest Swords isn’t going to be an easy listen for the average music fan, those that are already predisposed to this type of material will probably get a lot out of it.

Sure, the quintet has gone back to the cookie-cutter sound of twin leads, hardcore breakdowns, and alternating clean and harsh vocals, but by essentially admitting that they have no innovative ideas whatsoever and are content to work within that metalcore template, they actually sound like a band liberated on The Powerless Rise.

It’s good to know he’s still in fine form and is going to keep on keepin’ on, but for now I’m more left waiting for the next Robert Forster album than able to really love this one.

The band is more than mere axe-bludgeoners. They've got original ideas that show a willingness to experiment with music beyond speaker-hiccuping thrash; some ideas pan out, others, not so much.

Those songs [dance songs between 2013 and 2015] didn't orient themselves around the kinds of narratives that require emotive singing. The feelings they produced were tactile, registering as sensations rather than stories. There, Mastin and Levi's divergent styles created the impression of unity, with each giving the other something she was missing. On Devotion, you can hear them drifting apart.

Like its concluding song, The Age of Adz is occasionally transfixing, but overall inconsistent.

The best parts of this record recall Bird at his finest, tweaking his sound just enough to freshen it up, but unfortunately they're surrounded by too many songs that end up as pleasant background music.

The Crying Light is a record that effectively changes Antony’s character and makes him a difficult entity to relate to, forcing him more into the realm of animatronics than human existence.

As with most of Hart’s work, The Argument is an ambitious album that is often brilliant when it isn’t tripping over itself.

Nothing on Real Life is No Cool is unlistenable, but the songs are devoid of much of the industrious guidance of previous Lindstrom work.

For all the times where Noonday Dream gets, well, a little too dreamy, "Nica Libres at Dusk" demonstrates further possibility for Howard's songwriting. If he's able to marry his chops with acoustic instruments to his penchant for electronic and ambient music, without letting one take precedence over the other, he'd be on his way to a masterpiece that, at their best, each of his three records thus far has hinted at.

If Hairless Toys is the sound of an artist with absolutely nothing to lose, then it also is the sound of an audience with little to gain.

Like many of his more divisive albums, A Treasure finds him digging into a musical itch he needs to scratch-here, the country and western tradition--and while it works better than those records, it still might be more of a compelling and curious piece to the Neil Young story than it is a great live document in its own right.

"After Hours" and "Until I Bleed Out" recapture some of that old fear, but any heft these moments might have had flounder without the proper buildup. The listener's just meant to be satisfied that yes, that is the Weeknd singing, so this must be another Weeknd album. But the problem with After Hours is that: its Weeknd-ness is still the centerpiece, the thesis, what the Weeknd wants us to see the most. It's been a decade, and the story still hasn't changed.