If only the lyrics were as articulate as the melodies and playing. [Jul - Aug 22, p.120]

Japanese-American hip-hop lifer Lyrics Born may never top Later That Day..., his career-defining 2003 album, but he still puts in an honest year's work.

The New Wave equivalent of the Rocky/ Apollo rematch at the end of Rocky III.

Mendes has more rhythm than you'd expect.

The Ride doesn't rank with the classic Los Lobos of How Will the Wolf Survive? or the experimental Kiko; instead, it contains aspects of both and is a tribute to the group's influences. [13 May 2004, p.74]

The latest from the U.K. duo hits harder and lower than their last album, 2010's Further, with guest-vocal turns from artists as varied as Q-Tip and St. Vincent over tracks that could've torched an outdoor rave in 1995.

If Guetta's fifth album doesn't convince you that he's the Bono of the four-on-the-floor beat, it does show how good he is at making Eurohouse's thumping trounce and jet-engine synth whoosh feel like natural elements in the hip-hop, R&B and even rock continuum.

He's built a singular world where nothing is in focus.

On their debut disc, Nau and McGraw craft jazzy folk peppered with pianos, strings and organs, and drive them with down-home vocal harmonies.

On one hand, it's maddening, especially when the band lapses into twenty-two minutes of near silence. But Cordia demands repeated listens, if only to hear the freakish wonder that is Mike Patton's voice.

His first album since 2006 is a proudly nostalgic testament to the Shaolin way, full of vintage, gritty New York beats, cameos from pals like Redman (plus Wu brothers Inspectah Deck and Raekwon), and a chill, shooting-the-shit vibe.

The music often seems to float away before giving you much to grasp onto. [Mar 2021, p.73]

Indie rap's wordiest wordsmith unleashes another dose of dense, hyper-enunciated rhymes filled with poetic imagery.

Chief could learn something from fellow California nostalgics Best Coast: Atmosphere is great, but so are sprightliness and hooks.

On his fifth album, he mostly sticks to that pop-rap formula, cranking his distinctly melodic flow to hyper-speeds and playing the good-natured hedonist on cuts like 'Party People.' But when he tries to come off hard on a handful of Dirty South brawlers, he ends up sounding generic

There's something comforting about this raucous four-girl group's dependence on the tight, hard riff and its vision of heaven as a 7-Eleven parking lot.

Surrounded by Silence isn't exactly coherent, but it isn't supposed to be: Strictly for fans of fragmented, forward-thinking beatscapes.

By keeping the grooves messy, Gomez shortchange the shimmering, Brit-poppy quirks that have made their albums unique.

His warbled ballads are teeth pulls, but his crisp, catchy alt-pop zone outs remain undeniable. [Mar 2021, p.73]

It would be laughable if Flowers wasn't 100 percent committed, and if the hooks on Flamingo weren't irresistible. He is, and they are - and you'll be too busy singing along to giggle.

This is a surprisingly crisp live LP, even at two discs: taut and driving, full of Celtic and country flourishes, held together by richly melodic tunes.

From the bubble grooves of the boldly titled "I've Got Soul" to the easeful power pop of "Cut Right Through Me," their pro-rock competence is pretty impressive too.

Occasionally clumsy but most often clever, Shakira's English lyrics and performances still lack the confidence of her Spanish tracks, yet Oral Fixation manages to maintain the musical credibility that Fijacion Oral won back.

It's hard to figure out what's "extra festive" (as the full song title promises) about her "All I Want for Christmas Is You" update, and far easier to determine what's wrong with "Auld Lang Syne" (an awkward dance beat), but the LP's warm heart is in the right place.

The music is hot, but the goofiness grates.

Kurt Vile's sweetly slack fifth LP kicks in with a nine-and-a-half-minute song about taking a walk, hits peak stoner wonder in a song called "Air Bud" and fills in the spaces with trank-darted Dinosaur Jr. licks.

Feels like a widescreen Technicolor dream.

Battle Studies is terrific when Mayer drops the seriousness, pondering and sending up his reputation as a rake.

Nothing here is as strong as any of the standouts on Luna's mid-Nineties classic, Penthouse, but each of Wareham's songs is well-rounded and pleasantly wispy.

Their dark disco punk is as close to a New York sound as anything these days.

These tracks employ a familiar strategy, piling up shambolic riffs and Belle and Sebastian murmurs until the homespun pitter-patter rolls like a wave and approximates hard-won beauty. [24 Mar 2005, p.79]

Too much of The Devil and God Are Raging Inside Me is just kind of heavy, and very so-so.

Just when it's all starting to sound like leftovers from The Bends, rock-god producer Rick Rubin steps in to gie the album some oomph. [24 Jul 2003, p.90]

A solid disc that lacks some of the emotional punch of 2002's Drive.

A prickly selection of psychedelic R&B and proto-funk. [Feb 2022, p.72]

The Caesars adopt a bombastic, arena-friendly brand of Sixties revivalism recalling that of... The Soundtrack Of Our Lives. Fortunately, the Caesars are good at it. [5 May 2005, p.74]

Despite an overlong hour-plus runtime and surplus of filler, Starboy does have highlights. ... But for longtime fans that believe the Weeknd is one of the major R&B artists of the decade, Starboy will ultimately seem like a disappointment.

Culture II ultimately feels less like a celebratory howl from the mountaintop than a transitional inventory dump. With its easily-trimmable 24 tracks, Culture II appears to be tailored to finesse chart rules, which count 1,500 individual song streams toward one full album sale.

Per the title, this is comfort music, made by a guy who seems to be chilling with friends. If it sometimes sounds too comfortable, well, Clapton has probably earned it.

On an LP of quiet activism and love songs, Johnson reboots the Zen-master delivery and swaying-palm-tree melodic sense that made his Curious George soundtrack LP a Number One hit. It's no less inviting, especially with a frozen cocktail.

At their best, they conjure a California-commune Arcade Fire. But they can also verge on a hippie Hee Haw.

Hot Cakes stays amusing, mixing beer-barrel chuggers with proud schlock ballads.

Guesting on a Yoko Ono LP has become like getting cast in a Woody Allen film: an artistic validation and New York City-branded right of passage. It’s also clearly a hoot.

Like the film, the soundtrack to Slumdog Millionaire is all curry-flavored ghetto fabulousness.

The album ends up feeling like a mixtape put together by a pair of old friends.

The overall effect can be saccharine, but the Concretes' big orchestration and sweet fragility are a winning combo. [19 Aug 2004, p.122]

It's some of the zestiest overthinking you'll hear all year.

As a vocalist, Teddy Thompson isn't pushing too hard at the passion meter; at best, his singing rarely heats up past lukewarm. As a songwriter, however, he can generate some burn...

An intermittently pleasurable record from a talented songwriter with an overstuffed brain. [8 Feb 2007, p.70]

It's refreshing to hear him finally switch up his script.

It's expertly-crafted and likable, but rarely as gripping as its models.

Some of the tunes slip into vague kvetching. But the tenderhearted rave–up 'Victory Lap' combines the best of Against Me! and the Replacements.

Gunn himself has a sharp, high-pitched voice and breaks verses down into micro-fragments; he’s not as lyrically deft as some of his thug rap peers, but he’s punchy and effective.

The optimism and harmonies found on tracks such as "Wild Card" sound like they could someday turn the 22-year-old artist into a genuine pop star – but only if he outgrows his belief that in order to be serious, you have to be humorless, too.

Some of his lyrics can feel contrived, betraying a youth spent in recording studios.

Stretching beyond SremmLife, their party-starting choruses are squeaked, squawked and shouted; mellower stuff can get a Makonnen-esque broken falsetto ("Swang"); "By Chance" succeeds with a haughty Dana Dane accent.

MTMTMK dispels doubts, improving on the debut with bigger hooks.

She often sounds invigorated as the record breezes through multiple styles of R&B as well as afropop, house, and funk. ... Unfortunately, her shapeshifting gets short-circuited by hamfisted writing, especially as the album’s space theme gets less playful and more literal.

Del Rey is far from a great singer, and her songs tend to drag. But her shtick--1950s torch balladry spiced with sexed-up 21st-century provocation--is at least conceptually sharp.

Viet Cong hardly shy away from evoking that tragedy, and at times they seem to still be processing its long-term impact.

While memorable tunes abound, and at least one left-fielder scores (Sixties folk-pop singer Melanie returns, singing like Tom Waits channeling Lotte Lenya), the 6ths largely seem inclined to preach to the converted.

Fuck Buttons’ third album--a synthesis of noise, hip-hop, drone and shoegaze--is basically avant-garde weightlifting music, forgoing heart and brains in hopes that brute force alone will elevate it to heaven. Occasionally, it does.

Most of these twelve tracks are impressive structures with periodic highs... that never resolve into songs. [7 Sep 2006, p.105]

When their trio of guitarists aren't busy auditioning for Ozzy or Springsteen, they summon dynamic, smartly-shaded echo caverns more reminiscent of Sunny Day Real Estate and Modest Mouse.

Though the songs recall the Fountains' smart, well-crafted material, they lack that band's detailed lyrics (typical line: "All I really want to say/Is I need you every day"). But these likable tunes usually hit their modest marks.

Her first album in three years, Reasonable Woman, is also solid, a return to the aesthetic mean that works more than it doesn’t. None of the singles released from it so far have been hits, but they’re all resolutely competent examples of Sia’s knack for sweeping, feelings-heavy glitz.

When he's undone, it's by tinkertoy production on tracks such as the insipid Mariah Carey Vehicle "U Make Me Wanna." [5 Aug 2004, p.106]

The songwriting needs a personality infusion and more gray cells, but numbers such as "The Dance" have the enthusiasm of a puppy powered by a nuclear reactor, making the Music an apt opening act for the likes of New Order and Coldplay.

Gogol are best when Hütz lyrically nuances the roiling energy; on "My Gypsy Auto Pilot," he goes back to Ukraine to find that he's a stranger in his old hometown.

It doesn't always hang together, but LaMontagne's growl makes everything sound menacingly sexy. Lock up your daughters.

More often than not, Rock lets his flag of self-awareness fly right alongside his freak flag.

While they've spiffed up their sound for the dance floor, the band found some of its greatest inspiration in pop-wise hip-hop - "Lies Greed Misery," a sweet-and-sour gem, is guaranteed to make you jump.

["Skinhead Rob" Aston] doesn't have all that much to say about the government, but this is music best measured in bruises sustained than brain cells expanded.

Potter's youthfulness can make for flower-soup lyrics but backlit by a no-nonsense band that massages Memphis grooves, light rock and pinot-noir reggae, it all bursts with promise.

It's otherworldly but still heart-tugging.

What makes these multilevel pastiches more than cheeky cutups is a genuine musicality.

These tracks would sound less like anemic demos if Vek had allowed himself to take advantage of a full studio and a real band. [3 Nov 2005, p.92]

Next time, Coheed could do with less prog and more rock.

Lacking the star personality of a Robbie Williams or the wit of a Ben Folds, Powter doesn't rise above his instantly familiar keyboard riffs, yet neither does he drown in them.

On?Arm's Way, gifted singer-songwriter Nick Thorburn broadens the band's quirk-pop into wonderfully shambolic arena rock--for an arena of 5,000 people.

Truth be told, Lavigne has a great voice, a good shtick and a qualified staff of hitmakers.

“Infinity Sign,” with its pastel-colored disco bounce, New Age keyboards, and distant sample of a chanting crowd that sounds like a Close Encounters visitation over a sold-out soccer stadium. That unique level of thematic specificity notwithstanding, the record itself doesn’t get weighed down by any sort of Rush-size storyline, nor is there some pain-in-the-ass heavy-handed sci-fi message to deal with (beyond the predictably intimated vibes of harmony, wonder, etc.).

On Mariah Carey's 14th studio album, stylistic cohesion is as elusive as the chanteuse herself.

A welcome return to form.

It's the tension between Homme's conflicting impulses that pressurizes Lullabies to Paralyze's highest points and accounts for its lows.

The Detroit MC gets over on congeniality and crisp delivery, even when his lyrics are pro forma.

Thoroughly enjoyable though it is, Phantom Punchalso feels a little lightweight.

South Carolina rapper Danny Swain shoots clever satiric spitballs from the hip-hop margins.... But eighty minutes of gripes about label persecution and insufficiently positive reviews feels like celeb whining from someone who isn't famous.

The battle between noise and melody veers from scary to hilarious to heroic, and as a metaphor for trying to feel good in trying times, it may hit you close to home.

Fisher... sings in a deep drawl that splits the difference between Johnny Cash and Nick Cave. [4 Mar 2004, p.66]

Languorous to a fault. [5 Aug 2004, p.113]

Though she nods at Rihanna-style slither and Britney-esque grind, this is the sound of Gomez gliding gracefully into adulthood.

Interpol's sleek, melancholy sound is a thing of glacial beauty.

His voice is a deeper, huskier shade of British blues, but it's consistent in its strength and optimism all over Nine Lives.

Lauren Mayberry and her two beardo bandmates revisit the frosty New Wave of Yaz and early Depeche Mode while adding staccato, percussive glitches that echo but don't mimic the Eighties.

You're left pining for more of her delicious weirdness, more sitar solos, more of her trombone playing and Swahili lyrics.

A collection of bright acoustic guitars, sumptuous bass lines, earthy midrange singing and lyrics that often have the deep emotions and romantic notions of a teenage girl's diary.

Packs even more sharp producers and better vocal talent than her last effort, Scorpion.