For a record titled Action Adventure, it’s surprisingly short on excitement.

The results are compelling, though a few cuts are more sound collage than song.

The bulk of The Great Escape is polite and pleasant, but lacks something indefinable. It would be foolish to expect Stamey to come on like a snarling punk-rock dervish, but this record, while having a certain charm, doesn’t really linger long in the memory.

What the record-buying public arguably doesn’t need is an EP that sounds a little rough around the edges, lasts for precisely 12 minutes, 4 seconds. ... But wait, there are moments of brilliance on the rest.

It’s clear that the group attempted making an album that was ostensibly un-Django Django, but the result is sometimes a tedious slog, much like a journey to a far-off planet.

There are likeable moments. ... But even for the most effective songs, the impact is largely due to familiarity. [Apr - Jul 2023, p.82]

Although the band cites Gentle Giant, Focus, and early King Crimson as influences, True Entertainment sounds a lot like Feargal Sharkey of The Undertones fronting Men Without Hats. An interesting combination, I’m sure you’ll agree. Occasionally, it works.

Maybe How to Replace It is a tentative return to recording and the baby steps will be replaced by giant strides.

Gorillaz was once a creative outlet that allowed Albarn to explore new territories. But Cracker Island suggests that the concept has grown stale. Those lovable animated creatures feel like they’re on an island of their own, isolated and untethered to what’s actually been churning the project forward all along.

One gets the vaguest sense that Shook is meant to inspire hope in the face of despair. Unfortunately, that hope is intangible for the majority of the album’s runtime.

Kudos for trying to expand a tried and tested formula, but a lot of La La Land sounds like dozens of fragments of tunes crazy glued together in a hurry.

Hakim has a knack for crafting songs that burn slowly and steadily, and while they lack the depth and development needed to reach a full fire on COMETA, fans of Hakim’s previous work may still find the gentle glow of his latest effort enjoyable.

Inessential but pretty darned good. [Oct - Dec 2022, p.86]

While FOREVERANDEVERNOMORE sounds more like spa music, which, after three or four tracks, makes the listener want to get horizontal, it is a welcome break from the structure and form of contemporary music. Eno is attempting to make you pause, and think, and feel.

Hold On Baby certainly has its hits, and Straus’ star power is no less evident even when the music doesn’t measure up. While her sophomore record is somewhat of a slump, King Princess’ talent still reigns.

It’s as if all of these songs are the equivalent of a nutty tossed-off filler track that might close side one of an album as a joke. None of the songs are developed beyond the point of cartoonish posturing and none have much to recommend them musically.

There is always an intimacy and an emotional immediacy to what they do as a band, but more often than not it stays too much in that one place, their comfort zone. It causes an album like this to come across like a collection of demo tracks by a very accomplished band that lays out their aural plan, but doesn’t ever fully color in all of the spaces available to them. It doesn’t evolve into what it could be.

The collective boasts no shortage of remarkable musical talent and vision, and one longs to love the album based on this alone, but Peacock Pools is simply too middling to merit such passion.

You can do a whole lot worse than Unlimited Love, its main sin homogeneity rather than insufferableness.

Whether or not you can stomach this will depend on your schmaltz tolerance. In truth, the sum total of these seven songs is insubstantial. They sound like spring only superficially, the Vivaldi connection isn’t carried past the first song, and Cuomo’s lyrics rarely ascend above cliché.

With such important and epic thematic material, the band’s historically climactic builds and stream-of-conscious writing are sorely missed. But the record succeeds when it gets gritty and passionate.

The album starts off gamely enough towards the same agenda [as 2018's Endless Scroll]. ... Sadly, though, much of the album is given over to high school level observations. [Dec 2021 - Feb 2021, p.151]

In their effort to defy categorization by creating sonic pastiches from fragments of widely varying genres, along with their aversion to capitalization, they too often stray from creating compelling processed sound portraits such as “Dark blue” and instead end up with bristly and frazzled sketches, rendering the album as an auditory adventure will neither wow the listener nor will it disappoint.

Where Forever was inspired by the excesses of Drake et al, wherein an album is more a morass of disconnected ideas, the suitably titled Small World narrows Mount’s vision. But without the creative divergences of its predecessor, you’re left with a fairly forgettable mush, saved only by its brevity.

For those that grew to love EELS from their early beginnings in the late ’90s through the early 2000s, you’ll understand the shortcomings here. Fortunately, a sub-par EELS is still better than most but even a couple of the better tunes on Extreme Witchcraft such as “Good Night On Earth” and “Stumbling Bee” sound like re-hashed songs from a previous EELS record.

This group recording in-person—a first for Gahan & Soulsavers, who recorded their two previous albums remotely—has brought out an even more intimate feel to songs that feel almost excruciatingly intense already.

In Virus Times isn’t going to be anyone’s release of the year, but it’s unfair to judge it by that criterion. The recording is a time capsule, cathartic for its creator and a candid audio tour through the living room of one of alternative music’s best ever guitarists. He just doesn’t sound like it here.

All in all, I’ll Be Your Mirror can be skipped by even the most devoted fans. It may be worth returning to The Velvet Underground’s legendary discography instead, especially for uninitiated listeners.

Goldilocks x proves that Genesis still has the presence to command a beat with her atmospheric, sultry voice and natural swagger, but the mediocre writing and production keeps her from bringing a cohesive, compelling body of work to fruition.

The album ends up feeling more like a patchwork of ideas than anything, resembling a puzzle with all of its pieces scattered. In a way, it’s the album’s greatest strength and its biggest downfall. Parker and Ritchie let us in to inspect their psychological state across 11 tracks, providing a sonic amalgam of their lives in these uncertain times, but the real question is whether or not the end result gives us enough room to truly explore.

The balance of star-crossed is full of cringe-worthy lyrics and failed efforts to move further into pop (“good wife”) and dance (“what doesn’t kill me,” “breadwinner”) realms. Produced by the same team as Golden Hour (Daniel Tashian and Ian Fitchuk), it’s hard to assess how that album’s gossamer sheen, that enchantingly revealed subtle hooks and melodies, gave way to almost nothing that stands out.

Aaron Dessner and Justin Vernon’s pet project has become the musical equivalent of Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner. And unfortunately, barring a few standouts, most of the guests add little spice to the proceedings, assuming they are even detectable at all.

All these connections Lorde is trying to make: her strange pastiche imagination of the ’70s, that random spoken word interlude by Robyn about climate change, and the themes of “sun healing,” never fully reach each other. Often, they come off as disingenuous and out of touch more than they read as brilliant, or comical. Whether the album is one big prank, or just one majorly failed experiment, the gist of having the “privilege to ignore” is lost in translation. All you are left with is just a handful of pretty alright songs.

Their latest is a decent entry into their quintessentially Canadian discography that casual listeners will tolerate and fans will like.

Banned’s air of experimentation mixed with the artists’ ardent eccentricities fails to materialize into much worth noting.

Jackson Browne is one of the boldest talents in American music, his first four albums standing as understated classics. Downhill from Everywhere, however, fails to recreate that magic, although the first three tracks come close. Browne is an intelligent artist with valid thoughts and concerns to address, but Downhill from Everywhere does not serve as a strong vehicle for such statements.

Van Weezer is in part saved to some degree by virtue of the fact Cuomo does still have a fine ear for a melody and an ability to craft whopping great choruses. The problem is he’s been ploughing the same musical furrow with increasingly diminishing returns for the best part of the last decade.

As it is, there are a handful of worthwhile singles worth mining, but unlike Monroe’s work to date, as a whole the album doesn’t coalesce as it could have.

Some tracks come close to capturing that cozy, Superwolf magic, like the easygoing “Resist the Urge” and “My Body Is My Own,” but in too many there seems to have been an urge to make the songs larger and bolder than necessary. It makes those tracks more abrasive and loud than what many would probably expect from this unexpected follow-up.

There is entirely nothing new about the proceedings on The Battle at Garden’s Gate. And, at over an hour’s running time, what’s contained here is much too long, particularly given the slog of the final third of the album.

As a whole, Show Me How You Disappear demonstrates a significant amount of promise, but gets muddied up by perpetual overexposure. It’s by no means an unpleasant or regrettable album, just one that doesn’t highlight the qualities that make Medford such a captivating artist.

Far from a dud, and most definitely something that will divide audiences rather than be seen as a unanimous failure or success, In Fernaux nevertheless reveals itself to be the work of an artist that appears to be enduring a period of reflection, rather than looking forward to the future.

For all of their obvious quality and intricate attention to detail, there is no escaping the fact that this album feels clumsy and disjointed. It isn’t an abject failure but flirts with this possibility on too many occasions for it to be even mentioned in the same breath as slowthai’s previous studio effort.

The result is a more vibrant sonic bouquet—or a polarizing direction. It depends on which Foo Fighters fan you’d ask.

For all its efforts to communicate, Two Saviors, ends up being as inscrutable as the concepts it tries to put forth.

If “Holding Strong,” “Talk Talk,” “I Can Only Miss You,” and “Don’t Give Up” are any indication, Groove Armada could easily have made an entire album of just this type of material. It would have been confusing, but they have an authentic, if not-quite-as-catchy-as-it-could-and-should-be feel for it.

Despite the unnecessary concessions to conventionality, Plastic Hearts still manages to reveal even more layers to Cyrus’ ever-expanding musical palette, proving she can take on whatever genre she desires and give it her own unique sense of flair.

CYR is a record that so obviously chasing mainstream appeal yet sabotages itself by being too long a self-indulgence.

We’re not left with much to chew on but some pleasant melodies and Everett’s signature, raspy croon. Nothing on Earth to Dora comes close to the indie rock peaks of EELS’ past.

Unlike older albums, most of the songs on Daughter lack the same punch as even the songs on the similarly-textured Real. The album has its moments.

Sylvan Esso’s third was left with hard acts to follow. For a duo that to this point seemed in full command of their mission, trying out some well-worn paths only leaves them flat footed in the wrong places.

It's so often cold and mechanical, yet wildly impassioned. [Aug - Oct 2020, p.87]

It’s not an album of recordings that can stand on its own easily. For the full experience, you really should listen to Sound Wheel while flipping through CAR MA, the book featuring her art, photography, and writings.

Disclosure works best when the duo taps into its inherent feel for the underground dancefloor and has its collaborators follow its lead, which it does on the majority of ENERGY.

Endless Dream is scaled back and overly minimal in an unenthusiastic way. Drums make up the center of most of these songs, which makes them difficult to endure. None of the songs, with the exception of “Out of Nowhere” and “Reason to Be Reasonable,” have any momentum to carry the band over the top of the mountain and, what’s worse, the band sounds bored, sleepwalking through the motions.

A strong four-song start to the album. ... Unfortunately the remaining tracks are somewhat of a mixed bag and instead of straddling the line between country and bittersweet indie pop they all too often cross the line into country. These pleasant tunes don’t have enough sharp dynamics to give them an edge and so end up as mostly fluff without so much substance and represent the reflective mood of the album.

For an artist whose past two albums were as impeccably curated as they were produced, the non-cohesiveness of Miss Anthropocene is bit of a disappointment, in spite of the record’s highlights.

Yet overall there is some intangible ingredient missing here and while the tracks can be enjoyable and soothing while playing there’s not quite enough bite to make them memorable.

A decision has been made that it is time to introduce new flavors into the Morrissey sound palette, with the well-established Boz Boorer-led guitar sound taking a step back in favor of a measure of electronic tampering, instrumental variety, and sonic effects. If change was needed, this wasn’t it. ... Morrissey’s vocals remain strong, those wrought girders that with age have reinforced what was once a floral and decorative voice standing firm. He continues to have a knack for finding an elegant vocal melody too.

While Mixing Colours has some of these delights, it is a much less grandiose affair borne out of amiable melodies and dulcet tones.

As a single artistic statement, the flaws are hard to overlook. Yet, it also has intensely personal moments of revelatory beauty. If the listener is willing to look past the weaker elements, the standout tracks on Ricky Music can make it a worthwhile listen.

If evaluated on the music alone, the rating would be higher, but overall Hyacinth doesn't have enough quaint peculiarities or dynamic rhythms to be anything but a minimal draw.

If it's a call to arms then it fails to churn the necessary emotional juices to deliver it. What we do have, however, is a serviceable space for venting our contemporary anxieties, which in and of itself can be a healing experience. Ultimately, if you're struggling with the political realities of the day, Algiers are in it together with you, and that alone will be enough for some.

I Was Born Swimming tinkers around the edges of feeling without always plotting a clear way in. It's never an unpleasant experience, often moving. But the dots don't entirely connect.

Father of All... is fundamentally toothless and lacking in wit, originality, and invention. Armstrong decries "fakes" across this album without once acknowledging the irony that these songs represent exactly the sort of corporate rock he is supposedly standing against. Of course, Green Day remains a competent band to the point that this slickly produced record is not an all-out disaster. But it is certainly not worth remembering.

It does feel like she is yet to fully reach the potential of her unique style and we are perhaps still awaiting something truly impressive that "All the Things" hints at. However, it's certainly very interesting listening to her sonic journey on the way towards that goal.

Though the album's tracklist is bloated at 22 songs, the final three are worth the journey.

Too many tracks are loosely arranged with sparse instrumentation and a sunshiny, but laid back, lounge-y jazz vibe. Most rely on a start/stop, soft/loud aesthetic that wears thin quickly and makes it seem as if these are demos as opposed to fleshed out songs. [Sep-Nov 2019, p.134]

The overdone synth pop and uninspiring songwriting becomes a bit tiring, so Lost Girls as a whole is a disappointment for a band with so much talent and past successes. [Sep-Nov 2019, p.82]

Even the nimble and funny "Guns" and the nothing-you-haven't-heard-from-Coldplay-before "Champions of the World" and "Orphans" aren't enough to forgive the shortcomings of the other tracks. Over the course of the whole record, the uninspired songwriting becomes a bit tiring, so the album as a whole is a disappointment for a band with so much talent and past successes.

It's a poor album that irks and annoys at every turn, excellent musicianship and performance rendered irrelevant by the turgid material. Exhausting stuff.

You can't accuse Young of not wearing all the appropriate badges, flags, and emblems, but the message has become more than a little threadbare over the years. Fortunately, Crazy Horse sounds as reliable as it always has even if no new ideas are borne out.

Stars Are the Light is a decent album that shows Moon Duo know how to put a new spin on an old formula. And while it may not make a big splash, the ripple effects can be pleasing.

It's not a great record by any means but it's a hell of a lot of fun and should serve as a grand excuse to get them out on the road again and into a live setting where their exciting silliness excels.

There a few moments on Inflorescent where the tone changes lightly. The downbeat "Cry Wolf" still slinks along atop a funky bassline, but its minor key momentarily pivots the focus from dancing your problems away to just straight up crying about them. These mild digressions never quite cohere into anything substantial though, and for the most part it's just a lighthearted rush. Needless to say, it's an album best digested in morsels.

His devoted followers/collectors will find plenty to like here in this convergence of talents, as this group's interpretations of the murder ballads work as well as their new takes on the Oldham originals. ... Less dedicated fans who prefer to cherry-pick the best releases which float to the top of Oldham's flowing river of output may want to keep waiting, as this is more of a compelling curiosity than a cohesive album.

Overall, Adult Baby is an inconsistent album that can be a wistful and sluggish electronic experiment but also shows flashes of brilliance with a genuinely entertaining mix of dream pop and electronica brought to life with a beautiful voice.

If the listener can get used to Norrvide's alien vocals, Lust For Youth can be decadent.

The lyric writing is often exquisite. ... Bereft of the signature production of Wild Beasts, and the counterbalance of Fleming's weighty baritone, Thorpe's limited vocal range is glaring.

For big Prince fans, Originals will be an essential peek into his methods as a musical mentor. For anyone else, it's a curiosity worth checking out but certainly not recommending over any of the dozen-plus better records he released during his lifetime.

While there is nothing unpalatable on "Let's Rock", the majority of the tracks are missing that intangible ingredient from the music with only a few songs being a flawless merging of instrumental dexterity and fashionable spirit that allow these artists to explore their blues side while indulging their rock tendencies.

For the Yeasayer fans who enjoy their stranger stylings, this will fall out of rotation quicker than others; that doesn't make it bad, just not a favorite.

There's a loose swagger throughout the nine songs. ... It seems that Foxygen rolled through Seeing Other People, making new music for the sake of making music.

With so much space for the instrumentation to maneuver in, Broken Social Scene actually sounds more withdrawn and lackluster. At their best, they are so incredible at creating that illusion of a spaced-out record by actually shrinking the space, contrasting big orchestral sounds with fuzzy lo-fi recordings.

L7 always need to be given credit and respect but Scatter the Rats is not them at their best. They are a raucous, subversive, and vital voice in rock, but this album doesn't show that. It should be a footnote on a career that is more important than this.

California Son is uneven at its best, and borderline sacrilegious at its lowest points. This level of steady, maintained mediocrity will only make it harder and harder for all but his staunchest fans to continue caring.

While the spunky, punky riffs of "Same Things Twice" and "Miracles" brim with the kind of energy that Idlewild possessed in droves in their early days, the visceral sensibilities of those early songs are also missing. Much of that, perhaps, is to do with Woomble's vocals on this record—all across the board, on both the faster tracks and the slower songs, his voice sounds worn down and tired.

There's no other unifying theme at work here; no great banner to be found overhead. A Fine Mess is just that--scattered outtakes from producer Dave Fridmann's (The Flaming Lips) stellar work with the band from the previous year.

3 sadly feels flat, a shadow of so many stalkers from the past.

It's an album that certainly stands apart as something different to what's come before, though interestingly, as the record progresses it sounds more and more like Pierce is settling into himself as a musician. The two exceptions are opening track "Pretty Cloud" and "Kiss It Away," both of which feel just somewhat out of place on what is an otherwise cohesive, calming, and beautifully forlorn record.

Problems is an altogether solid enough and enjoyable listen, it merely fails to push beyond being an impression of the band's former glories.

Ribbons is by no means a stand-out album from an illustrious career and it is not the most memorable of works, but it is a solid, enjoyable folk listen that is perfect for optimism in the sunshine, and, hell, we all need a bit of that right now.

Many listeners will get a thrill from the laser-pointed precision of the final product, a sort of quest for sonic perfection. But unless the bulk of Timony and Ex Hex fans have been harvesting a secret love for Rainbow or Foreigner for all these years, the sheer bloodlessness, the cleanliness, the emphatic punklessness of it all might just make it a pill too bland for many to swallow.

Groove Denied is certainly a departure for this indie legend, but he never really strays too far from his well-trodden patch of pavement.

Advice for Gesaffelstein: ditch the singing guests, and experiment more with the danceable dimness.

There is a delight in the frivolity that is unabashed in its goal of primal regression and targeting of the id. But this perpetually "in the red" energy level is both the charm and biggest fault of this album, as by the end you find yourself wishing that the finish was a little way back.

If not excellent then at least vaguely enticing. [Feb-Apr 2019, p.84]

A collection of leaden dance-rock, ponderous show-boating, and thankfully, brief flashes of inventiveness. ... This record's promise is blunted by its workmanlike enthusiasm. [Feb-Apr 2019, p.108]