The Damien Rice comparisons are unfair because O'Brien is, demonstrably, a much, much better musician than his compatriot. This album shows us that, but it's little that we haven't seen before.

Although it is difficult to imagine any scenario in which listening to this is entirely appropriate, the album was clearly intended as an inspirational totem. Its total strangeness only complicates that effort.

The issue here, though, is that the band seemed more than capable of leaping ahead of their radio-friendly indie counterparts, but slip right back into the abyss with their least ambitious LP to date.

Purple is an enjoyable ride that's unlikely to disappoint avowed fans of the band. But playing it safe and not advancing their thesis substantially invites comparisons to earlier artifacts of their sonic template, artifacts that shine brighter than the present one.

Unfortunately, it plays like a joyless formal exercise that precludes a dialogue with the listener.

Depending on your patience level, this fade-out of Small Black on Best Blues can either be engaging and hypnotic, or repetitive and forgettable.

Despite its proliferation of modern day input, Electronica 1 sounds dated. [Nov-Dec 2015, p.71]

An album of full-on jam band pastiche. [Nov-Dec 2015, p.77]

If he can lay off the muffled sound for his upcoming album of new material, Car Seat Headrest will really be able to take off as an excellent rock project. Until then, put on Teens of Style and yearn for the door to open and to hear these catchy, fuzzy tunes properly.

As If is just another glimmer of something that may never be.

Dead Petz isn't inherently ugly; in fact, there are many gorgeous moments. These moments tend to not go anywhere, though, and they are surrounded by mostly superfluous and even boring songs.

Honeymoon is both over the top in its barely there-ness (is there anything so bold as a pop star refusing to produce a stream of digestible Top 40 hits?) and simply not bombastic enough.

Dodge and Burn is nothing if not heavy-handed in its attempt at conjuring up the same gothic witchcraft The Dead Weather once mastered.

Metric fought harder to gain the spotlight they narrowly missed, ultimately sacrificing integrity and musical wit, a choice that simultaneously dims their hooks and audience stimuli. Pagans In Vegas sees them descend one step further. [Aug-Sep 2015, p.64]

Carly Rae Jepsen and her production team try overly hard to be clever. In the end, what's left is a record that takes itself too seriously to be taken seriously by anyone else.

Baio's debut relies on genre differences to stand out instead of solid songwriting itself, unfortunately letting his solo time predominantly go to waste. [Aug-Sep 2015, p.60]

Everybody's A Good Dog has as many personas as it has tracks. [Aug-Sep 2015, p.61]

[Lead single "Pressure Off" is the] lone successful endeavour in recapturing the "classic" Duran Duran sound. The rest of the album, however, is utterly characterless. [Aug-Sep 2015, p.62]

The beguiling and unique pop element he [Tyondai Braxton] brought to the table left with him, and Battles haven't quite figured out how to replace it. La Di Da Di is an energetic step in the right direction. [Aug-Sep 2015, p.61]

Noctunes, unlike his previous records, is a work suspended in time, amorphous and entrancing, but ultimately too shapeless to hold its own weight. [Aug-Sep 2015, p.60]

There seems to be a frequent clash of interests, whether that is between Le Bon's distinct guitar simplicity and Presley's distortion of the same instrument, or between the Welsh singer's kindergarten aesthetic and the American's stoner haze.

If Dunes was their exploration of the bleary-eyed haze of romance, then Music For Dogs is the clarion call of lucidity, cutting through that fog, certain and electrifying.

Had she taken a few more risks, this could have been triumphant. Sadly, it's nothing of the sort. [Aug-Sep 2015, p.63]

The LP feels more casual than previous ones, but that's by no means a negative. [Aug-Sep 2015, p.79]

The State Of Gold showcases the veteran indie rock frontman's prowess as a lyricist. [Aug-Sep 2015, p.79]

The live shows were deafeningly loud and visceral and the atmosphere is impossible to translate to a record, gamely as they might try. The quality of the recording is very disappointing; varying volume and muffled production suggest it was dashed off in too great haste.

Such restraint should give way to immediate rewards, but gems like the colorful "Reign" and cleverly disheveled "Haggle" are all too often negated by the tedium of tracks like "Clean."

This is a flowery psych-folk album that musters little more than consistent pleasantness.