The mood and the energy here is as catchy as it's ever been, even if the duo's clever, tightly-wound experiments sometimes come across as intriguing rather than complete.

It’s promising, but if it catches you in a bad mood, it might cause a headache.

For the most part on Carefree Theatre, you’re stuck with hazy textures (In My Mind) and stilted grooves (Carefree Theatre) that are simply boring.

Moments like Living Up to Let You Down are unforgettable; it’s just a disappointment the rest of the album isn’t even close.

While Perry finds the occasional moment of quality here (Smile and Tucked both feel like the best possible music we could get from Katy Perry in 2020), Smile is an album searching for an identity—and when it fails, it falls back on lazy writing.

Despite the album's likable, glistening production, though, the duo mostly chooses to dismiss the darkness rather than embrace it—emphasizing a pop veneer that is bold, bright, and, well, a little bit boring.

Dehd are mighty expressive even if their songs are fairly one-note. With the personality thing down pat, imagine what they'll achieve when they continue to expand their scope.

Down in the Weeds is at odds with itself—where the band balances music that is ambitious in scope with some of Obert's most nakedly personal work. But just like his complicated and sometimes narcissistic persona, there's a good argument to make about how his over-the-top approach perfectly suits him. That aside, Oberst and his cohorts' generous offering does take them on new, unexplored territory while remaining true to his wry prose.

While there’s moments of excellence overall, the majority of Songs for the General Public feels like a self-aggrandizing duo getting high on their own supply.

The chances Young Jesus take here in a songwriting sense are commendable, and with technical chops to boot. But overall, it's not quite the powerfully compelling, or approachable, experience that Rositter will have you believe it is.

Despite the amount of effort that appears at the surface, from the several websites to the layered and unique production, Dreamland is a project that’s as momentarily annoying as it is infinitely forgettable.

There are some appealing songs here that deserves to be on a Spotify playlist or in a chill lounge environment. However, they struggle to stand out next to subpar material over the course of a full-length record. There are lots of alluring instrumental pieces that show potential, but Kllo treats them as decorative rather than core aspects.

The album is the sort of ridiculous over-commitment to a style that is appealing and fun to hear, even if it's not great.

This album’s got plodding drum work, tasteless guitar work, and some of Paulson’s worst lyrics ever, but it’s also an interesting album.

If they are willing to try out different moods and feelings, while still using that winning formula of tones and instruments, they could be a great band. On Mordechai, Khruangbin gets one step closer.

Notes on a Conditional Form is a fantastic 12 track, 45-minute album. It’s just a shame that The 1975 decided to make it into a 22 track, 80 minute one. There’s certainly enough going on to recommend repeat listens, but the quality level waxes and wanes so much throughout that it won’t take you too long to find your favorites and start returning to just those.

Kehlani replaces any hint of controlled pop presence with a lowkey, gloomy vibe that doesn’t suit her strengths at all. Her raspy voice is now placed upon liquid synth bass and irritating trap production, leaving her songwriting to be the record’s only strength.

Recorded by Steve Albini, the Shellac’ish touches of The Mine, the sturdy Wet Concrete, and the album’s finale, Terms of Visitation, provide plenty for listeners to enjoy. But, Antarctica, itself a seldom-visited location, is rife with ground that’s already been well-traveled.

She's a vibrant presence on Anywayz and How Did You Know, pushing her operatic vocals over soaring, anthemic choruses. But that's not enough to save an album that, despite sounding so busy and hectic, fails to generate much excitement—even if Stelmanis' emotional downward spiral is compelling in the lyrical sense.

On Sideways to New Italy, the five-piece continues their solid methodology of songcraft, even if it may feel a little stale by the album’s end. It’s the cream of the crop when it comes to modern reverbed-out jangle pop, but there’s really only so much one can take when it comes to this midtempo playlist-rock.

These are tracks that are built for individual consumption across a myriad of online platforms, so the composition of the album perhaps lessens in importance. Nevertheless, a couple more from the darker end like Free Woman' and Replay would achieve a bit more of the blend I suspect she was going for. Chromatica has its moments, but it isn't an album to play on repeat.

Woods consciously goes for simplicity, not depth. The musicianship complements that goal appropriately on Strange to Explain, an album that hazily focuses on themes of dreams and sleep. The wah-wah guitars, Mellotron, and gentle, upbeat drums match the laconic subject matter to relaxing and pleasant, if forgettable, effect, sort of like a dream.

Very rarely, this album finds a moment of excitement. And when they do, you have to savor them, because you aren’t going to get another one for a while.

It’s another intriguing entry into the Charli XCX canon, even if it does feel like more of a stopgap than anything. But hey, right now, that’s okay too.

Lindén had some false starts in trying to realize her true vision with Warnings, and it shows—the effort she went through to craft a sound this painstakingly meticulous requires time and patience. And though we know how far she and Balck can push themselves, we're still not quite sure who exactly they want to be.

Ultimately, the project is still a little lightweight, if not a solid effort.

On their latest album, The New Abnormal, The Strokes have mirrored the career of Beck, offering a mimetic approximation of music they think people want, instead of music generated from their raw, inner demons or whatever fueled them on Is This It.

The shrill production manned by Ben Hillier over-amplifies the percussion and bass textures, making the entire project muddy in a way that can’t be intentional. While the joy occasionally breaks through (the glitchy From the Mouth is a blast), Melt Yourself Down kneecap themselves repeatedly on 100% Yes.