Even as they cop the slinky white funk of INXS and David Bowie on Love Me and aim for an easily romanced demographic with the electro-tinged ballad A Change Of Heart and the anguished The Ballad Of Me And My Brain, they sound suspiciously like dudes too eager to come off as sensitive and edgy.

A beautifully crafted debut full-length that delivers on the early hype.

Ono brings out the unexpected in everyone, and even the most conventional indie pop acts sound edgy with her idiosyncratic vocals on top.... The album would have benefited greatly from more careful curation, though.

Regardless of Tatum’s ever-shifting musical obsessions or emotional moods, an enjoyable lightness and subtlety to the arrangements and overlapping textures draw your ear in closer.

Although the album revels in its sonic clutter (it’s remarkable how they can make percussive rhythms sound both primitive and absurdly futuristic), there are tracks scattered throughout to catch your breath.

The 10-year-old band should be able to get a dance floor moving more than ever with these songs.

Even when West’s going in uncomfortable directions, his music feels alive.

A little rough around the edges, the album is pleasantly calm while simultaneously tapping into anxieties in its lyrics.

In producer Tucker Martine’s hands (he’s worked with Neko Case, Punch Brothers, the Decemberists and Laura Veirs), O’Donovan’s music sounds light and atmospheric, her folk freed up by billowing electric guitars and sensitive percussion.

The album revels in the clean, streamlined production elements and beautifully realized nocturnal atmosphere favoured by the OVO camp, but that sonic branding, if you will, swallows up any sort of personal flavour or perspective that might set Majid Jordan apart.

Williams gives her songs more room to breathe than ever before, opening up vast, cinematic visions of the highway and land that inspired them.

Bulat has the rare ability to simultaneously sing from all sides: hurt and sweet and wise.

The songs are simple, but Nap Eyes always inject small surprises into them, like clever guitar melodies or tempo changes.

As he wrestles with his isolation--a major theme here--Maine shows shades of Grizzly Bear, but he still fails to narrow in on his own distinct sound.

The trio lose their equilibrium on Maniacs: a flashy keyboard solo hijacks the song and takes it to a cheesy place. But even when songs swing too deep in that direction, Lobsinger’s steady, breathy vocals keep things grounded.

It all adds up to a whole that’s somehow less than the sum of its parts.

Though murky mixing obscures their incendiary songs, the overall mood of disquiet and anxiety is potent (perhaps prescient?). If only they could shape it into something with more of a jolt.

A new urgency and immediacy provide welcome counterpoint to the reserved Canadian introspection that still characterizes their songs.

There’s an urgency to the songs--aided by crisp production--as if Smith resolved to get all his feelings out.

You'll want to let the whole record play, but Refill, Land Ahoy! and Mekons' anthemic Beaten And Broken (sung by Fulks) are highlights.

Not every song is as outstanding as the next, but at points, Anti is incredibly satisfying and sufficiently distinct from her other efforts--very much worth the wait and the bizarre roll out.

Despite ups and downs, Suede have remained an impressively robust-sounding live act, and that energy comes across in Night Thoughts.

She manages to cut through generic themes to inject darker predilections with hard-sung vocals that sound downright masochistic at times.

The more overtly rock moments give the album a bit too much of a 90s alternative feel, but that’s got to be expected from someone who came out of the slam poetry scene and previously worked with Trent Reznor.

A masterful, mystical interpreter, Oldham conjures a new mood for Death To Everyone, unfurls an intense lost original called Beezle, and strikes at the gospel core of Prince’s The Cross.

Newly installed guitarist Kiko Loureiro weaves blistering licks around Mustaine’s own, elevating the frontman’s sorta sardonic, sorta goofy politicized lyrics. Longtime bassist Dave Ellefson ramps up his low-end pyrotechnics, with Fatal Illusion boasting maybe the grooviest Megadeth bass line since Peace Sells.

Like a lot of shoegaze, a uniform production and lots of layers mean the tracks have a tendency to lack distinction from one another. But this happens surprisingly rarely.

After a few listens, hidden melodies reveal themselves and easy-listening bass lines guide you through the ruckus. Or rather, you get used to the disorder and appreciate the songs for what they are: weird experiments from a prodigal songwriter.