The title track does a better job of establishing focus; it is easy country blues supporting Parr’s meditations.

Overall, the album is a mixed bag, but it’s worth persisting with for its moments of beauty and always fun energy.

Liam Gallagher John Squire might have been the next best thing, but as long as they avoid challenging each other or whatever feels most comfortable to them, middling releases like this one are the unavoidable outcome.

Predictably, there are some excellent sad songs to be found here. Just as predictably, though, when the whole thing sounds essentially the same, the impact is blunted. If Lytle decides to make another Grandaddy album after this, let’s hope he’s at least partially in the mood for something a little more rocking.

Daniel’s “brand-new old-fashioned” version of Real Estate is totally workable but is also a reminder that the old-fashioned stuff was better.

For an album that promised to show us the real Jennifer Lopez straight from the heart, it struggles to stand on its own two feet. This Is Me…Now ultimately loses itself in its self-indulgent proclamations of heart and the supposedly greatest love story never told.

They end up sounding sort of like Against Me! home demos where a really good bassist just happened to be on hand.

Wolfe is as uncompromising a poet as she has ever been on She Reaches Out to She Reaches Out to She, and while her disparate choices of canvas give us a bumpy ride, it’s one worth taking in good faith.

As a long-time lead vocalist and lead guitarist with an established style, J Mascis can’t seem to escape himself. Unplugged or not, What Do We Do Now epitomizes this cul-de-sac.

This record is easy to listen to, forget, and confuse with something else.

Isn’t It Now? summarizes some of their best attributes. It also shines a harsh light on their self-circumscribed limits.

Troye Sivan’s Something to Give Each Other offers pop music enthusiasts a much-needed reprieve from the more emo offerings of Olivia Rodrigo or Billie Eilish. But the record falls short of its own standards, set high by the success of its predecessor and lost in its own ecstasy and provocative imagination.

If Yard evinces any steps forward for Slow Pulp, they are baby steps. There is an argument to be made, though, for being consistently good rather than only intermittently great.

Despite its open orchestration and more experimental bent, it is Modern Nature’s least interesting release.

The best parts of Midnight Rose are scattered throughout, which thankfully diminishes the impact of its weaker moments.

Strange Disciple finds Nation of Language’s devotion to their craft and the acts that inspired them admirably intact, even dogged. It is probably their most listenable album from start to finish. Still, it leaves the sense that, cool as they are, a bold new turn may be coming due.

Playing Robots Into Heaven is ultimately a flawed but, at times, interesting and worthwhile foray for Blake into more beat-led, dancefloor-friendly music.

In conclusion, half an album here marks some of Lydon’s best work in decades and a half that should have never left band practice.

One of the issues with Euphoria is that it’s very pretty, almost oppressively so. The beats and the synths are rounded and smooth like baby-proofing edge guards. The vocals are fetching, as Georgia has a delightful voice. However, she has chosen to sing most of these songs in a demure, modest delivery. So, even though the title promises euphoria, it rarely reaches that high of a peak.

What Matters Most ends up being a mixed bag. Musically, this is a strong record. .... As much as I like Ben Folds, though, hearing him come back with a new pair of songs about women who are borderline crazy is disheartening, and it casts a pall over the rest of the album. Some longtime fans might not have that same visceral reaction, and they’ll probably enjoy What Matters Most more than I did.

Not everything lands with equal force, but what does land reminds you of the treasure that Graham Nash has been and continues to be in the ongoing narrative of rock music.

My Soft Machine unfolds respectably, proficiently, even likable, yet not particularly memorably.

Angry and disturbing lyrics of this caliber would signify liberation for any other female artist. But it’s never been more evident than it is on Gag Order that Kesha is not a free woman. This makes it all the more difficult to enjoy Gag Order for what it is when there’s a blaring undercurrent that’s hard to ignore.

Fantasy is, in many ways, comfort listening; the layers of these songs form the sonic equivalent of a warm blanket. Yet this warmth, after all of M83’s successes in refining their style, wanes more quickly than it has in the past.

Their sense of surprise was exchanged for maddeningly consistent predictability. We are left with Songs of Surrender, a quadruple album that sounds exactly how you think it would.

If How to Replace It proves anything, it’s that dEUS remain as restless on matters of genre as they ever have.

All the pieces are there, and many fit together quite well, but the sum of the parts is not delivering what was promised.

The inclusion of trans rapper Rahrah Gabor on “Closure” is a fun and exciting change of pace but is still a small interlude on a record that is otherwise without features. Likewise, from its production choices, lyrical and thematic content, and overall aesthetic, Raven is less a bold artistic statement than its author might wish to convey. Despite its flaws, Raven is still a worthwhile listen.