Sometimes, Expectations can be generic, like on "Sleepover" and "He'll Never Love You," which could have been released by any of the aforementioned singers. However, despite this occasional dip into indistinguishable pop territory, Kiyoko's debut hints at untapped potential from a fresh voice with a relatable perspective.

Dungen Live certainly captures the side of the group that's more interested in exploration than writing catchy psych-pop songs and shows that they are the equal of just about any other band of their ilk that might want to take a run at them. It may not be essential Dungen, but it is well worth tracking down and giving a spin any time some good old fashioned uninhibited psychedelic wandering is what the doctor ordered.

A true counterpart to Car Ma, Sound Wheel is all the richer when coupled with the book's vision. On its own terms, it offers another intriguing side to Mosshart's persona.

Admittedly, all of Yungblud's sonic borrowing can get a bit maddening. Nonetheless, you feel his passion, and the album takes on layers of meta-self-reflection, as if he's trying to work through his influences as a way to suss out his own musical identity and legacy.

A little less studio craft would have improved The Law of the Playground quite measurably and possibly put it on the same level as Best Party, since the songcraft and performances are nearly equal.

Perhaps the results are predictable, but they are satisfying, and it’s better to have new music from this duo than none at all.

As expected, there are plenty of tracks geared toward letting loose and dancing, and most of them do deliver, even if they don't seem quite as fresh as Ciara's past hits.

This Is Gap Dream has enough going for it that it's well worth a listen, but while Gabe Fulvimar can make a good album all by himself, one wonders if he could make a better one with a few other people helping him tighten his focus.

Those the Brokes is a looser, livelier album than its predecessor, significantly less cloying and precious than the debut.

As a whole, Politics of the Business never quite jells into the cohesive statement it wants to be.

Perhaps this isn't quite as strong of a selection of songs as Got No Shadow, but it comes close, and the music simply feels right.

It is sort of a bad sign that a band's debut is plagued by filler.

As you might expect, the overall quality of the songs isn't quite up to the standard of the best Death Cab for Cutie albums, but it comes close enough to entertain fans who aren't die-hard completists.

Under My Skin is a bit awkward, sometimes sounding tentative and unsure, sometimes clicking and surging on Avril's attitude and ambition.

Underscores that the band still has more vitality and ideas than most other artists associated with that [electroclash] trend ever did.

While The Physical World was a stunning comeback, this album cements Death from Above's place as one of the great rock bands of their era. It's a vital document to wave in front of anyone who says rock is dead, because one listen to any DFA song is enough to prove that argument DOA.

Best of all is "Sleeprydr," where they contrast the song's drowsy verses with a guitar maelstrom that feels like it's been brewing for the entire album. While Slow Sundown could use a few more epic moments like this, there's a lot to be said for its sleepy allure--it's hard to resist sinking into these songs.

Approach it as a slightly goofy one-off, and you won't be disappointed.

Throughout, a cutback on shimmery electronic effects results in a lived-in sound; there's a shabby chic-ness to these songs, and also a believability.

While Elf Power haven't started to turn into Steely Dan on us, after a dozen years Elf Power has a lineup that can lay down a solid groove, add tasty guitar and keyboard accents and generally sound like a for-real band rather than a music fan's goof.

Not quite as much fun, but still fun.

While the sound is by no means stale, it doesn't have the same edge that the band became known for during their heyday, at times feeling more like an extension of Hey Mercedes than a proper Braid release.

From the lonesome drift of the melodies and the brilliantly rendered dynamics of the performances to the uncluttered detail of the production (by engineer Justin Shane Nace in collaboration with the group), this is a splendid mood piece that excels in concept and execution.

Goulding is able to take the best parts of all of her contemporaries' styles and make them her own, coating everything in the breathy flutter of her voice.

There's no pretense here: this album is pure, no-frills, feel-good fun, a start-to-finish crowd-pleaser for fans of that classic pop-punk sound.

The off-topic and amazing "Hamster Wheel" is here, and when that's added to all the other highlights, the album is well above worthwhile, as scattershot and frustrating as it is.

Maybe it's not perfect, but it's more than enough to be an unexpected gift from Harry, one that he deserves as much as his devoted fans.

Sheeran is naturally a laid-back performer, the pair fit almost a little bit too neatly: where certain hooks and melodic refrains would've been pushed into the spotlight on previous Sheeran albums, they're lying in the background here. That tender touch when combined with a preponderance of ballads turns - (subtract) into a curiously recessive album: its emotions are raw, yet its execution is reserved.

By letting all of his sides surface here, Springfield winds up with a satisfying album, as it gets to his sober nature without abandoning his fizzy gifts.

Potato Hole isn't a slab of greasy Stax soul, either. It is what it is, a new Booker T. Jones album, and hopefully it won't take another 20 years to get to the next one.

There's something quietly but persistently unique about the duo's work that suggests its own realm, quirky and wry but not simply a showcase for lyrical wit, gently swinging and twangy without losing a sense of calm hush.

On these songs Banks fashions more of an identity for himself as a solo artist outside of anything he's done before, and arguably works even harder here to separate himself from his established project. Some of Banks' songs feel unpredictable even after a few listens.

They may lack the immediacy of some of their more envelope-pushing contemporaries, but as sonic world-builders they excel, and certainly possess the acumen to expand those horizons on future outings.

The soundtrack to Fifty Shades of Grey winds up as something conventional: high-thread count seduction with nary a hint of menace, suitable for any romantic evening you choose.

The relatively sparse ambient instrumentals, frequently unpredictable as they twist and turn, are almost as fascinating. Even the relatively tranquil sections seem slightly turbulent.

The piano ballad "I Still Make Her Cry" stands as the lone truly intimate moment of the record which, despite its enthusiastic choruses, harbors reflective, self-doubting lyrics.

The result is considerably removed from the country-informed folk that dominated (but never completely encapsulated) her earlier work; it's both her subtlest and jazziest effort to date, certainly sonically but also in its songwriting, which tends more than ever toward long, fluid melodic lines and loose, open-ended structures.

A Minus the Bear record is fairly consistent, but given the quality of this band's output and the uniqueness of their sound, it comes as no surprise that not only are their cast-offs pretty solid, but that make for an oddly good album when strung together.

Pearson's point has been made: he's upended the high expectations his 2011 album set, no longer seeming like a soul-baring troubadour. Whether that was worth a seven year wait, only fans can decide.

If anything, though, what Replica Sun Machine calls to mind is a previous attempt to meld aesthetics from about ten years back, the Beta Band's "Hot Shots II"--it's not a question of exact similarity by any means, but there's a similarly easygoing feel in the arrangements and the beats, something that invites drift and a steady crunch in equal measure.

Still, as the Kasabian-sized choruses stick in the head like the most delicious, stately fluff, The Evolution of Man winds up the dancefloor confessional done right, fist pumping and throwing fits as if it had karma to burn.

All in all, this makes for an album that, despite containing plenty of drama and angst, feels self-restrained by itself, making the whole thing seem conflicted instead of confrontational.

[It] ends up being some of Trans Am's most satisfying work yet.

Song for song, it's better and more consistent than Head Music... thanks partially to Stephen Street's focused, flattering production, but also due to a sharp set of songs.

With Contraband, Velvet Revolver has pulled off something tidy, fashioning music that manages both hedonism and maturity.

Sex with an X is proof that Kelly and McKee were right to get back together, and while they don't pick up exactly where they left off, it's close enough to make their fans, both old and new, ecstatic.

Take the Crown features Robbie doing what Robbie does best--writing and performing effortless pop music--but not at his best.

He tells these stories (many of them dark and tragic) with empathy, tenderness, and a desire to illuminate curiosity about his subjects, making No Man's Land a welcome addition to Turner's catalog.

The problem with Jeff Bridges is, it sounds like he's trying hard to be cool, and that's all down to T-Bone Burnett, who dampens everything natural about this music with the artificially authentic.

Meyrin Fields may be under 12 minutes long, but it's still a musical goodie bag that sounds like it was as much fun to make as it is to hear.

Ultimately, 5 Seconds of Summer have crafted an album of songs that stick in your head like neon bubblegum on a hot summer sidewalk.

This is a stronger, more mature, and more effective work than one might have expected.

It's all perfectly pleasant and a convincing testament to what Clapton learned from Cale, although its silvery monochromatic shuffles suggest J.J. was a little more one-dimensional than he actually was.

While Megaplex has its moments, the pleasures are fleeting and listeners aren't left with much meat to stick to their bones.

Corgan delivers something unexpected: music that's rich but settled, music that plays to his strengths, music where he seems happy in his own skin.

There is a lot to admire here and maybe that's the main problem....he often favors rambling, low-key country numbers that get you to quietly consider the bittersweet nature of our existence rather than lose yourself in the song.

Despite a few tracks that should have stayed unreleased, Daughter of Cloud succeeds by showing the most extreme versions of several different sides of Of Montreal, from their most intense and suffocating to their most uncommonly tender.

The Destroyed Room is a creative -- and quintessentially Sonic Youth -- approach to the rarities and B-sides comp.

Headlights' third album, Wildlife, is at once their most immediate album and also their most reserved-sounding and emotionally powerful.

While their last album, The Way Things Fall, was some of their poppiest music yet, their Mute debut, Detroit House Guests, sounds more like a gallery installation than a set of danceable tracks.

The craft of Our Bright Future is impressive and Chapman's talents are as clearly evident as ever, but unfortunately this album offers precious little in the way of anything fresh or unexpected from this artist.

Utilizing his filmic experience, their debut full-length album, Save Your Season, is a lushly cinematic affair drenched in reverb-laden psychedelics, shimmering shoegazing hooks, and floaty ethereal synths, but it's Hollie's detached yet fragile vocals that set this apart from his usual instrumental chillout fare... a valiant and occasionally compelling first effort.

For the most part, the gambit is a success and, with a little help from Fife troublemaker Lone Pigeon (Beta Band, the Aliens) and First Aid Kit drummer Scott Simpson, he's landed on a sound that suits his mix of downbeat humor and warm sensitivity.

Such accents as early-'70s analog synths and a couple of pastoral acoustic numbers may give Anyway You Love, We Know How You Feel a throwback feel but the Chris Robinson Brotherhood aren't living in the past, they're pushing jam band tradition forward by keeping their expansion focused on funk.

Disc one is essentially a standard Alicia Keys LP, while the second disc is an album of remixes plus two more new songs. ... The latter half's new songs are two of the album's higher-profile collaborations: a tentative-sounding missed opportunity with Khalid and Lucky Daye, and an intoxicated duet with Swae Lee where Tyrone Davis' coasting 1979 hit "In the Mood" does most of the work.

This is a welcome return for Miller, and a must for modern electric blues fans.

Cosmic Egg [is] a mature sophomore effort, particularly if it's just judged on all the sonic textures Wolfmorther serves up, but as the album closes with a series of meandering mysticism it's hard not to miss Stockdale's previous reliance on nasty repetitive riffs.

Where experimentation with layered instruments enhanced the grandness of "Happy Hollow," here it's taken one step overboard with additional flute, clarinets, and violin arrangements added on top of the supplementary horn section, to the point of making this their lightest, earthiest release to date.

Most of the album stays true to a light flavor, and Welcome Joy is a nice, comfortable listen, right up there with "Invitation Songs."

If you're already familiar with Flogging Molly, then Speed of Darkness isn't going to disappoint, and if you're not a fan yet, there's no better time to jump on the wagon than today.

The mere fact they've been able to come together to make an album as solid and coherent as Rise to Your Knees is little short of miraculous, but it pales in comparison to the Meat Puppets best music and suggests that they still have a ways to go before they're fully back in fighting shape.

While it may occasionally get bogged down by its near constant need to reach the nosebleed seats, the desperation that the band emits ultimately feels inclusive rather than brazen.

They simply deliver track after track of airtight, wide-eyed rock that digs its fingers into your soul for 40 minutes and does...not...let...go.

By and large, the featured performers--mainly McCartney's peers, including his good friend Steve Miller, Billy Joel, Bob Dylan, Brian Wilson, Jeff Lynne, Roger Daltrey, and Willie Nelson, but also a handful of younger performers and old pros, too--stick to both familiar tunes and familiar arrangements, which means The Art of McCartney often gets by on sheer enthusiasm

Jim White is undoubtedly a masterful musician, but All Hits: Memories never quite gets off the ground, and it feels like the type of record that might be of interest to fellow drummers but will have limited appeal for anyone else.

The dynamics of accessible songwriting mingling with weird breakdowns and abrupt production jumps make sure the songs are always engaging enough to keep the listener riveted, even when the saga of the twins starts to lose the plot.

While the slower songs are fine, sometimes sincere, the growth on Wonder is all evident on the livelier tunes, all of which point toward a more adventurous twenties for Shawn Mendes.

Planet Earth is the sound of a working musician working, which makes it a bit of a passing pleasure, yet there's no denying that it is indeed a pleasure having him turn out solid records like this that build upon his legacy, no matter how modestly.

Luckily on Four the scales are tipped heavily in favor of the kind of songs they do best, with the majority of them sounding like good-time hits that will go a long way toward warming up a cold November night.

[rating only; no review]

This music is beautiful enough to stand alone.

While the heft of the Pharcyde sound is diminished slightly by their broken circle, this is an emotionally tangible album that combines delicate content with tight production.

Love & Distortion still finds the Stratford 4 operating as a band with more taste in music than original ideas.

It all holds together in a way the Olivia Tremor Control often didn't.

St. Anger looks inward with a hard eye, and while it finds some grinning demons in that pit, it also unearths some of the sickest grooves of Metallica's 20+ year lifespan.

It’s their tightest, freshest, most contemporary batch of songs, weatherproofed to stand the test of time.

The album feels like the duo are reaching for something greater, but the end result feels like a dilution, a compromise, and every other synonym for middle-of-the-road.

If you've been sticking by the group for long, you'll be rewarded by El Rey's brutal honesty, hard-won wisdom, and first-rate songcraft, and you'll relish the sound of a band trying to recapture a brilliant sound from their past and succeeding completely.

The majority of X is exactly what it's meant to be: a collection of songs by a pop artist who is aware of her past achievements and doubly aware of her need to stay relevant in the face of unwanted diversion.

Fans of Radiohead's more melancholic moments on Pablo Honey and Keane's chart singles should enjoy the bliss that is Let There Be Morning.

You & Me makes sure his six-string gifts remain in the forefront of the listener's mind. And while the reigning mood of the album is one of warm, Southern California breezes and sun-splashed sojourns to the Pacific Ocean, other influences pop up along the way, particularly a fondness for British folk-rock.

Time is a promising debut from a guy who understands that pop is sometimes better when it gets a little weird.

Without Feathers may lack its predecessor's apocalyptic vision, but it's a new direction for a group that was heading down an awfully familiar -- and extremely congested -- road.

All the pieces that make Minus the Bear an entertaining listen are still here, but rather than experimenting with more progressive arrangements, the goal is to carefully control the mood of the album, creating a soundscape that's more restrained than anything they've ever done, but just as affecting.

This simple, easygoing mood stretches throughout the recording, which makes for a nice listen, but because a lot of the songs blend together in this pleasant, dreamlike state, they're tough to remember by the record's finish, and they fade quickly from memory, as old dreams tend to do.

Despite this lingering scent of stale nicotine, alcohol, and leather, The Taking does make a brute impression, McKagan's Loaded playing with a vitality that almost compensates for how they fetishize the past.

All of these sounds are familiar, but his light touch means Gunslinger doesn't sound like pandering to the past but rather a cheerful acceptance of the present.

Once the sweetly hazy vibe dissipates, the songs reveal their sturdy structures, and they're the reason why Tenderheart rewards repeated listens.