A Pill for Loneliness suffers from its own consistency as one vaporous, albeit pretty, track blends into the next without leaving much of an impact. Still, as a vehicle for Green's talents, it hits enough highs to mark another worthwhile chapter in City and Colour's development.

After three or four of these hard-to-follow stylistic roadmaps, however, the excitement quickly becomes exhaustion, and Sleep Token's overly-polished sound starts to feel more overwrought than enjoyable.

World Beyond amplifies how efficient Erasure's own arrangements are, while at the same time giving Bell more space to command the room, which he does, with nuanced performances.

Gavin DeGraw won't change things, either, as it pretty much offers more of the same as "Chariot," polishing up the sound, turning it into something bigger and slicker, but not changing his vaguely rootsy, vaguely soulful pop a whit.

She's smart to keep things light and positive--it's a deliberately youthful sound in an era that yearns for maturity--but by working the same territory so carefully, the seams in her construction are difficult to ignore.

He continues to process trauma, grief, and guilt, with tracks like "Pelle Coat" and the J. Cole-featuring "All My Life" being some of his more emotional material to date.

Even with its flaws, When Your Heart Stops Beating possesses a surprising vulnerability, which gives the album an understated strength and makes it such an enjoyable listen.

There is charm to Starr’s tried and true: exciting it is not but it’s as comforting as an old friend who doesn’t change, he just stays the same.

For the most part, Out of Frequency is a joyous and effortlessly vivacious slice of Scandinavian pop which yet again brings a refreshing, childlike quality to the '60s retro table.

Catfish & the Bottlemen hit their marks dutifully, rushing through their melodies but never taking it so quick that the singsong tunes don't stick, slowing down the tempo for needed breathers and ending the whole shebang with "Outside," an extended number designed to ratchet up expectations prior to the obligatory encore.

Horns and lush backing vocals do appear here and there, as does a slightly misguided dip into a borderline cartoonish vocal baritone on the otherwise strong "Ol' Man River," but the best parts of American Standard occur in the intimate moments that constitute Taylor's wheelhouse and of which there are more than enough to satisfy.

This is one to keep handy when graceful and cool are what's required, since Pillowfight are happy when it rains, and happiest when it mists at twilight.

By delivering this big, sloppy valentine to everything he is and everything he loves, he's not being neat but he is true to himself.

This release is a bit more synth-driven, and songs like "Taking off for France" and "Taxi" exude a sophisticated disco flair that's naturally linked to Cracknell's sweet but smooth persona.

A bunch of even-handed adult-pop that is melodic without being tuneful, or memorable for that matter.

There's an excessive attention to detail to each song, and that tunnel vision means each song runs about a minute or two longer than it should.... That's unfortunate because the core of the album is quite good.

Michael is in good form but he's coasting, doing no more than he needs to, satisfying fans without surprising.

Considering the combination of such talents, it's a wonder that LSD is so good and so fun. While it might be too relentless for some, it's an experience to embrace and enjoy.

The self-titled conclusion serves as a gentle, appropriate valediction.

Allen does indeed rally at unexpected moments--"Insincerely Yours" slides along to a yacht-soul groove, "Life for Me" cleverly twists Vampire Weekend's Graceland obsessions, and although the target of an Internet troll is beneath her, the barbs on "URL Badman" are at least sharpened--but these songs only put the rest of Sheezus in dreary relief.

So much about Jackman. feels incomplete or partially thought out, however, that the album relegates itself to mere background music with occasional flashes that suggest serious emotion or profound contemplation without ever fully delivering.

30 Seconds to Mars has managed to record an album that breathes life into the empty shell that corporate rock has become, and in reanimating an avenue of musical expression that has for many years been on its deathbed, has quite possibly offered the single best rock experience of 2002.

It may take multiple spins for a few songs to really find their footing with fans, but those people will surely be rewarded handsomely in the end.

Since the Riverboat Gamblers are regarded as one of the best live acts on the current punk scene, it seems curious that Underneath the Owl follows the strategy of sounding as little like a live performance as possible, and it neuters a band that knows how to get wild in the studio.

In Case You Didn't Know is assuredly going to help Murs become one of Britain's finest national male pop stars for the next little while.

Overall, the release is a surreal, unpredictable excursion, and it finds the duo continuing to venture further outside the styles of their main projects, tapping into their subconscious minds in order to create striking dreamscapes.

The album as a whole seems unfocused, and while the producer deserves kudos for making his most mature work yet, Foreign Light contains too few high points to warrant a recommendation.

Howlett is no slouch in the production chair, and the sounds are mostly blinding, but the songs are strictly by-the-books.

Seconds is a worthy successor to the classic Red Hash, but more than this, it is hopefully a new beginning for Higgins; god knows we need more songs like this in the world.

It's a mix that works like a charm and if they can find it, fans of scruffy, dirty, and not very nice rock & roll will take to Xray Eyeballs like squirrels to a birdfeeder.

Perhaps there are moments where texture trumps composition, but overall In a World Like This is a surprisingly mature and fine record from a former boy band that seems unafraid to act its age.

These guys are shameless and that's what makes them more fun than your average arena rockers.

Odd that "Beautiful Now" goes from horny ("I see what you're wearing/There's nothing beneath it") to Maroon 5-esque (the cloying "ba, ba, ba-ba, bah!" chorus), but otherwise the slick and skillful True Colors is built for fans of Zedd's music rather than his social media followers.

Two skills he has mastered in the past, mood and texture, make this record especially good.

Though a few songs border on being filler, The Black Ghosts is still a promising debut.

It's more of the same old, same old.

Youth Group's poignant and thought-provoking lyrics and storytelling style have pushed the group into the emo bag, but with their incandescent music, they're far too glittering to be left with that label for long.

Although its inspirations, musical and conceptual, trace as far back as Kraftwerk, The Complex serves as a reminder that modern devices and glistening production values can be applied to the most primal creative instincts, if utilized by the right -- blue -- hands.

Some of this works quite well, some of it is kind of juvenile, much of it is only slightly recognizable from the original, it's too long and compared to contemporary arty rock, it really isn't that arty.

Short, simple, and lively, a collection of rollicking, quirky road songs that recall some of the more oblique moments on Teenager of the Year and the more rock-oriented tracks on Pistolero and Dog in the Sand.

Sparta... sounds like a beast that's broken its chains and is fighting between the road ahead and going back from whence it came.

Morning Tide, though pleasant and by no means bad, is also far from original and too "of the moment" to make much of an impact beyond appearing in the occasional TV show or film soundtrack--basically anywhere that pleasant, generic modern rock is needed.

To be sure, there's some pleasure to be had here, but it's all about appreciating the album as pure texture: it's merely sunbleached mood music.

Swamped by the same safe, repetitive, and unadventurous production, the majority of the ten tracks are indistinguishable from one another, making Science & Faith a solid but pedestrian and uninspiring affair.

Muppets.... freshens up the franchise for the newish millennium, and Generation Z listeners will enjoy hearing current artists in this different context, but other listeners may be left reaching for their classic Muppets fare.

It's classic pop music for people who have never bothered with classic pop, which is reason enough to check this out.

Carey's strengths are in building enchanting musical landscapes inspired by the beauty of the natural world, but presented here as a more straightforward piano-and-strings songman, his shortcomings are revealed.

A stilted album.

It's understandable that Ludacris wanted to show off different parts of himself, but in doing so he didn't have to forget about what fans already knew.

The nice thing about the soulful shimmer of We Sing is that it's so slick that it's easy to ignore the gibberish spilling out of Mraz's mouth and just enjoy the sunny, easy sound.

So, Own the Night is mood music but the aim isn't amorous; it's nothing more than a spot of relaxation, which doesn't quite amount to compelling listening no matter how immaculate the execution.

MS MR concentrate on a sullen yet sultry mood for the bulk of Secondhand Rapture, and while that delivers several notable tracks--"Fantasy" and "Head Is Not My Home" chief among them--at times it's almost too much.

In addition to often sleepy and forgettable production, Leray's flow leaves much to be desired and even guests like Nicki Minaj ("Blick Blick"), Fivio Foreign ("Mountains"), and H.E.R. ("Overthinking") can't save the day.

Red is at its best when it mines the new wave/Europop of Level 42 and Ultravox, especially on the infectious 'Clarion,' but those moments are few and far between.

Strangeland never really lives up to its mysterious title, as there's nothing on it that doesn't feel willfully nostalgic, but like any good plate of comfort food it satisfies in a way that more adventurous meals never truly can.

With this diverse cast of characters, the web of collaboration and sonic diversity could spin off forever. But under Avanessian's watchful presence, the sonic palette remains in a key that will perpetually draw head-nodders in.

An uneven but promising debut album that suggests that the group may still create something distinctive.

Apart from that pair of stiff originals, the whole thing is cheerful and engaging, a worthy sequel to its predecessor.

Don't call it a comeback, call it a collective, or a compilation from solo artists who sound enthused to be back with an especially inspired RZA as ringleader.

Though the complete stylistic overhaul is admirable, the earliest results of Ices' experimentation with her new sound are pleasant at times but less than gripping overall.

Too close to the original to be a worthy reinvention, and too flawed in execution to feel like a successful homage, although this will almost certainly remain the only Elvis tribute album to include a sample from Aleister Crowley, at least until Jimmy Page gets around to making one.

The shift PINS made from their brash debut Girls Like Us to the more eclectic sounds of Wild Nights proved that they can change things up successfully, but it makes their lackluster transformation on Hot Slick even more head-scratching. While the album has some promising moments, after a five-year wait, it's a little disappointing.

Like any visual album, the floating sounds here are probably best experienced in conjunction with the visuals they were created for, but even on their own, there's a calm power that grows as the various passages of Tangerine Reef fade in and out of one another.

Bye Bye 17 feels less gimmicky than a lot of his other work. For perhaps the first time, Tillmann is coming at the songs from an angle that doesn't depend on the cognitive dissonance created by his sexual boasts played against his Ron Jeremy-esque appearance.

Ultimately, a full album based around relaxed, Rhodes-based ballads is probably too bland for thrill-seekers, but Start & Complete is the type of one-off that might be of considerable interest to fans.

Even if Ciara imaginatively develops the "Super C" superhero introduced in the disc's booklet, she and her collaborators will have to work extra hard on the next album to ensure that she does not stall in a creative cul de sac.

While it's undeniably polished, it's a bit too dark, a bit too quirky, and a bit too individualistic to be part of the mainstream, while being too slick and professional to be on the fringe, but the album is all the more ingratiating for being caught between two worlds.

Like the late-night cautionary tales that play out in their songs, the real key to enjoying The Orwells is to just not overthink it and listen and enjoy the music, because time spent pontificating about their age is time that could be better used for partying.

The Adventures of Ghosthorse and Stillborn's densely packed sounds and ideas are a lot to process, but they're what makes this album rewarding on repeated listens.

The sisterly harmonies and country-tinged arrangements are pleasant enough, but they focus on atmosphere at the expense of melody, a move that leaves the listener emotionally stirred but unable to recall a single melody after the disc’s conclusion.

Train is a classic rock wannabe band in the mold of Counting Crows.

This is a kaleidiscope of pop culture arcania and it's witty too... pure, simple, hard-rocking, giddy fun.

They make honest indie rock for those looking for a solid, good song. There's no frills, no fancy production, just the purity of these songs.

You can appreciate the emotion put into The Lord Dog Bird and feel the soul being poured out--but without any variety in the album's sound or any songs that jump out and demand repeat spins, ultimately you're left with a less than satisfying listening experience.

Sheeran knows how to please his fans and Play doesn't veer far from his usual formula, shaking things up just enough with the invigorating addition of a couple internationally spiced highlights.

With one or two exceptions, all of these songs are second and third rate by his standard.

Past Presents the Future falters between a coalesced pop sound and its pristine fragments.

While it's important to have ambition, Deluca probably should have stuck to the sound he does so well. His desire to stretch makes We Can't Fly a misfire of an album. It would have made a nice EP though.

McCartney's music is appropriately romantic, sometimes to the extent that the moments intended to convey creeping tension or sadness bounce with a joyous gait.

It's hard not to walk away with the feeling he's capable of better than this.

This straight-faced, more serious version of the band still knows how to crank out some solid songs, but it would seem that, in maturing, Four Year Strong have lost their way.

Its sly, delicately textured rewards are ones to appreciate and ponder, not to cherish.

Generally the polished punch of Wood's work pushes Love Is the Great Rebellion into sunny positive pop, the kind of album that can double as motivation or pleasing background music for the office.

Vol. 2 sounds like the album one might slap on after the Funk Wav Bounces, Vol. 1 party ends and everyone is ready to crash.

While they have many good ideas, sometimes they have too many good ideas at once and end up gilding the lily (or putting a blue fake fur mustache on it, as the case may be).

The huge guest list is also a plus since Ross would have a hard time carrying this album on his own, but when surrounded by talent he pushes a little harder and comes up with a handful of rhymes that aren't tired or clichéd.

An A.merican D.ream comes off like an updated version of the walking blues: heavy looks at heavy times, made all the heavier when the narrator is positioned somewhere between genius and mental breakdown.

The concentration on writing and arrangement is disciplined, with a strong set of dynamics, a terrific mix, and great production, and of course the lavish package lives up to the band's reputation as well.

It gets closer to the spirit and sound of what Hucknall loves.

Though Bullet for My Valentine still have just enough post-hardcore and screamo in their sound to keep metal purists from coming completely around to their way of thinking, Temper Temper feels like a gateway album into thrash.

A welcome surprise in all of this comes by way of White Lies' ability to break up the gloom with the occasional soaring moment.

The album is an adequate addition to one of the most impressive artist discographies within any genre, not great enough to overshadow the heavily scrutinized corporate alliance that assisted with its ascent.

V is among the band's most confident and inspired releases.

Full Moon is perched perfectly between the interesting and the mundane and is in equal parts either.

Arriving in 2008, Be OK furthers her Norah Jones-gone-pop approach with 11 tracks.

The band fares best on songs like "Narcissist," which, like the Vines' grunge love letters, are pretty fun even if they aren't shockingly original.

On Tha Carter IV, Wayne's world feels more like a dream than reality, but the loyal subjects of Young Money get a wild ride and the great feeling of flashing those ruby slippers one more time.

Lightning is no kind of departure, but the slight variations in sound and the slightly expanded emotional palette mean that it's an improvement over the last record or two.