The album sees Cench find new collaborations with rising Puerto Rican star Young Miko and grime pioneer Skepta, alongside another link-up with Dave following the pair's number one-charting "Sprinter" in 2023.

It's a flawlessly executed document of pristine production and incremental bursts of verve and joy to keep the music from dissolving into its own atmosphere. The challenge here, however, is finding the right mood to appreciate the Weeknd's lengthy and elaborate funeral for himself.

The editing and sequencing on Downstate are more a part of the listening experience here than on the previous album, with quick transitions, trippy fades, and unexpected pitch changes all adding weirdness to an already warped set of jams.

It's a shame that a majority of the album suffers from this cookie cutter sameness when at other times SASAMI can craft music that does have some personality and excitement. Just not enough to make Blood on the Silver Screen feel like anything other than a huge misstep.

The LP includes the singles "Malibu," "Caroline," and the propulsive, boot-stomping title cut.

At least lyrically, Flür is trying to glance forward at the future on Times more than he did on his previous albums, which nostalgically referenced his past. Like his other albums, however, the songs themselves aren't always exciting, as well-produced as they are.

If you already know where you stand on this guy's music, then you already know whether or not it's worth your time.

Pink Elephant feels like an album Arcade Fire "had to" make, one that addresses a very public period of the band's history without getting too deep (or deep enough at all) into the matter, like they just want everyone to forget about it and move on to the inevitable next album cycle.

I'm the Problem sees Morgan Wallen deliver another sprawling double-LP.

Lil Wayne exhibits glimpses of the brazen genius of his earlier self intermittently on Tha Carter VI, but the album feels like a battle between those moments of greatness and the rest of his weird swings and inadvisable choices.

Overall, American Heart is pleasant, but lacks some of the rock'n'roll kick and glitz that Boone's stage flipping antics imply; a momentary rush of moonbeam ice cream that leaves a sweet aftertaste, but not much else.

2025's Walk This Road, however, bridges these two eras of the Doobie Brothers, with core members Tom Johnston, Patrick Simmons, and John McFee joined in the studio by Michael McDonald, and the result is album that honors the band's rocking spirit while making room for McDonald's soul-satisfying vocal style.

One of those songs, "Daisies," also involves the unmistakable Mk.gee, and for Bieber it's a career highlight, a gentle rocker conveying an ultra-rare combination of anticipation, patience, and empathy. More often, Bieber's direct and inelegant wordplay is at odds with the hazy sonics.

Some of the ideas on The Fateful Symmetry seem a bit mismatched, and not all of the songs really work, but it does have its poignant moments.

This may be somewhat of a disappointment for expecting more from the vault: regardless of how good these selections may be, there's only seven remixes and just one demo of a "new" song that wasn't on the original Ray of Light. For more forgiving fans, however, this release offers a fascinating peek into the era, providing more intense, trance-y forays for some much beloved tracks.

A song like "Maelstrom" lets loose with a thundering bass drum and more-distant syncopated snare. For the most part, though, tracks levitate above ground along webs of acoustic guitar, piano, layered vocals, and atmospheric shimmer to the point where it's sometimes difficult to distinguish one song from another.

With the exception of a few clunkers, this disjointed flow becomes a defining characteristic of Love Chant. There’s a sense throughout that Dando is now comfortable enough with himself to take all the time he needs to explore weird ideas and decide where they start and end. That embrace of his own artistic whims is admirable, as is his choice to tread new ground rather than try to re-create his most successful work from the past.

This is less about hooks and more about mood. The mood is heavy and only begins to lift in the George Clinton-assisted finale. Miguel's voice remains a marvel, commanding enough to enliven substandard material.

While Infinite doesn't eclipse any of Mobb Deep's classic recordings, it's a treat for fans and does not dilute the legacy.

The surplus of ambling ballads, especially during a stretch in the latter half that features the soft voices of Justin Vernon, Yebba, and Hynes, blurs the line between pleasantly languid and laborious. Near the end, there's a slight uptick in intensity.

Delivers a denouement and a love letter to fans with an assured set rooted in the genre's sonic hallmarks.

It's all fine and good, but it lacks the excitement of the Buzzcocks' salad days.

Tenterhooks is one of the darker and more internal SSPU albums that stresses atmosphere over energy, which will hit listeners who enjoy their more thoughtful and introspective material, but may miss fans craving cathartic ragers and catchy anthems.

It's admirable that Palermo doesn't want to stick to just one sound, and some of the experiments work well, it's just that, ultimately, the misfires far outweigh the moments of promise.

Volumes: One (Selections from Music Concerts 2019-2023 6 Piece Band) might not be everyone's first choice for an archives dig, but it's clear the Vernon felt great love for this band and the sound they were able to whip up on-stage, so it's hard to complain too much.

This set veers more toward the earnest and inspirational stadium-singalong-anthem part of the band's personality (think "City of Blinding Lights," "Where the Streets Have No Name," "I Still Haven't Found..." and that ilk).

No doubt there will be those who do want to hear all the gory details and be surrounded by big, billowing sounds and LP4 will be just what they need. Anyone in search of the sparse beauty and icy textures of their early work will no doubt be left reaching back to give their first two records a spin and give this one a pass.

While this experimentation is sometimes seamless, sometimes fun, and sometimes distracting, Hawke's distinctive, vulnerable rasp, wispy melodies, and perceptive lyrics keep the album on track.

Yo La Tengo's instrumentals work best as interludes and intriguing sidetracks on their full-length albums. On Danelectro, the instrumentals are brought out of this context, and are not as successful.

An album that is just a little too familiar, even if it's classy and well-produced and spiked with a couple of new tunes that hold their own with the holdovers.

While there are some fascinating passages on "Souvenir in Chicago," including sections inspired by a shared love of the minimalism of Steve Reich, the piece never quite becomes a coherent work.

It's distinctly focused with an urban appeal while rooted in rock, and a bit comparable to the likes of Poe, Fiona Apple, and Beth Orton.

France's Tahiti 80 seem so enamoured with their musical idols that they can barely voice a personal touch of their own.

The melodies are there, but they sure aren't catchy pop.

Unfortunately, Fear Yourself's intricate, careful sound results in a rather bland album.

Ironically, the fact that there are so many vocals really saves Mind Elevation from being the first bland record by Nightmares on Wax; as it is, there's something to focus on for those few tracks where the old production genius just doesn't seem to be there anymore.

Many songs on Learning From Falling have that vaguely edgy, vaguely happy, vaguely cutesy sound often heard piping from the speakers at Wal-Mart, and soon it becomes clear she's making the same vocal choices on song after song.

This album will have to remain the a mark of a band's crazy potential and perhaps a warning siren of what is to come.

Highlights include an 18-minute version of "Cowgirl in the Sand" and a duet with the Pretenders' Chrissie Hynde on Bob Dylan's "All Along the Watchtower."

Selling Live Water follows the Anticon party line (double-timed, singsongy half-sensical ramblings countering slow, lumbering beats) through to conscious hip-hop's most logical dead end.

The first six tracks are all vintage Louris gems -- trembling and honest, with warm melodies and hooks for days. Unfortunately, the album stumbles in the second half.

Signals the welcome return of one of pop's finest groups.

The only drawback to Beautiful is that it's often too reminiscent of Stereolab, the pop art pastiche of Pizzicato Five, and Tanaka's own 1999 release, Luxury.

While some listeners will welcome this growth and expansion of sound, longtime fans will doubtless lament the lack of pure intimacy and calm melancholy that enveloped Spain’s first and second albums.

The group tries so hard to be clever and cutting-edge that it detracts from the album's strengths.

Combines instantly accessible power pop, synth-pop, glam, grunge, and Brit-pop influences with the resulting songs fitting together so seamlessly to be somewhat indecipherable from each other.

If you can get past the clothespin-on-nose delivery... and the constant up-and-down swoops and dives in which it's delivered, the album has a certain sense of awkward, ramshackle charm that's frequently unhinged and claustrophobic at once.

No hooks, no lyrical drama, no surprises, nothing at all inside the pretty package.

Cycle is ultimately no more than 50 minutes of standard-issue desolation, but the softness of many of the tracks gives it compassion, something most of Staind's peers have no time for.

Even with a handful of forgettable songs... the album is easily the best one credited to the Duran Duran name since 1993's Wedding Album.

Unlike his previous two releases, Wainwright's musings seem less focused and a little meandering on a handful of the songs.

As contrived and calculated as a Mariah Carey record, only without the joy.

The whole album feels a little too slick and reverbed-out... While there are intriguing moments in the album, it lacks the spark that So Long So Wrong had in spades, and even their few moments on the O Brother soundtrack seemed to breathe more life into the band than New Favorite does.

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

It's not that the music is now simplistic, since there's still some tricky rhythms and shifts in tone, but the group doesn't have much room to stretch in Ballard's precise arrangements. In a sense, they sort of benefit from this increased focus, since the group's instrumental excursions can be a little flabby, but it still robs them of much of their character.

Though its heart is eventually lost amidst the guiding elements of the genre, the Used's In Love and Death does make some impressive moves away from those very same tenets, showing some welcome restraint and even some rocktastic energy.

Stuck trying to re-create the daring excitement, Handsome Boy Modeling School turn in an album that's half as interesting as their debut, and half as interesting as their guest list.

This is an example of an innovator sounding only slightly better than his legions of lesser followers.

As much as the vocals, however, the fault for Dirty Vegas lies with the unambitious production; Dirty Vegas make a crossover group like Underworld sound positively edgy in comparison.

From Here on In often meanders around, getting by on its influences, rather than seeking the necessary hooks and melodies.

A case of too little, too late, nothing on Moving Units' full-length debut Dangerous Dreams does anything to disprove the feeling that the dance-punk scene is at best overcrowded and at worst approaching rigor mortis any day now.

Aside from a handful of real solid honest-to-gosh gems, the whole album feels a little too casual and off-the-cuff to stand on equal footing with her other recordings.

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

Nearly all of this territory has already been plotted with more detail and flair on Handley and Turner's first three records.

It's far from a bad listen, nor is it embarrassing, but it's entirely too predictable, coming across as nothing more than well-tailored, expensive mood music.

The album is potentially valuable as a source for samples, but it fails as a listening experience.

More often than not, they connect with the material in unexpected ways.... Problems occur when they can't find a convincing way to graft their highly identifiable sound onto the song.

The arrangements and solid production, however, aren't enough to save the material.

Faceless... grooves more fluidly than Awake, but the band still hasn't managed to locate the pop hooks that made their debut a success.

While Trans Am's need to express their political views and their cliché-busting approach are both admirable, unfortunately their ways of expressing their dissent aren't all that inspired.

The duets always seem like an intrusion to his musical vision, especially since everybody except Dr. John oversells these songs, singing like a cliché instead of finding their own sound. It's all the more frustrating because Nelson really does find his voice on each song here, a fact that's apparent on the three songs he has to himself...

Often sounds virtually identical to a generic dance record circa 1992.

Eve-Olution can't offer as much as either of her first two solid LPs.

The thick textures, crazy drawl vocals, and grand flair of later Modest Mouse albums such as The Lonesome Crowded West and The Moon & Antarctica are not fully realized on Sad Sappy Sucker.

Longtime fans, wondering what the Cowboy Junkies have been up to for the last three years, will probably find several songs to like on One Soul Now. Newcomers will be much happier by picking up Open.

It is a relief to hear that although Cash's voice is clearly older and not the booming powerhouse it was in the earlier Sun and Columbia days, he's still got some punch left in him.

Most of the blame for Neighborhood Watch has to go to the previously invincible Alchemist, whose productions are front-loaded on the record. Unfortunately, his beats aren't rugged or hooky, just astonishingly weak.

The album lacks the visceral, immediate impact of the best beat poetry and frequently seems fueled by self-consciousness instead of stream-of-consciousness.

Wiretap Scars illustrates Sparta's ambition to move beyond At the Drive-In, but also the bandmembers' attempt to steer clear of mainstream emocore.

Still, no matter how many of these admittedly incredible rhymes end up surfacing over time thanks to his mother's part-earnest, part-exploitative efforts, the bottom line is that 2Pac never finished these songs -- there are a few fully developed songs here worth marveling over, just not nearly enough to justify the album's double-disc length

The whole record is wrong. Predictable, slick, soulless, and worst of all, boring, it meets the expectations of everyone who thought the band was foolish for working with the Matrix.

Universal Truths and Cycles shows the band has lost touch with the most important thing outside producers brought to their TVT albums -- someone to help pick, choose, and sequence Robert Pollard's over-abundance of songs.

Even with the help of popular rap acts like DMX and Redman, L.L. Cool J has made the same album he did once before, with no new twists.

Satisfying without being transcendent-

As the program continues, it becomes clear that he has reinvented most of the tracks in pretty much the same way, and the limits of his low-key, almost whispery vocals can grow tiring.

A.R.E. Weapons comes across as partially put-together and all the way dumb -- not dumb meaning fun but dumb meaning dumb.

Panders to unimaginative industry and genre posturing.

We Fight Til Death gets distracted easily; all of its ideas are great, but they don't always come to fruition.

Barely enough for five years of waiting and hardly up to the old standard.

Not bad for a placeholder EP.

An overdone, unamusingly ironic '80s fetish dominates the first half of the album, dragging down tracks like "Molecules" and "Different Kind of Love" with slick synths and affected singing.

Everything is predictable and sounds like something Cave has done before. The Bad Seeds' edges are smoothed over by the too-slick production; Cave's lyrics are not provocative or funny or much of anything worth hearing.

This is a lot closer to the type of compilation you'd get with an issue of CMJ than something special.

She winds up with a processed, affected record halfway between Live Through This and Pat Benatar or possibly Billy Squier.

Lovebox takes them much too far down the path of production gloss, right on into the field of bland MOR electronica.

Strangely lovable and lovably strange, sort of like a lo-fi version of the Flaming Lips.

MDFMK charts the same breakbeat industrial-thrash that has long been a staple of any KMFDM album, complete with ranting vocals, aggressive songwriting, heavy-metal chords that sound vaguely familiar, and solid programming that reveals a surprising pop sense.

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.