Even on its mellower moments, the Bravery sound more excited about making music on this album than they have since their debut, making Stir the Blood a fine return to form.

Something this indulgent could only be a labor of love, but even die-hard Dandy Warhols fans might find embracing this album to be too much work.

A simplistic tour de force through a myriad of proven gangsta rap motifs. Beginning with the standard "I'm Bout It" variation, this time titled "Bout Dat," Master P and his post-Beats By the Pound production team -- primarily Carlos Stephens, XL, Ke-Noe, Myke Diesel, and Suga Bear -- move through the motifs without making them seem too clichéd and, more importantly, performing with an aura of confidence and poise, two attributes sorely lacking on Only God Can Judge Me.

The least necessary Mase album, but half the tracks point to a future that is brighter than ever.

It does seem like a step backward for them, and it doesn't help that there aren't as many memorable songs here as there are on the debut.

Much of the album is ruminative in a way that leans heavily on Dylan and Costello. Despite these echoes, the album is quite clearly Geldof's creation.

It's a remix album not for fairweather travelers but rather the hardcore Little Monsters, the kind who love every gesture grand or small from Gaga, but it also displays enough imagination to appeal to those listeners who fall into neither camp and are only looking for some darkly elastic dance.

Colon certainly sounds more comfortable here than he did on his first two albums.

There's little here that suggests Swedish House Mafia is more than the sum of its parts, and as Axwell, Angello, and Ingrosso split into three equally powered powerhouses, it seems this supergroup was more a fun lark than a focused project. Still, it's as fun as larks come.

Ultimately, while the toothy smiles might be wiped off the faces of Robertson and the rest of the Barenaked Ladies' faces, Grinning Streak reveals that their hearts remains firmly on their sleeves.

This is a record for longtime fans: it not only evokes warm memories, but it speaks to the band's present.

Flipping the unevenness and sonic confusion of their three 2010s albums on their heads, Bush take this opportunity to prove that they've still got enough in them beyond '90s nostalgia.

The sacred has always sat comfortably with the profane in Rod Stewart's art, and he's holding true to that on The Tears of Hercules, an album that's alternately baffling, absurd, sweet, and endearing.

Human After All ends up being just not-bad (a first for Daft Punk); that may be hard to accept for fans that demand nothing less than brilliance from them, but just because it isn't an instant classic doesn't mean that it's totally unworthy, either.

A handful of marginal highs aside (the minor urgency of 'Courage,' the fluid sobriety of 'Gravity'), it's hard to shake the feeling that Rules would be a lot more satisfying if it broke a few more.

18 Months shows Harris to be a solid producer with an easily identifiable sound.

Too often, his words and melodies end up drowning in their busy surroundings.

Devin’s redundancy is the reason fans keep coming back. They won’t be disappointed by Suite #420, which features the usual set of chilled-out weed anthems, sex jokes, and old-school R&B beats, along with those great oddball numbers the Dude uses to break each album up.

It's an unhurried, affectionate tribute, the News riding grooves that are considerably cleaner than the classic Stax sides they love so much, but they nevertheless wind up with a warm, soulful vibe.

Its glassy, placid groove isn't a reflection of his blandness, but how Sheeran knows that this is the sound that defines global pop in 2019.

This isn't edgy work by any means -- and for as hooky and chorus-driven as it is, it's music that becomes memorable through repeated plays, never quite catching hold upon the first listen -- but it's more colorful and well-constructed than a lot of contemporary mainstream rock in the mid-2000s, and it's arguably more appealing than Matchbox Twenty's earnest guitar rock.

Furtado isn't entirely successful; at times, the album is more impressive for what she intends to achieve than what she accomplishes. And yet for all its contradictions and clumsiness, it's hard not to admire The Spirit Indestructible, for it is that rare thing: a major-label album that bears the unmistakably messy, human stamp of an artist.

It feels true to who he is today: an entertainer who is happy to reveal part of his heart because he now knows there's an audience who cares.

Another collection of typical speed punk tunes, virtually indistinguishable from the work of Green Day and Blink-182, not to mention dozens of other similar bands.

The record boasts a huge, smooth production and is considerably more varied and accomplished than its predecessor.

Unlike its predecessor, there isn't much to dig into here; what you hear upon that first listen is exactly what you get.

No Pier Pressure seems genuinely weird, as it's perilously perched between the best and worst of Wilson's pop talent and Thomas' showbiz instincts.

For the most part, though, the songs are spilled out softly in McRae's high, honey-coated voice, and are centered around humble-but-plaintive acoustic guitar and piano patterns. This proves to be just the right mode for a guy whose worldview is rather less than cheery.

Without the instantly gripping singles, Jigsaw is as scattered as its title implies.

The Handler shows that Har Mar Superstar can also give new meaning to the term "trying too hard."

Paris makes no apologies for being mass-market pop, but everybody involved made sure that this was well-constructed mass-market pop.

The casual listener might think it drifts too much, but fans who wrap it up in the Slaughterhouse universe will find it's a somewhat jumbled effort with plenty of literate, thoughtful writing to explore.

While Bieber's voice still sounds like that of a mid- to late-teen, singing seems to come more naturally to him, and his falsetto pleas are neither bitter nor entitled, strictly genuine and adult.

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.

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

The Last Temptation isn't going to surprise anyone familiar with what Murder Inc. is all about, but their trademarked balance of the rough (Ja Rule) and smooth (Irv Gotti) has rarely sounded better than it does here.

Ultimately, quality singing and composing are the things that make Details a cut above much of the electronic Europop that came out in 2002.

There are still some moments that show what Doughty is capable of, where he holds back on the production and instrumentation and lets his acoustic guitar chords and voice take over, like in the darker 'I Got the Drop on You,' which references his Soul Coughing days while still coming across as an original, but this is a rarity among the slick and silly tracks that make up the rest of Golden Delicious.

Bun E's very presence suggests that Tinted Windows might have a bit of Cheap Trick's feverish rock & roll, but the group errs on the side of caution, the product of a bunch of longtime veterans getting back to basics and playing their first love. While the former cancels out the latter ever so slightly--there's not much abandon here, only precision--the pleasure of the popcraft outweighs much of the caution in the construction, especially when the insistent hooks are delivered with such puppy-dog earnestness by Taylor Hanson.

Matchbox 20 has never made a record as cheerful or appealing or satisfying as this.

Despite a few bright moments, Motion is disappointingly bland--especially since Harris has made plenty of memorable electro-pop before and after his EDM makeover.

It is not quite prime Soundgarden; the band is pushing their OK 1996 effort Down on the Upside, and while there isn't much palpable tension in the performances, they're not quite inspired, either. The group is in full-fledged pro mode, hitting their marks with efficiency and occasional power if not much flair.

He's sounding a bit like a curmudgeon, but he embraces his eccentricities, which means this contrarianism wears well on record, even if it doesn't in real life.

YokoKimThurston feels more focused and risk-taking than some weekend distraction between friends. Sonic Youth have never shied away from releasing indulgent noise jams in the name of art for art's sake, but this album ranks above the best of their non-rock experimentation, and adds a new dimension, with both Gordon and Moore stepping back to serve as supporting noisemakers for Ono's one-of-a-kind voice.

While the emotions expressed on Coup de Grace often have a literate, philosophical complexity, the music crackles with a bright, youthful immediacy.

Ultimately, it's Weezer's deft mixing of immediately hummable rock with lyrics that reveal Cuomo's own melancholy gaze on the pop landscape that makes Raditude a passionate surrender to growing up and a throw-your-arms-up-and-scream ride down the other side of the mid-life roller coaster.

Back with the 808 boom, the stone-cold rhymes, and that sturdy, warrior soul, Bun B is officially crowned consistent with his third solo effort, the satisfying Trill O.G.

A calling-card track like their debut's "Enter the Ninja" is absent, making this album more an exciting celebration for established fans than an easy entry point.

While Indestructible doesn't meddle with the melodic hard-hitting Pantera-inspired formula that fueled its predecessors, the dreaded nu-metal tag that followed the band out of the turn of the century seems wholly eradicated.

Rzeznik and Takac are merely sticking with the program that they helped to create, but they have honed their sound so close to the corporate bone that the marrow is beginning to show, and if they're not careful, there soon may be nothing left to feed the masses with.

The breezy Isley Brothers/Free Design hybrid "Race Against Time," the perseverance anthem "Music to My Soul," and the disco-soul/soft rock compound "Better Late Than Never" are all decked out, and are among Green's craftiest work.

Some stretches of the album may be a little too sleepy and subdued, with songs bleeding together in a hypnotic haze. Nonetheless, refreshingly void of aggression or any deliberate tension, Cloud Nine comforts with its positivity and charm.

The debut from California indie pop buzz band Youngblood Hawke, 2013's Wake Up is an infectious, bombastic party album perfect for the summer months.

If Revelation doesn't actually hold any, well, revelations, that shouldn't be held against the band, since they do wind up turning out a perfectly acceptable mainstream dance-pop album.

Stand[s] alongside Something to Remember Me By as his strongest album.

Lasers offers more substance when the reins are loosened.

Diamandis is trying to expose the artifice of big-box pop music by using its own voice, and despite the obvious trappings of the concept, she does a fairly respectable job.

It hardly feels coincidental that My Main Shitstain was released on a label called Big Dada, because that's almost exactly what it is: a statement that borders on nonsensical; cynically upbeat garage punk that's equal parts entertainment and introspection. No matter how it's described, however, it's definitely something you won't forget.

In the end, Kurupt turns in strong performances on much of Streetlights, delivering furious free association freak-outs and ultimately some of his nastiest verses in years.

Dismantle, reconstruct, then split, and The Greatest Story Ever Told earns decent marks--it's just hard not to focus on the handful of cuts that point to what could have been.

It's a serviceable bit of self-generated fan fiction that's as slight as it is artistically obstinate.

It's perched at a point between the past and the present, protest and satire, and that inscrutability is often where Rundgren does interesting work.

"Jingle Bells (In Memory of Avicii)" doesn't fit the vibe and it carries only trace elements of the titular holiday standard, so it stops the party cold halfway through. Cut this track out and Happy Xmas delivers some cheery Christmas vibes.

A Tuesday afternoon pool party of a record, Songs in the Key of Animals sounds like a great time was had by all, but that you kind of had to be there to appreciate it.

As far as pop albums go, this one strikes a rare balance between familiarity and novelty.

While Heloise & the Savoir Faire don't come close to the effortless flair that Blondie had with mixing these styles, Trash, Rats and Microphones still has enough, well, savoir faire to make it worth adding to the mix.

Out with a whimper, not a bang, Exit 13 is an off-ramp leading to a boulevard of several mismanaged White Castle knock-offs.

While Tokio Hotel may not have matured enough to hang with the big boys yet, they are most certainly the dark horses pacing up and down the Disney fringe.

Joe Ely is still one of the best things the Lone Star State has to offer, and Satisfied at Last shows he's not about to stop making albums worth hearing, and still finding things to say within the style he's made his own.

For most of the album, however, Jessie J shows how wide her range is.

With a sound falling somewhere between low-key, late-night indie fare and a seasoned arena rock act, Dismantle and Rebuild is a strong, colorful debut and points toward even better things in the future from the Ramona Flowers.

Perfectly likable and pleasant.

All this adds up to one of Neil Young's genuinely strange albums, a record that's compelling in its series of increasingly bad decisions.

The outfit's three-axe attack coupled with the distinctive pipes of J.T. Woodruff find Hawthorne Heights able to go where peers like Fall Out Boy just can't.

It's brighter, denser, catchier than either of its immediate predecessors, and boasts her most assured singing yet.

H.N.I.C. 3 is a back-to-basics return to form with some worthy pop cuts, and it just takes a slight trim and a push of the shuffle button to become worthy of any long-term fan's attention.

The release is among the group's most accessible material, even if their tendency toward goth romance and arch fantasy are still very much intact.

Montage of Heck largely doesn't consist of early drafts; it consists of scrawls waiting to be turned into a first draft. While that's interesting for a while, at a certain point--and it arrives rather quickly--the fascination curdles and it's hard not to feel unclean, as if you're snooping through your beloved brother's desk.

Juliette Lewis dials down the aggression, amps up the introspection, and adds a dose of weirdness on her third album, Terra Incognita. As always, what Lewis wants to achieve is apparent and admirable, but not necessarily quite what is achieved.

Earnest, melodic, and slow to unfold, there's not a bad song on here, but surprises are few and far between.

The man's overuse of Auto-Tune is now a given, and here it coats all of his heartfelt moments with robotic perfection, but it is surprising how T-Pain's gigantic producer hat remains off save a handful of cuts.

Lostprophets still sound hungry and confident, and when they stick the landing, as is the case with the relentless single "Bring 'Em Down," it leaves a mark.

Khaled does his usual cheerleading and gets some production credits himself, but the real trick he pulls off is inspiring all these artists to somehow save up all these high-grade club tracks and singles for the DJ's annual dispatch. Suffering from Success, once again.

A set that is less scattered stylistically--dominated by tropical house and trap stylings--yet less consistent quality-wise.

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 siblings Morgan and Mercedes Lander's songwriting has improved since 2001's Oracle, there's still an air of mediocrity to later tracks like "Loveless" and "Burning Bridges" that shows an adherence to formulaic modern metal clichés, and a lack of confidence on some of the vocal takes that makes some of the songs sound like demos.

Panders to unimaginative industry and genre posturing.

Morrison is challenging expectations and listeners by stretching his musical boundaries and defying people to come along for the ride through close listening.

Although Strawberry Weed doesn't lodge its melodies into the listener's brain, it still makes a good case for repeated listens.

A serviceable slab of unpretentious yet utterly forgettable '80s retro-metal that adheres to every cliché in the book.

An album that feels like a return to form for the band.

At once slight and overdone, Why You So Crazy is one of the least rewarding trips the Dandy Warhols have taken their fans on during their career.

While their willingness to experiment is admirable, despite the fact that they've gone overboard with their overdubs, the overabundance of studio polish leaves one to wonder if it's not because the songs just aren't as strong this time around.

Khalifa, the album, is influenced by the "See You Again" sound, and yet that mammoth single's inclusion would've helped round out a set of tracks that aren't nearly as direct in their lyrics or intent. These expansive cuts surely benefit the Wiz discography, and will do best when shuffled into his canon, but lump them together into one LP and take away the driving influence and Khalifa feels more like part of a continuum than a self-contained statement.

This is, for want of a better word, his wheelhouse, and while he may not be leaving his comfort zone here, Moonshine in the Trunk proves his strengths remain mighty potent.

There is much to be enjoyed on Everything Is Forgotten, but the elegant lightness of touch on their debut has all but disappeared. The potential is clearly still there, but next time they'll really need to embrace and explore it to their full ability if they are to make their mark.

If Morello and Riley hadn't been involved in such great projects before, this would be acceptable, but in hindsight, it doesn't really live up to their past accomplishments.

Even within the album's murkiness, however, hints of the promise and intermittent brilliance Doherty had in the Libertines can still be heard.