Some may call that predictable, some may call it reliable, but there's little arguing that Afterglow is a solid effort -- it won't win new fans, but it will certainly satisfy the old ones.

It's an old-fashioned record, feeling as if it was nearly 30 years old, even when it's informed by relatively recent funk, rock and jam bands.

While it's not exactly equal to any of his catalog classics (i.e. everything up to Yeezus or Pablo, depending on where you draw the line), that old Kanye -- the masterful producer with revolutionary ideas and endlessly quotable bars -- is still in there, somewhere. .... Objectively, Bully could be considered a great late-era Kanye West album.

All in all, Forgiven proves that Los Lonely Boys are around for the long haul, making records that separate their sound from their influences, and further establishes their identity as one of America's premier roots bands.

As David St. Hubbins said, "It's such a fine line between stupid and clever," and Saenz's locker-room humor wears thin quickly. Even cameos from Slipknot's Corey Taylor, Anthrax's Scott Ian, Nelson's Matt Nelson, the Donnas' Allison Robertson and Brett Anderson, and the Darkness' frontman Justin Hawkins can't keep the same dick joke interesting for 40 minutes straight.

With the high-gloss Flo Rida, less is more, meaning this eight-tracker is entirely right-sized.

With worthy singles "Body Language," "Hotel," and "Be Real" added to the mix, there's much more fire than fodder here, enough to satisfy returning fans along with party people of all flavors.

Even all these big-name friends can't save WHAM from mediocrity, though. Lil Baby's flows, presentation, and beat selection are all laughably generic, to the point that any lyrical cleverness or hint of interesting perspectives he might have get washed away in the flood of less-than-memorable sounds.

Compared to the originals, or even the better covers released during the intervening years, these versions are pleasant if sterile.

Overall, Medicine is an enjoyable diversion.

Produced by James Dring (Gorillaz) and Youth (the Verve), its ten tracks prove McClure's way with words is far less clunky when focusing on satirical tales of everyday life than trying to put the world to rights.

Nearly every single thing about this album is a shout-out to the Clash or Gang of Four, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, but why not just listen to the originals instead?

With a slow, minimal style similar to producer Bangladesh, the Pac''s Young L handles most of the production on the album, delivering beats that favor impact over density.

2 Chainz over-promises and almost delivers on his official debut, putting him right in the punch-line rapper's sweet spot.

When the band attempts to branch out, the results are mixed.

With Hold My Home, they emerge as a more straightforward band, and also a more confident and engaging one.

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.

The Silver Lining suggests that Soul Asylum might still have another great album in them (especially if Murphy does more of the songwriting), but this one certainly isn't it.

Although the musicians here understand how to convey complex emotions in a pop song, Wilson and his co-songwriters obviously don't, and it's with them that the blame for this record lies.

From the confrontational album title to the cuss words, Berg is working to shake the pop tag and turn it hardcore with a baller stance that isn't so much embarrassing as it is uninteresting.

If you can take Hologram Jams lightly and come to terms with the fact that Jaguar Love’s post-punk and rock pretenses are fully behind them, then it’s a fun outing. Ridiculous lyrics, bristling energy, ‘80s synths, and booty beats are the core of the record.

For better or worse, this album is polished and mature -- words that never would have described Cold War Kids' music before.

Free is just too derivative to make the impact the band appear to crave.

While this is their debut release, there is a sense that Dog Is Dead are still growing and maturing as a band.

It doesn't quite hit the consistent heights of Stoosh or Post Orgasmic Chill, but Black Traffic more than justifies Skunk Anansie's re-existence.

This is merely designed to please the diehards... if anybody else happens to like it or if it stumbles into a hit, that's merely a bonus.

While by no means bad, is definitely more of a missing link for die-hard fans to get a taste of what's to come.

There's just not much here to keep the group's detractors from bringing out their pitchforks, and over time, staying the course may leave fewer and fewer townsfolk to protect them.

Throughout the album, Kylie sounds very game, merry even, and there's enough holiday spirit on offer to help even the grinchiest customer make it through the season with the bare minimum of humbug.

The makeshift album drags, even with its stylistic diversions. Bad Vibes Forever is less a testament to how XXXTentacion helped shape the wave of rap during his brief career and more a bottom-of-the-barrel-scraping of partially cooked ideas he left behind.

The flashes of brilliance that were once routinely delivered by Havoc and Prodigy are few and fleeting here.

That Oblivion resembles a blockbuster soundtrack more than an M83 album may disappoint some of Gonzalez's fans, but it means that he and Trapanese succeeded in making the film's music what it needed to be.

The stylistic range of Jekyll + Hyde proves that ZBB's reach is almost limitless, and this set will more than likely delight the group's legions of fans.

Sometimes Darkel seems in danger of floating away on its flights of fancy, suggesting that Godin gives some of Dunckel's more whimsical ideas some grounding when they work together as Air. Nevertheless, this is a lovely working holiday, full of songs as shimmery and delicate as bubbles, and their slightness doesn't make them any less enjoyable.

Simpatico... is the Charlatans' version of the Stones' Emotional Rescue: it's a groove-centric rock album, heavy on disco and reggae rhythms, where the overall vibe is more important than the individual songs.

Havoc and Bright Lights is as soothing as a Sunday afternoon nap or a warm bath: it's music for when you know you're right where you want to be.

While Amarantine will do nothing to win over the wrongly pegged new age artist's many detractors, longtime fans will find enough moments of serendipitous pleasure to hold them over for another five years.

That's the ultimate irony of 3 Doors Down as they mature: try as they may to pour out their angst-ridden hearts, by riding out their success and smoothing out their music they've turned into mildly aggro background music at malls and movie theaters across the nation.

Producer Kevin Antunes never recontextualizes the original recordings; he favors hits-on-parade medleys, letting the hooks--the melodies, the rhythms--sink in before moving on to the next snippet.

As the man who wrote Pink Floyd's lyrics, he is far more concerned with their meaning than his old bandmates, and you can hear that in his singing, which is emphasized without robbing the music of its magisterial power. In fact, with a band boasting several guitarists - primarily Doyle Bramhall II, Andy Fairweather Low, and Snowy White - to make up for the lack of Pink Floyd's David Gilmour, Waters effectively recreates the sound of his Pink Floyd work.

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.

Instead of re-creating sounds, they've recaptured the vibe, which is enough to keep The Great Escape Artist absorbing even when it begins to drift.

Congleton's unhinged vocals add to the visceral nature of the outing, and some fatigue sets in toward the back half, but at just under 40 minutes, Until the Horror Goes is certainly digestible. However, listeners should definitely wait an hour before going swimming.

As admirable as Life in Cartoon Motion's eclecticism is, it could use more focus.

Without even the slightest concessions, Goon Affiliated isn't the Plies album to start with, but fans who never wanted their gutter hero on the radio to begin with should file this next to their favorite mixtape.

Produced by Jacquire King in Nashville, the album has a distinctly organic feel, as if it were recorded in an old theater.

It's hard not to find this album kind of disappointing, a confirmation that no matter what they do, Oasis Mach II will never have the sheer abandon or thrill as Definitely Maybe through Morning Glory.

Not easily understood as dance music, experimental music, or rock music, Enclosure considers, rejects, and reconsiders all of them on a second-to-second basis and stands as one of the more listenable of Frusciante's ever-obtuse solo albums.

The rest of the album suffers from redundancy and some wasted opportunities with the guests, but Montana is a flossy tycoon first and a wordsmith second at this point, so his handing in a high-power mixtape instead of a focused debut is to be expected, and with a little bottle service, enjoyed.

The Blackout thunder and squall through a batch of songs that deal with the usual topics of heartbreak, betrayal, isolation, and frustration with romance and society and have a familiar sound (sweetly sung vs. rabidly screamed vocals, heavy riffing, cavernous drums, and great walls of processed guitars), but generally have a fresh and vigorous feel that keeps things hopping throughout.

While this mixed bag of sounds ensures Wonderland is a far more intriguing affair than most superstar DJ's crossover efforts, it also means Aoki may struggle to reel in the same mainstream audience that its guest list suggests he desires.

This isn't meant as a dismissal: Barlow has a knack for mildly ambitious piano ballads that gain strength from their hazily arty design as well as his studied melodicism.

Harmonium is confident and somber, a conscious attempt to be serious and mature that nevertheless still sounds adolescent, largely due to her earnest lyrics and overly ambitious music.

Despite its unevenness, at its best Déjà-Vu is an entertaining return from a dance music legend looking to translate his style into something that isn't overly familiar.

A series of expertly produced, expertly recorded adult pop tunes.

His hooks are still heavy and melodic, which makes Welcome to the Drama Club easy to listen to, even if it is too tidy.

At 17 tracks it borders on overkill, but that's fitting for Gaga, who has made excessiveness her raison d'être, and some of the included remixes are quite good.

While it’s easy to admire his well-cultivated classicism, Who I Am is an awkward growth spurt, relying on songs designed as grooves but given performances too hemmed-in to be soulful and often undone by Nick’s thin teenage yelps.

I-Empire is an easier record to like than "We Don't Need to Whisper," as it marks a very small, very tentative progression toward DeLonge realizing that he can expand his sonic and emotional horizons without abandoning the pop songcraft that remains his greatest strength

One can sense that she has complete control, lyrically and musically.

You can't tell if Wishville is the sound of a band losing steam or just being too self-conscious.

Her follow-up isn't merely eager to stand out but rather desperate, as if the studios in which it was recorded contained a clock counting down to the point of failure, the moment when Hilson would no longer stand a chance of being a ubiquitous, multi-platinum superstar.

[It] would be more accurately titled Timbaland Presents Slight Confusion or Timbaland Presents an Uneven Mess.

Pleasant but dull.

Snooty taste makers and parents should avoid Animal at all costs, but with so many fun, “TiK ToK”-type tracks, the album has plenty for both brats and the bratty at heart.

More quintessentially "metal" in his approach -- think Metallica -- and more of a conscientious technician than Marcos, Truby unfortunately lacks some of the unexpected spark that Marcos brought to P.O.D.

It's gimmicky, lightweight, and best taken in small chunks, but get a glitter-friendly crowd together and it gets the party started, succeeding at its one and only goal.

Ultimately, by pushing the dance beats and the slabs of synth to the foreground, the Sounds have increased their pop appeal and delivered an album that pleases your ears while also demanding that you leave your blood on the dancefloor.

Overexposed may not hold together as well as that album [Hands All Over ], but it's sure to keep the audience won over by The X Factor.

Carrie takes a much stronger presence as a writer here, co-authoring seven of the 13 songs, and she's attracted to hookless showstoppers designed to showcase her powerful voice, all glory notes with no glory. When she sticks to tunes written solely by the professionals, Play On does have some slick pleasures.

If Let It Come Down was Iha's sun-dappled West Coast folk-rock break from the creative turmoil and personal squabbles of the Pumpkins, then Look to the Sky is his more austere, if no less captivating, look back from the sun and toward the dark moon of his alt-rock '90s past.

It is hard not to listen to Kula Shaker and their banal, blissfully insulated retro-rock and not be a little amazed that a band can get so many right elements so wrong.

"Don't You Fake It" may have suffered from a lack of variety, but Lonely Road is plagued by different diseases: misguided ambition, outlandish excess, and a bad case of the ol' sophomore slump.

This pimp from Shreveport sounds best when swaggering and rarely steps out of his comfort zone.

At the very least, the album doesn't tarnish his legacy, although it adds nothing to it either.

Strangely, III doesn't sound like the work of a band at all.

Parlour Flames feels curiously stitched together, the work of a mutual admiration society where neither party quite feels at ease to suggest a direction for their partner.

Though Sex and Love tries hard to walk the tightrope between the personas displayed on Iglesias' two previous outings, he leans more to the club side here. Your feelings about the album will depend on which side of the divide you lean toward.

This vibrant jumble of audio adrenaline with flecks of deep thought is, at the very least, an intriguing stab at taking stadium EDM experience somewhere bigger, and better for the soul.

Afterlove is a brave bid for contemporary relevance in 2017, a wonderful step outside his comfort zone that is more memorable and exciting than much of his output this decade.

Bible of Love is an admirable turn for the former Doggfather--now grandfather--and serves as a wholesome but inessential addition to Snoop's protean catalog.

Good Intentions is redeemed slightly by its incrementally improved production choices and impressive list of guest artists. The strongest songs on the lengthy album are those when NAV's juvenile lyrics and generic performances are enlivened by more talented artists dropping in to collaborate.

Here, he doesn't offer much more than a couple worthy singles and a handful of decent album cuts, and those highlights, such as the Timbaland-produced (and hogged) "Elevator," tend to be memorable more for the beats and the hooks than the rhymes.

Instead of sounding like a refreshing change of pace, it's a muddled, aimless affair from an artist that's had too many middling efforts over the last decade.

Boyle sings beautifully throughout, delivering more of the same of what she did in her moment in the sun on television. Those won over by Boyle, either her voice or story, will surely be satisfied.

Strength in Numbers turns out to be a nice comeback, particularly during the tracks that find that sweet spot between bubbling electronics and stadium Brit-rock.

Without their old-timey affectations, the band seems interchangeable with any number of blandly attractive AAA rockers, a group that favors sound over song.

Sugar Ray can sometimes try too hard to seem younger than their years, pushing the dance beats a little bit too hard, and Mark McGrath relies on some unseemly Auto-Tune, but even with this too-evident aural botox, the group remains a guilty pleasure that's a bit hard to resist.

Down to Earth's title depicts Jem as a grounded musician, but its wide-ranging sound suggests something different, as the singer has yet to find a style that fully suits her capabilities. Fortunately, her search for the perfect genre still yields some enjoyable songs, as shown by this album's handful of standout tracks.

This casual, almost steely, assurance is appealing and even if the record goes on far too long at 15 tracks (18 in editions exclusive to certain retailers), this focus coalesces Old Boots, New Dirt, turning it into one of his best records.

James' musical prowess on the anthemic "Born of Frustration" and 11-minute sonic storm of "Sound" are great representations of what made them a brilliant pop band in the first place.

Clamping down and checking out rarely sounded as good as it does on Blacc Hollywood, and sometimes it's even Greta-Garbo-"I want to be alone" good.

Frustratingly, the quality of Diary does dip in and out, with "What Am I Supposed to Do?" providing an unimaginative guitar bounce, for example. But when it works, it really does produce some memorable moments.

$ome $exy $ongs 4 U is business as usual for Drake (mostly in R&B mode this time) and PartyNextDoor. In Drake's case, he tries to sound romantic but comes off as bitter and jealous, PartyNextDoor merely seems like a supportive friend who doesn't want to cause any more trouble.

Calling EP2 "serviceable" might be a little harsh; instead, its best moments suggest that the Pixies are settling into writing songs that sound comfortable next to the classics and don't try too hard to reclaim the magic of the band's early years.

the Donnas once rocked as if they were tanked to the gills but they now sound like they're playing with ferocious hangovers they just can't shake--and it's hard to have a good party if the threat of the morning after hangs over the whole affair.