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.