As moving as it is to hear her and Chilli together for another album, the material is not up to par with TLC's past. Flashbacks are more likely than repeat play.

Though much of the record lies in a blander space somewhere in between, intimacy definitely takes a hit with Ultralife's expanded production, while its more radiant, rousing demeanor is likely to play well to larger venues and those seeking sunnier, or at least partly cloudy atmosphere.

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.

It's a clunky end to a disappointing album; one that sounds less like a reinvention and more like a giant step down a path best left unexplored further. Maybe they can strip back down to a trio, get their pedals back, and return to being a first class psych band instead of second rate indie rock troubadours.

Now feels fussy, as if every element was triple-guessed because the pressure to have a triumphant comeback was too great.

Double Dutchess couldn't possibly match the commercial success of The Dutchess, and much of it is merely adequate, but Fergie is demonstrably as energized, and having a ball with nothing left to prove.

Retro-conning the existing Songs of Experience material to suit the political climate wasn't the easiest task and the album often shows its seams, particularly when Bono decides to tackle the crisis head-on.

Neil is making music for the moment and he doesn't much care if it lasts beyond that day or not, and while living in the moment is a good way to get through life, it doesn't do much for albums.

Lackluster as music and downright puzzling as a cultural artifact, Unleash the Love confirms that whatever you think of Mike Love's 21st century edition of the Beach Boys, he's better off doing that than trying to make music by himself.

It looks like they were having fun, but sounds slightly less so--overall, it's clear that no one here was expecting to blow the industry apart; instead, they sound content just making music and recording the experience.

While the feisty, Imagine Dragons-meets-Twisted Sister vibe remains their forte, it's Vale's pop proclivities that ultimately win out, suggesting that future endeavors may rely less on fighting the man, and more on working alongside him.

All this feverish digital desperation makes the already clamorous M A N I A feel positively cacophonic: it may only be 39 minutes but it's one long ride.

Conceptually muddled, qualitatively uneven fifth full-length.

Apart from the sly and sweet 2-step rhythm on "Wasted Times," the sound of the EP is bleary R&B with beats that drag and lurch, suited for Tesfaye's routine swings between self-pity and sexual vanity, chemically enhanced from one extreme to the other.

Taken on its own terms, Revamp is dull, but its companion album Restoration: Reimagining the Songs of Elton John and Bernie Taupin--a modern country tribute that takes chances--reveals what a missed opportunity this is.

Beerbongs & Bentleys is an apt reflection of his lavish lifestyle and his subsequently begotten hardships, but its attempts at sincerity work only when Post Malone stops trying so hard.

Like Rae Sremmurd and Migos, these big-bass trap anthems owe much to their club-friendly vibe, but offer little in terms of substance or lasting impact.

Ye can feel uneven, sometimes boring, and more indulgent than usual, but it's a fascinating peek into West's psyche.

A prevailing quantity of the tracks is either forgettable or regrettable. Nas often sounds unenthused.

At their best, Chromeo are a big, dumb party, the embodiment of guilty pleasure much like the cheesiest moments of the '80s hits they emulate. But a few choice songs, special guests, and Chromeo's studied arsenal of '80s signifiers can't keep Head Over Heels from growing tiresome, absent the hooks required to keep the party going.

Davies still possesses a sharp eye and sly sense of humor, so Our Country has its moments, but they're moments, not songs, and they're overwhelmed by his clumsy dramatic pretensions, which are undone by his reluctance to tie his theatricality into an actual narrative.

Instead of a magnum opus from an artist reaching the next level of his craft, or even a serviceable new album, Rolling Papers 2 feels like an awkward mixtape (or two) without much to say and too stoned to realize it's been rambling.

Apart from the two new songs that bode well for future albums of original material, there is absolutely no reason for Echo fans to choose a spin of The Stars, the Ocean & the Moon over another listen to the songs in their original perfect state.

Jassbusters has enough chops to pull off the kind of slick 70's MOR soft rock that seems to be Mockasin's bailiwick, but as a whole, there's just not a lot to these songs to keep things consistently interesting, and the album comes off as more of an indulgent lark in Mockasin's growing canon.

There's nothing rebellious about the music and not much natural, either--but its immaculate anodyne tones are soothing, and that's superficially pleasing, even if it doesn't remotely seem attached to the Richard Ashcroft of lore.

Jake may be the weak link, but he merely reveals how the whole band seem to have learned their moves from watching late-night concerts on Palladium while buying pre-worn vintage-styled T's at Urban Outfitters. For the band and audience alike, Greta Van Fleet is nothing more than cosplay of the highest order.

This kind of well-manicured production, when paired with a series of songs focused on internal journeys, ultimately has a lulling effect. There is a pulse, but it's soft and turned electronic. There is emotion, but it's been intentionally encased in a digital cocoon, one that flattens the group's bold accents (such as an embrace of vocoders) and turns Delta into soft, shimmering background music, ideal for any soothing setting you'd like.

This Is My Dinner isn't a radical departure from the albums Kozelek has been pumping out since Benji, but it's clear evidence of how tedious and self-indulgent his style has become.