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.

Though it's only a lean 40-minutes long, Harverd Dropout feels like it lasts forever, losing its shine quickly as Pump runs in place, futilely reaching for the personality that made him a star.

Juice WRLD is wrecked, angry, and using drugs to cope, and even though his appeals come through at times, much of Death Race for Love transforms the listener into the shoulder that Juice WRLD is crying on.

Lavelle's trading on past glory and continued sifting through fallout can be wearisome, but his high level of enthusiasm can be sensed throughout.

An hour-long LP with little joy or even relief, one that is nearly static in energy level despite a carousel of producers.

Guest spots by Young Thug and the Weeknd inject some much-needed personality into Bad Habits, but it's not enough to save the album from its own blandness.

She retreads just about every move she has made before, even though the crop of new fellow songwriters and producers almost outnumbers the familiar likes of Ester Dean, Pierre Medor, Christopher "Tricky" Stewart, Rodney Jerkins, Jasper Cameron, and Theron Thomas.

The most surprising thing about SHE IS COMING is how detached she sounds on it.

It might not be a coincidence that the most emotive and well-defined songs are collaborations. "Needed" (Dan Wilson), "Patience" (Ólafur Arnalds), and "Save Me" (Doveman) are also the standouts on this abbreviated set, which feels almost as secondary as Blood Remixed.

A secondary release in execution and intent, this is recommendable only to serious fans with a justifiably insatiable curiosity for what the artist creates.

It's clear after four albums that the best Bon Iver is the one that manages to keep the arrangements in check and doesn't swing for the fences. I,I takes many mighty swings and at best knocks out a few infield hits, while striking out far too often.

All the songs aim for intense, tormented statements and end up being about nothing. In this way, ! is more numbing than visceral. After it's done, it's hard to remember anything that was worth latching onto.

While it was unfinished and framed in '80s studio tropes, their attempt to complete it with modern charts and muddy, hip-hop-styled mix weighs down what remains of the original proceedings.

Even solid instrumentals begin to blur before the halfway point arrives, and the monotonous wash of mediocre content and phoned-in performances becomes exhausting long before the collection ends.

While newer production tricks add some kick to DaBaby's formula, stagnant lyrics and monotonous flows present him as an artist unwilling to change; swamped by slushy imitations of his best work, the gems on Kirk aren't given the platform to shine.

While the band sometimes flirts with modern sounds -- witness the overheated neo-new wave beats fueling "High Steppin'" -- they usually default to an affectless folk-rock that shows a considerable debt to Bob Dylan.

The music sometimes coheres on an individual track level, but Screamer pushes buttons too hard. All of its strident hooks and big beat confrontation wind up being exhausting: it sounds like a band screaming at you to pay attention for the better part of a half hour.

At times, Le Bon and Cox hit on something entertaining or interesting, but it's far from essential work from two of the best songwriters of their era.

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.

Choruses, riffs and harmonies sound familiar because they're cribbed straight from some of the Replacements' best-known songs. The genuine sweetness and naivete that made this bald-faced theft more forgivable on earlier albums is harder to find here, leaving songs that are catchy enough but ultimately feel like hollow impersonations of someone else's work.

Cobbled together in the style of a compilation rather than a cohesive album, it's a wonky, slightly disappointing collection that provides diamonds and duds in equal measure.

Theory of a Deadman (or just Theory, or TOAD) have never tried to disguise their commercial aspirations, which is probably why they continue to peddle platinum-selling wares, but the polish-to-passion ratio here feels way, way off.

Maybe broken into a series of singles or a couple of EPs it would have been more palatable, but in this form it's just too samey and underwhelming to make much of an impression

There is some good material here and they've certainly taken their reunion record somewhere unexpected, but as a whole, Citizens is a bit of an inconsistent mess.

The Garden are definitely not for everyone and the Shearses' talent for disguising their actual talent behind pranky hipster exercises can be irritating, but repeated listens reveal more craft than they'd probably like to let on.

Blame It on Baby is pretty evenly divided between strong songs and duds.

Too close to the original to be a worthy reinvention, and too flawed in execution to feel like a successful homage, although this will almost certainly remain the only Elvis tribute album to include a sample from Aleister Crowley, at least until Jimmy Page gets around to making one.

Neither country nor Americana, Peck is a hip outsider who is now rubbing shoulders with the anodyne likes of Thomas Rhett, Morgan Wallen, Blanco Brown, and the Jonas Brothers, a group that makes for a passable enough half hour of entertainment but collectively don't add up to a cohesive or surprising country-pop aesthetic from Diplo.