Votolato's clear eyed honesty about what seems to be a crumbling long-term relationship as reflected in often nature inspired lyrics, is thought provoking, melancholy, remarkably personal and ultimately revealing of sober truths many have felt in the same situation.

Keith's plenty good enough and smart enough to do a lot more than ably cover the bases on his annual albums whenever he wants to.

Songs with poetic yet plainspoken lyrics about found love and lost souls twist in unusual directions and often take a while to absorb. But repeated spins are rewarded with sharply realized words atop melodies that, like most of the gems in his catalog of eight solo albums (along with work in the previously mentioned bands), entice you back for more.

It’s the textured restraint on rockers like the closing “DDT,” which unexpectedly changing tempos mid-track, that shows the group’s maturation in their performance and songwriting chops. It indicates a leap forward in the Banditos’ artistic evolution and the potential to expand their sound even further in the future.

The performances themselves are well-arranged and played in virtually all aspects, although as a full listening experience, it gets a bit repetitive by album’s end, even at a scant 45 minutes.

Those who wanted a well-rounded musical summation of Russell’s oeuvre instead of this highly stylized set of romantic musings might be disappointed, but this is the album he wanted to leave as his legacy. As such, it’s a significant, often impressive work from one of rock and roll’s true icons who has chosen a unique and, to many, surprisingly starry-eyed way to say goodbye.

Recording in his Glasgow hometown helps provide a vibrant, unhurried enthusiasm that’s contagious. Each track is enhanced with guests periodically contributing horns, woodwinds, strings, and even French horns and glockenspiels.

As far as this legendary foursome's new offering, Content, is concerned, well, at least they're not simply cruising on the laurels of their formidable back catalog, and to be fair, Content is no worse than other recent comeback albums by fellow post-punkers Mission of Burma, The Buzzcocks, and Wire.

Regardless of the eclectic nature of these albums and their often subpar material, George Harrison deserves the elaborate treatment he gets here which makes this a worthwhile addition to any Beatle lovers’ bulging collection, even if they may not play much of it all that often.

Though Title Fight may have accomplished what they wanted to achieve on Hyperview, it seems the group is still searching for that ideal combination of aggression and peace.

The album’s first five songs are dire and depressing—somber, sobering, dark, and downcast. ... It remains to be seen if his audiences will want to sing along in order to maintain Mellencamp’s misery.

The singer’s grainy, everyman voice works beautifully with this often sorrowful material, making it believable and potent.

After a few spins, some melodies seem a little less meandering. That’s part of the charm for this predominantly acoustic indie folk that feels as honest and truthful as it sounds.

Despite the distinct musical talents involved, Together is surprisingly as its name suggests--cohesive.

Though he’s reportedly less than eager to release a ballad, some of the best moments of I’m a Fire are “Burnin’ Bed,” written by powerhouse Brandy Clark and Shane McAnally, that boasts a beautiful, progressive chorus and “The Secret,” that deals in death, infidelity and hidden love.

At times, Amore sounds like a modern Goth-rock romantic tragedy, full of heartbreak and despair, but the pain Atkins expresses in her lyrics ultimately results in the album's most pleasurable moments.

The production (also by Linden), audio mix, playing, and songwriting capture the shared spirit of the trio who have seldom sounded better.

Nothing takes the place of Muddy’s performances with their emotional intensity and mind blowing musicality. But this heartfelt project makes a terrific reminder of just how great these songs are, unearths interesting, seldom heard Muddy sides even fans might not know and works as both a tribute to the legendary blues man and an impetus to go back and experience the originals.

Listeners with liberal tastes and open ears will find enough quality music here to satisfy them for as long as it takes to plow through and absorb it all, which could be a while. Those new to the band will likely find their head spinning too quickly to grasp it all. But no one will complain it’s boring.

Few artists have the financial means or artistic vision to pull off a thunderous production like this which is impressive in its scope and sheer booming audio audacity. Van Zandt doesn’t have the best voice (his attempt to croon a ballad on “Suddenly You” is almost comedic), but he generally puts across the material in a sort of sub-Southside Johnny howl.

These days, a classic croons are cool again. Witness the 90-something year old Tony Bennett or the ongoing admiration for Sinatra, Bobby Darin and others that share that seemingly romantic repast. In that regard, This Dream of You offers comforts you can count on.

Bella is a flat-out stunner, the work of a completely original songwriter and performer, and one of the young year's most startlingly eclectic and thoroughly fascinating albums.

On Alexander, Ebert proves he's just as capable on his own as he is sharing a stage with nine other musicians.

The album also has its share of upbeat songs--pop-rock flavored numbers powered by bright guitar and vocal hooks that have plenty to offer radio, but considerably less to sink your teeth into upon sustained listening.

With the buzz silenced and the rag headlines but a thing of the past, it’s encouraging to see that The Libertines have lost none of what made them worth the hype in the first place.

Offering up a populist mix of original compositions, covers of cowboy classics and contemporary songs in equal measure. This frequently ends up frustrating.

As sole songwriter, singer and co-producer, Whitely is astonishingly mature for her first album, but assistance from keyboardist Thomas Bartlett whose piano is featured on many of the soaring ballads that dominate the set brings depth and intensity.

There is certainly craftsmanship behind the songwriting here, but it lacks the sweep that the strings would bring to the classic hits.

There isn’t much in the way of surprises on The Happiness Waltz, though that’s no knock against Rouse; a songwriter of his caliber need not reinvent himself to create something rewarding.

For the half hour that this beautifully oddball symphony persists, it's hard to determine where anything begins or ends--a track, an instrument, Davison's voice, or the music itself. And that's a good thing.

He hasn’t run from success as much as escaped its grip to release music that’s honest, raw and comes straight from the heart.

At times, the sudden shifts are rather dizzying.

At just over 35 minutes (a “deluxe” version adds three live tunes) a few extra songs would be welcome. But this is a worthy successor to 2013’s terrific debut from these veterans and hopefully won’t be the last.

He’s clearly infatuated with this raw sound and, like the Stones, at this late stage in his career, isn’t concerned with moving units or getting radio play. All of which speaks to the honesty and love of blues exuding from every track on this heartfelt tribute to the music that has always inspired Billy Gibbons’ best work.

As with most feature-heavy albums, some of the duets fall flat....Still, there is some real magic to be had on Mean Old Man.

Ronnie Dunn is an admirable solo effort and is as rock-solid as any Brooks & Dunn album, which should appease old and new fans alike.

While previous efforts seemed a bit unfocused and disseminated, Blown Away is more thematic and unified, resulting in Underwood's strongest effort to date, which easily leaves her previous releases twisting in the wind.

There are echoes of Bjork (a major influence), Depeche Mode and the earlier, more melodramatic tendencies of the Cure. While that references the older aspects of Wayman’s music, there’s also an enduring, durable and somewhat ageless vibe that keeps this from feeling retro.

All in all, the album feels like the slightest bit bloodless, the older, wiser Lerche a little less than the yearning teenager we once knew.

World Peace is an album that rewards patience, and the deeper one goes into it, the more fun there is to be had.

The energy level Soundgarden maintains is certainly admirable for a band whose members are all hovering around 50 years old, but this fairly narrow focus on capital-R Rock songs and little of anything else results in a homogeneity that keeps it from offering the level of depth or surprises that the band's previous albums held.

Despite two new numbers near the end of this album, New Blood feels, despite it's occasional avant-garde touches, like another holding pattern from an artist who has not been particularly prolific since his 80s commercial heyday.

Smith's candor in this collection of hard-won songs is admirable.

Golden Suits’ debut brims with great ingredients, but leaves us more excited about Nicolaus’ next effort.

This is challenging Americana that never takes its audience, or its influences, for granted.

Touches of Celtic, jazz, country and folk, but seldom rock, inform these lovely tunes that take their time as if on a leisurely stroll.

The result is this consistently enjoyable, often terrific, frequently challenging 11 track, 51-minute aural rocket ship exploration quite rightly tagged “delirium” by its duo of frontmen.

Blackberry Smoke continues to deliver with the assurance and dependability that their fans have come to expect. At this point, their chief priority seems centered on maintaining their dixie designs.

It’s little surprise that Hearst and Trent have taken this edgy approach given the dread and despair heaped on the world over the course of the past two years. With Manticore, they attempt to make some sense of it all.

Not surprisingly, these Orwellian soundscapes don’t make for a particularly easy listen. ... It’s that collusion between sonics and strife that makes The Invisible Light radiate so remarkably.

Lovett sounds so tired on all of these songs. All those years with Curb weigh heavily on him, which makes Release Me less of a triumphant good-bye and more of an unceremonious shuffle out the door.

This is unquestionably slow going and perhaps best taken in smaller doses, but it’s ultimately rewarding for those willing to take advice from a guy whose darkness and internal demons have remained key components to his emotionally naked creativity.

Intriguing and introspective, The Man Upstairs warrants considerable praise.

While there isn’t a strict cohesion tying the record’s ten tunes together sonically, an attempted theme would likely have distracted Maines in the effort to spread her wings and show off a bit. Offering up a stylistic sampler provides a portrait of an accomplished artist setting out on her own.

Some performers are more impressive on CD where their on-stage antics aren’t visible (we’re talking to you “Weird Al”) but the dedication to, and love for, Harrison’s music is infused in every track. That makes this a fitting testament to his music, a thoroughly enjoyable experience (in either its video or audio forms), and a splendid, at times superior, companion piece to its well-regarded predecessor.

[A] well meaning but ultimately disappointing release.

It’s a feeling of abject determination that makes this album different from many of Folds’ earlier endeavors, and, as a result, a somewhat more earnest offering as well. In that sense, What Matters Most reflects all its name intends to claim.

They’ve created the rare sort of album that manages to be both familiar and disorienting at the same time, an expansively cinematic experience that remains unpretentiously grounded.

Built to Spill Plays the Songs of Daniel Johnston manages to do what most tribute albums aspire to, but few achieve — it stands as a testament to the songs and to the band reimagining them. Martsch spotlights Johnston’s lyrics and arrangements in a fresh, innovative way that makes us reconsider these songs while reminding us why we fell in love with them in the first place.

This is a solid album that will make fans happy without an instant classic like "Waiting For The Sun" or "Blue."

Doja Cat is just what the world needs today. A sharp knife to cut through the blizzard of sounds and styles out there. But at the same time a fiery party, something you can witness from the solar system. With the blazing soundtrack to accompany it.

Where You Stand is a welcome, beautifully crafted and timeless return.

Long Player, Late Bloomer is a record certainly worthy of being played for a long, long time to come.

Besides the band's signature quirky lyrics, Join Us also retains its well-known staccato guitar and keyboard interplay as well as a tendency for crazy-quilt arrangements.

The songs never sink to the downbeat morass of its socio-economic subject matter. On the contrary his voice, somewhat like John Lennon's, is boyishly refreshing even when the music is as stark.

The stories are typically droll, but the accompaniment is solid, sturdy, old school country played by veterans who know how to keep things tight yet loose.

Even with its abbreviated length, there is plenty to chew on, both sonically and conceptually. The 60-year-old Farrell sounds inspired and as edgy as 30 some years ago.

Now, 47 years after his passing, music Hendrix never authorized is available, warts and all, in a package that, for all of its captivating moments, still exudes the faint yet noxious whiff of wringing every last dollar from his dedicated fan base.

No one expects sing-along, hit single material from the edgy, thought-provoking Heap, but this seems excessively random.

At this stage, you’re either a fan or have decided to leave these pumpkins squashed on the porch of rock history. For those in the former category, this is Billy Corgan at his most playful and, well, enjoyable.

He sounds completely rejuvenated here. It makes Modern Blues one of his most compelling releases and a potent example of how a change of scenery can unexpectedly yet effectively revitalize a career.

Former Lives rolls along with solidly steady results, but there aren't too many songs that stand out.

Rather, at 72, Jeff Beck continues to push the envelope and stays as edgy and restless as those less than half his age.

Eight tracks straight of gut-punching, emotive arena rock can be exhausting--especially when it leans so heavily on emo aesthetics.

All Birds Say plays like some east coast indie darling took his acoustic guitar out into the great west, met a kindred soul with a steel guitar and shared a few sweet and unambitious thoughts on life. Broemel chooses his instruments well, and if the album never raises its voice, with a consistency in tempo that approaches droning, it's still a pretty haze.

The music is charismatic and chaotic, full of shouts, clanging and bright guitars--listen to it with your eyes closed and you'll see everything short of sparkling blue stars.

A handful of high profile ringers (Beck, Beth Orton, the Cure's Robert Smith, Phil Collins, Snow Patrol) join less recognizable names interpreting Martyn songs in versions that will hopefully encourage listeners unfamiliar with his work to seek out his bulging catalog of inspired originals.

Modern Art stands as one of Sweet's most mature works, displaying his unique gifts as a songwriter and musician.

Don't let this sweet, fiery gem slip away.

There isn't much break from the gravitas throughout these dozen character driven, often lyrically obtuse songs, almost all of them sung from the first person perspective.

It may be startling news to fans who expected something more raw, more twangy or more of the same, but in this case, the startling news is that the new Tristen is startling good.

The Stray Cats remain a well-oiled machine, as super charged in 2019 as they were 40 years earlier. If this is their final road rally, they’re going out in style.

A lovely, emotionally poignant album that moves Durant’s music far ahead of her somewhat gauzy, even reticent debut and into far more accessible waters.

With Beneath The Eyrie, Pixies have finally found a new stride, releasing a solid effort that can breathe easily on its own.

He’s a rocker with a folksinger’s soul, or perhaps a folkie with a rocker’s spirit. In either case, both sides are well represented over the course of these 15 tracks that prove Jesse Malin’s creativity is alive and well.

The original songs here are, perhaps surprisingly, stronger than the parodies, and Yankovich shines brightest when he is just being funny without a direct target.

As much as this album sounds like a final chapter, a loose-end knotting affair designed as a summary statement, there are no subplots left unresolved.

By design, Mechanical Bull was made for fun, and in that spirit, they succeeded.

The duo has a knack for affecting turns of phrases such as that, which helps offset the lack of finite details to ground the songs on Monterey.

It may not be her finest set, but it captures the light/dark spirit that informed Crow’s best music and is a worthy addition to an already impressive catalog.

What she’s come up with isn’t always completely successful, but it keeps you wanting more.

Few acts inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, as Cheap Trick deservedly was in 2016, are cranking out music as fresh, honest, energized and explosive as these guys have released in the past two years.

This analog affair sounds cinematic even without the visuals.

Bingham made a challenging record, opted to go the Bad Blake route instead of going down in a blaze of ponytails and designer jeans, and that ensures his relevance for years to come.

Twelve members and five records in and the Dears have made their best album yet -– Degeneration Street is one of the rock albums to live up to in 2011.

All That Echoes is not only Groban’s most accessible and unified work to date, but it also stands out as the seminal musical moment of his 12-year career.

These are not recognizable as songs in the traditional sense; there aren’t choruses, verses and bridges, or really much structure. Rather they are pieces, seemingly of a theatrical play for the ears, where Burnett waxes poetic and philosophical on a variety of disturbing topics.

Stills’ vocal limitations, brought on through age and hearing loss, are well known by now. But in this looser environment they are almost an asset as he spits out lyrics with joyful abandon.