With its gentle, unwaveringly steady, never-changing tone and rhythm, it demands work on the part of the listener. [Jun 2021, p.79]

The first half of the album is a collection of unfiltered, no-frills hardcore. ... A pitch shift in the middle demonstrates just how much more there is going on here. [Sep 2021, p.77]

Biffy fan or not, there is much to enjoy on this album, such as the thundering North Of No South and the snap of Tiny Indoor Fireworks. But it’s the lingering beautiful sadness of songs like Space and Opaque that really stays with you.

A gentle watercolour portrait of the artist as a young man.

The post-hardcore foundations are here, complete with drama-fuelled, singalong choruses, but what The Used have built upon them opens up a new world of creative opportunities for them.

There are slower, less effectual burners as well, but there’s a raw authority not seen in his last couple of records; something that reinstates him as a gutsy rocker of flesh and bone, not just a virtuoso show pony.

Unlikely to win any new fans, then, but this richly textured mix of soft-focused funk, soul, jazz and R&B will delight those in thrall to an artist not so much laid back as horizontal. [May 2013, p.88]

The good news for casual listeners, though, is that the music works as a standalone experience. [Jun 2022, p.82]

Offering no major reinvention. That said, it kicks harder than a mule in lead boots. [Summer 2025, p.82]

Retro rock with rage and aspiration. Follow that, Astley.

To Turn You On and The Ghost In You sound uncannily like Nick Drake gone glam, but it works. [Sep 2014, p.94]

On a record full of sprawling, guitar solos, textural acoustics and steady drums, J Mascis's plaintive howl of a vocal tops off everything, adding one more layer of poignancy. [Mar 2024, p.81]

Unique and, indeed, endlessly fantastic, this album is the work of a man committed to his own vision, both for his music and for the troubled and broken world around him.

Inspired song choices, delivered with real passion. [Mar 2026, p.78]

Recorded just weeks after Barre’s arrival, the album shows Tull still clinging to a blues root although reaching for something entirely new.

Big Bad Beautiful Noise is their first album in four or so years, and it’s their best and most consistent since 1988’s seminal Birth School Work Death.

An entirely charming collection of bilingual Europhile duets. [Summer 2023, p.79]

Sun Racket is a worthy addition to a formidable canon. [Sep 2020, p.86]

A treat for the kind of sensitive souls who remember how good emo was before it mutated into the eyeliner-and-skinny-jeans brigade. [Mar 2019, p.89]

At just 39 minutes, they've packed so much into this entirely mad record, you'll be left happily exhausted by the end of it. [May 2015, p.103]

Old ground, yes, but viewed through bright, fresh eyes. You want the real vintage rock’n’soul deal? Look this way, and then make sure you catch them live.

Shiny Happy People still feels like an irritant, while the Turtles-y Near Wild Heaven is pleasant at best. By contrast, the muted baroque of Low and the anguished beauty that seeps from the heart of Country Feedback--so intense in the live arena that Michael Stipe often sang it on his knees, with his back to the audience--are classic examples of the band at their moody, mysterious best.

As first albums go, Honora is a risky play, but it's one that just about manages to pay off. [May 2026, p.75]

You want depth, originality, surprises? Look elsewhere. But as the rock equivalent of comfort food, they don’t disappoint.

Taylor hasn’t reinvented the wheel here, but he has reinvented himself.

This album is a pleasant listening experience, if not quite earth-shattering. [May 2026, p.77]

This time around, the woozy, comforting psychedelia of old remains, the songs trickling into one another, sleepy synths sighing, purring and pulsating. But Eternally Even comes with the biggest serving of soul he’s cooked up yet, sexy basslines sizzling even as he looks death in the face for We Ain’t Getting Any Younger Parts 1 and 2.

hile its takes on classic swing, psych country and postpunk pop are understandably fragile and lacking wallop--an inevitable consequence of age and getting your kids in your backing band--How The West Was Won is shot through with a wonderfully wry reinvigoration.