At its worst, the effect is soporific, but if you're looking for a comforting, cushiony soundscape, Cala is good company. It's when Regan opts for crisper, more invigorated sounds, though, that the album really shines.

The stuffed effort could be Lil Baby's attempt to showcase his growth. But one mark of artistic maturity is exercising restraint — less is often more.

The result is a fine record, but one that ultimately fails to leave a mark.

Despite their proficiency, the Messthetics' individual talents don't entirely gel as an ensemble yet. Their debut is flashy, but it won't bring them out of the shadow of Canty and Lally's more famous projects.

Rival Sons are a great band with a great sound; the only thing they're guilty of is doing what they do really well, but then exhausting it over and over again.

While these eight tracks rarely involve an epiphany either narratively or musically, their anecdotal nature is a reminder that not every story has an ending, and that the memories that stick with us are often the ones we don't fully understand.

On Electric Lines, Joe Goddard shoots for something eclectic and exciting, but settles for something sporadically enjoyable at best.

The record packs familiar Function trademarks--industrial themes, hissing white noise, acid loops and retro rhythms--but the ideas fall short of reinvigorating the legacy established after Sandwell Disctrict's full-length, Feed Forward, landed in 2010.

Although Simian Mobile Disco have the ability to give each track its own distinct personality, Live is a mere curiosity for even the most refined technocrats.

What we get on Psychedelic Pill are stream-of-consciousness attempts ("Driftin' Back"), along with musings on the grim reality of old age ("Ramada Inn") and the regrets that come with it ("Walk Like A Giant").

Eight months on, Unknown Mortal Orchestra return with Blue Record, a chilled acoustic EP that grooves down and quietly electrifies.

The influence of R&B is like a silky-smooth cloud over the proceedings, raining drops of liquid gold that permeate the music. Those looking for the energy of Da Trak Genius might be disappointed by the polish, but true footwork junkies will find shining moments worth drooling over

Not enough to likely attain crossover appeal, but definitely hitting a sweet and soulful spot, Alice isn't Adele, but she doesn't aspire to be.

On Generation RX, Good Charlotte regain their connection with the Youth they claimed to be an Authority on by speaking to them, not at them. Funnily enough, focusing on darkness and dealing with it has provided them with a light to chase and pushed the gleam at the end of their tunnel farther into the distance.

By the end of the project, Quavo Huncho begins to feel more like a mixtape, with Quavo popping out to add a few unenergetic verses and repetitive adlibs rather than a strong solo debut. Quavo Huncho's individual features provide more of a draw than every solo track combined, proving that Quavo still needs some time to grow and develop as a solo artist.

Romance still relies on a structure that is becoming increasingly irrelevant, which ultimately overshadows many of the album's redeemable moments.

Oak Island has a deftness that makes it hard to resist, but some songs disappear under the weight of everything that's transpiring.

While El Pintor is no Turn on the Bright Lights or Antics, the record finds Interpol climbing out of their mediocre rut, slowly but surely.

The End of That has more outstanding moments than La La Land, but whether those highlights are enough to neutralize Plants and Animals' weakness for occasionally derivative kitsch depends on how much their fans are willing to overlook.

There's a handful of above-average tunes here, and an earnestness that suggests Harry Styles will have a fruitful solo career.

The results sound predictably off-the-cuff, and several tracks like "Jaw Dropper" and "I've Got Money On My Mind" sound like little more than microphone level checks. But when Williams decides to say something meaningful, as on "Dirt," "A Good Day To Feel Bad" and the title track, his sage-like delivery is as devastating as ever.

All A Man Should Do is the band's first album in three years and could do with more of the tenacity that has made them crowd favourites, and less of the self-pity.

The star power of the record's guests overshadows the album's best moments.

Much of the record plays like a series of short acoustic interludes: pretty, at times insightful, but evanescent more often than not.

We can say that the real Slim Shady does show up and prove himself on a handful of Revival's songs, but many of the more 'noteworthy' moments are buried under a mountain of contradictions and cringe-worthy attempts at shock value.

While the artistry is evident in his picks, Moodymann's execution here could've use a more deft hand.

While Ghost on Ghost is outstanding in places, it's too uneven to hold up to Beam's best work.

United by Madlib's crackly, jazzy samples, messy scratched hooks and bizarre sense of humour, Yessir Whatever is a gleeful trip down the rabbit hole of psychedelic rap.

Dealing with Demons I has its moments, but the music is ultimately plagued by the inescapable realization that DevilDriver are better as a band than as Dez Fafara and company.

All the Ways You Let me Down is a charming record with plenty to like, just not enough to love.

Unmistakeably, each track encapsulates the old and new in Wire's musical history.

Two years of touring has allowed DZ Deathrays to realize their capabilities as songwriters and with Black Rat, it's clear they've got their sights set on bigger and stranger things.

This is well worth having for fans that have worn out Mare or Terra, despite the fact that the immersive, soothing qualities that balanced the angularity on his previous releases have been ditched in favour of often shrill, jarring timbres.

On the very next track, "Weapons," the production becomes quieter and dreamier, losing the noisiness and dirtiness that made Dälek so appealing in the first place. This continues throughout most of the album, which exchanges the sharpness of Absence for the gentle breeze of a drone record. If the group increased the focus on MC Dalek's rapping as a trade-off that would be fair, yet for most of the record his vocals are given an oddly low priority in the mix.

Next Thing is more likeable than moving, neither as intimate as her strongest bedroom recordings nor as revelatory as Zentropy.

Glover is clearly better than he's ever been in almost every regard; his rapping, singing and everything in between feel refined to a point they never have. The issue is that, without the movie, there's no connective tissue between these songs, as great as the majority are. For now, Bando Stone & the New World exists as a collection of songs that are mostly great, but lack any real sense of cohesion between them.

The confident strut and orchestral accents of "Poisonous Shadows" are somewhat cheapened by ill-advised whispered backing vocals, and the songwriting bottoms out in a handful of places. Still, it's miles ahead of their rather forgettable last album, and there's still enough here for fans to celebrate Megadeth getting back on track and starting a new chapter in the band's storied career.

There's some really great songwriting on the album and a handful of tracks worth adding to your daily rotation, but it viciously grabs your attention without being able to hold onto it for very long.

The record's first two-thirds are very well-paced, from bashfully stoned ballads to instrumental to extended Floydian romp. It makes it all the stranger to see the album fall apart toward the end, where indistinct sanguine ballads are sent to die.

We All Want the Same Things won't quench the casual fan's thirst for new drunken bar rock anthems, but for those willing to listen a bit more closely (and quietly), Finn's solo work still provides some stories worth hearing.

A touch of '80s-style production, including occasional saxophone-as-emotional-beat, at times threatens to nudge things into a satirical mash-up of Dire Straits/Bruce Hornsby hits, but they ride the right side of that precipice.

He sets ideas down, leaves them to move about, interact and then finally imposes his considerable intuition for the dance floor to form a convincing sonic drama.

Smalhans is an enjoyable listen, though it's creatively limited when compared to Lindstrøm's previous work, not providing much more to the listener than a feel-good album.

Though billed as a Mr. Tophat project first and foremost, Trust Me is ultimately weighed down by his collaborator's past triumphs. Though they are no doubt killer floor-fillers, outside the club, these three songs can't quite hold listeners' attention.

Though unlikely to win legions of new fans, this is another impeccably crafted psychedelic rock record sure to please fans of the genre.

Lysandre, while far from being reviled, received only a moderately positive response, one that was tainted with apprehension and frustration at its lack of ambition. A New Testament is even less ambitious, yet still enjoyable.

The record is, ahem, a solid debut that should provide a jumping off point for something great next time ou

There is also a vibrato-drenched version of "Moon River" that seems more of an afterthought than a statement, but even that hangs in the air quite well. There is some pretty astonishing virtuosity as well as clear thought, and that's what sets this record and Orcutt apart from the excesses of technique. The man makes music as well as notes.

Although decidedly a step up from their last effort, the sloppy and forgetful Sidewalks, Lightning still finds the duo stuck in the same routine.

Where their last record, Black Masses, sped, this record swings.

The sense that this project comes from a place of honesty and respect is clear. Unfortunately, as ever, [Jamie Stewart's] voice remains the double-edged sword that cuts the enjoyment of his work in either a "love it" or "hate it" direction.

Carved into Stone is a bit hard to warm up to, but it finds the band reaching out and, in doing so, writing their catchiest material since they snapped our fingers and necks so many moons ago.

It's a shame to find Grizzly Bear spinning their wheels.

It certainly sounds diminutive in scope after the triumph of Iteration, and, despite the new gear, there's not much that sounds especially new or exciting here, just the usual Com Truise stuff in a slightly reduced register.

Wall of Eyes is an album of background music, a cinematic compilation that feels like a collection of songs that just weren’t good enough to be on its predecessor. It’s too jammy, too undercooked, too unedited — an overextended comedown without the requisite high.

While Wale remains fairly proficient throughout, that clever, memorable wordplay of old is what's most notably absent from this session, and that's a shame.

Too often, they rely on imitation of their influences, rather than pushing the genre forward in a compelling way.

Essentially a pared down version of last year's singles box set--minus the singles, of course, and with a couple of additional tracks--it brings together acoustic takes on old favourites, a handful of covers and a muddy live cut.

DAMN. is the first time in Lamar's career that he hasn't broken new ground, explored old themes in new ways or exhibited sonic growth.

With a lazy pace and slightly detached vocals from Standish, these eight tracks seem to sway like strips of bleached cloth hanging in a light breeze.

The songs are engaging and incredibly catchy, but lack emotion ― that intangible quality that will take this feel-good record and give it staying power.

Forced Witness is perhaps too heavily grounded in the sounds of the decade [early '80s], to the point that a "heard it before" spectre hangs over the album.

The short, sweet The Way packs enough pop-tinged punk energy and emotion to satisfy Buzzcocks faithful, at least.

"Black Health," "Sober-delic," "Edgar the Elephant" and "Cardboa Negro" are the most compelling tracks, showcasing a midtempo churn where McDonald's rock'n'roll pedigree really shines. ... Despite the presence of these successes, Death still sounds like a band treading water.

The songs on Cutouts feel jammy and jazzy, and while the trio are of course experts at their craft, the instrumentation tends to meander.

Gallery falls short of living up to what Idle Labor promised, feeling more like a case of the leftovers.

The lesson should be that there are some great songs buried beneath all the studio trickery, and focusing on that would serve Dr. Dog much better next time out.

These songs feel ripped from sets you'll most likely never see, as the technical skill of Villalobos conspicuously reminds the listener of the less boring record it could have been.

There's more of the same on Dormarion, the singing drummer's reliably affable third album for Merge, which has a little something for everyone, but stops short of total engagement, like a slightly too tipsy party host.

Bringing in a slew of analog instruments, mostly to give each track its own disposition, Lissvik pulls together swinging piano, shuffling guitar, drums and loads of modular synth lines, and though he does a great job of keeping the album instrumentally diverse, he falls into the same textural and spatial avenues throughout much of the album.

The production is on point and the rhyme patterns are above average, but there's a distinct lack of cohesion.

While the band's earlier material sounded lo-fi out of necessity, Underneath the Rainbow disappoints due to its inauthentic attempt at sounding like an album recorded long before its time.

"Big Bank" and "Today" are two of a handful of songs plagued by lazy flows and bars, the former rife with braggadocio duds like "I be on that Little Caesar's shit, hot and ready." Still, Black's raw pen game and unabashed authenticity show promise; he just needs to heed his own words.

It's all good, but none of it is great. Still, if this is merely the first taste of an eventual vault series of releases from Townes Van Zandt's musical archive, it's more than enough to make us hunger for more.

This sophomore effort builds off her debut, but loses the plot in a mass of electronic blackness and vague grievances.

They would have been wiser to trim more of the fat from the 12-track, two disc affair. In comparison to Death Magnetic's thrash-first approach, Hardwired features more mid-tempo material reminiscent of the band's divisive Load/Reload years, which bogs down the record's second disc in particular.

Diarrhea Planet's self-indulgence and cheesy grandiosity might be less appealing if it wasn't so tongue-in-cheek--that's a huge advantage of being a band that doesn't take itself all that seriously. It also makes Turn to Gold a boisterous and joyful affair. But reaching these new levels of gaudiness, they risk being written off as a gimmick

The band has framed Get Hurt as a shift in its Springsteen-meets-Replacements sound, but they're overselling things a tad: only a couple of songs, like the title track, truly feel all that different from their last couple of records.

Analog Fluids of Sonic Black Holes does not always work, but in the moments where it does, it is bound to sit in your stomach for a long time.

Taken as a bit of a lark, Skye's I<3UQTINVU exists as a bag of mostly disposable — but exciting! — what ifs. Without the grounded warmth of Ellery's songwriting, the album has the perhaps unintended effect of sending us back to the originals to appreciate the duo's more controlled creative alchemy.

Overall, this is an album that blends choral and electronic to create something that amounts to little more than unobtrusive background music. It lacks both the cultural depth of world music and the dynamic disco beats of their earlier offerings.

Big Box of Chocolates, like its name suggests, can favour quantity over quality and a mix of good and not so good, but if you take it as it is--an easy-going record made by '70s rock enthusiasts--it packs enough good vibes to keep you listening.

Richard remains a testament to boundary-pushing, genre bending and expectation-shattering art, though Second Line's tempered grandiosity ultimately leaves her ambition underserved.

The songs, although well assembled, lack the edge that the band is known for, which could be hazardous.

The drums are unquestionably positioned as the star and as a result, Harmonic feels much more like a jam session crossed with a vanity project than a genuine album.

DROGAS Light isn't quite memorable, but Lupe's talent shines enough to save it from total obscurity. Not a bad effort, though.

It's more fun than 2010's Darkly, Darkly, Venus Aversa, but with a slightly less lurid and lingering "oomph" than classic Cradle of Filth.

As convincing as Liam Gallagher is when he audaciously boasts that he's "got the Midas touch" early on in the album, As You Were doesn't ever quite turn to gold.

In some ways, it feels like a more subdued, mostly instrumental version of Mess, one where they cycle through moods and shift textures but rarely heighten them beyond their initial parameters. Still: setting mood has always been one of Liars' strengths, even if 1/1 feels more like a curio than an essential part of the canon.

Ab-Soul is more successful when he mines his own sorrow.

Rather than offering a bold new step in Reznor's long, winding career, Not the Actual Events feels more like tentative first steps towards something bigger.

The vocal delivery throughout (care of guitarist Woody Weatherman and bassist Mike Dean) is pretty weak, especially compared to Pepper's attention-commanding style, and that, combined with a somewhat jarring mix of fast punk, smothering, Sabbath-ian metal and good-ol'-boy Southern rock, just whets the appetite for the return of Pepper and the big rock.

It may take Butler a few more albums (he has promised in interviews to continue writing and recording as a solo artist for years to come) to carve out his own identity from the monolithic entity he's a part of, but there are plenty of plausible ideas on Policy for Butler to continue exploring.

CLB is a serviceable enough Drake album, but he has a number of prior projects that showcase his dynamic rap abilities and frenemy quarrels at a much higher calibre.

Unsurprisingly, the tracks that feature Redway's voice chopped and sampled and without straight lyrics, "Beseech" and "Extract," are the most satisfying ones on the album. These two tracks point to the duo's real potential.

Drank is an interesting take for fans to indulge in, but not an album you're likely to take any inspiration from, given its lack of real exploration.

For Professional Use Only's long run time and failure to effectively sequence and transition between instrumentals for a more cohesive experience hamper its impact on the casual listener.

Ultimately, beatmaker Tommy "TBHits" Brown outshines the veterans, co-producing two of the record's more engaging tracks--"Better Off" and "Goodnight n Go"--which are inexplicably relegated to the end of the record. Those songs manage to accomplish what the rest of the album attempts: bringing a new fire to pop-R&B's familiar formulas.