Despite poor production choices and lazy song structures, Pop Smoke's energy and solo spurts of brilliance won't allow for this stale posthumous release to tarnish his legacy.

This compilation feels totally unnecessary and impersonal, neither satisfying for old fans nor will it convince new ones of the band's greater legacy. They deserve better.

Comedown Machine is a more even effort [than Angles], but it lacks any show-stopping moments, allowing the forgettable songs to blend together.

Ununiform is an uneven album at best, showing that Tricky isn't bereft of ideas but was lacking the fire to properly flesh them out.

He's unable to find his footing, whether as a blues, soul or country singer, and the end results are a bland pastiche of all three.

Despite her great pipes however, the band's arrangements make much of Born of the Sun feel like amateur hour at Medieval Times. A talented producer would be able to focus on McCarthy's strong voice and balance some of the band's more freewheeling tendencies.

At over an hour in length, Teenage Emotions is more quantity than quality.

It's too long, sprawling and musically unappetizing for many to be willing to sit and digest as a whole. Rather than being a record that you listen to countless times, it's more like an autobiographical book that you read once out of curiosity and shelve simply for the sake of collection.

Although its brighter moments ("Adam and Eve," "Cops Shot the Kid") save it from being a complete fall from grace, overall Nasir is disappointingly heedless. Hopefully his next effort is more honest.

The production is clean and the tunes, as mentioned, sweet, but this is a sugary confection that's bound to get lost in the candy store.

Where Wake in Fright felt lean and energetic, The Long Walk is bloated and tired, not so much a fulfilling, purposeful exercise as a slow crawl to nowhere in particular.

The fact that each member of the band produced their own tracks comes off like a harbinger to why Endless Dream simply doesn't work, ostensibly ending Peter Bjorn and John's secret winning streak.

Pangaea Ultima is a cleaner, sprawling affair, but one lacking the ingenuity of some of Moore's more esoteric works.

Experience neither recaptures past glories nor forges a new way forward, and while it's better than its predecessor, it nevertheless captures the sound of a legacy rock band stuck in neutral.

The problem isn't just that the result feels more like a collection of demos than a complete record; it's that the songs themselves are generally uninspired, and often feel unfinished despite being co-written, almost all of them, with top-notch songwriters.

At their best, the Men imbued borrowed styles with urgency and fervor. Drift attempts to conjure the same spirit, but it's too divided and derivative to be vital.

The surreal strings on "We Work Nights," the doubled percussion on "An English House" and the sultry, repetitive warble on closer "Reprise" give the release a much needed kick, but Half of Where You Live still lacks the strength it needs.

MOPN would have landed much better if it abandoned the balancing act between the past and the present in exchange for wholehearted embrace of Lopatin's current realities. Lopatin has proven to us that he can deliver hits; it's time that he believes it himself.

There are some good songs on Jesus Piece, but they're decent in spite of the Game, not because of him.

What Whitfield lacks in originality he makes up for with a tireless push to the end zone.

Evans tries to preserve authenticity by enlisting producers like Chucky Thompson, Stevie J and DJ Premier (who all worked with Biggie in life). It's an understandable move, but the album's production is simply too dated to resonate.

Immaculately produced and performed, it's hard to imagine Man of the Woods not being a hit, its tracks a steady stream for playlist fodder. But sound and feel are no substitute for soul.

While the second half of the album almost makes up for its flaws, it doesn't quite manage to make Compassion a memorable whole.

Fandango tries to revel in its excess and overreaches far too often to be considered a success.

The mixed bag nature of Don't Be Scared that is its downfall: a lack of consistency leads to the album sounding more like a DJ set than a cohesive record.

As a riff rock mood board, most of the album passes by nicely enough, with the occasional embarrassing lyric (the aforementioned refrain in "Must've Always Been a Thing," repetitions of "Ring dong / Ring-a-ding dong" on opener "The Dooms Day Bells") being the only moments that are actively unpleasant to listen to.

At its best, the album retreads familiar ground.

There's no question that The Stand-In is a step-up from her previous effort; her delivery and songwriting show a confidence that previously lacking. However, The Stand-In is no stand out.

What this trio from Philadelphia, PA are offering, in spite of their rough-hewn hipster image, is nothing new and can be traced back to Barenaked Ladies through Simon & Garfunkel, Crosby, Stills & Nash and even the Kingston Trio.

"I'll Fight for Your Life" makes up for its unremarkable melodies with a percussive synth pulse, while the charming "Head of the Horse" is a curveball ballad from a project that has always been better known for upbeat pop tunes. Beyond that, however, this album is a 50-minute slog.

There's no doubt that, technically speaking, Swollen Members are better now than they've ever been, but a decade-and-a-half in, they need to find new material.

Standout tracks "Chlorine" and "Round" start the album off strong, but the downside is that the rest of the album feels drawn out, with more valleys than peaks. If you're not actively listening to each track, it can feel like the album is a long interlude that fades into the background.

On the whole, the album suffers from a bout of dullness, with the majority of tracks mingling in a grey area, struggling to push through their apparent amalgamation and stand on their own.

Sleepwalkers has some very good songs, but often comes off as cheesy and predictable--if a melody sounds familiar, it's probably because Fallon has sung one just like it before.

From start to finish, the album is a mix of complete swamp-rock songs, only to be broken up by confusing, short bursts of instrumentation.

You can't fault µ-ZIQ for branching out of the staid EDM clichés that oversaturate the electronic music landscape, but unfortunately, Chewing Corners is a little too disorganised.

Much of what set WU LYF apart from other UK pop-rockers has been dulled to match their ambitions and ages. It's maximalist minimalism (or is that minimalist maximalism?) at its most heartfelt and bland, similar to other heartsick stadium "rockers" like Coldplay and Imagine Dragons.

WALLS sounds safe and comfortable. The songs coast along with a mellow fluidity that serves to establish a decidedly mature, if complacent, sound.

It's an interesting concept for an album, but it falls a bit flat.

Moments of souled-out bliss are only temporary, pushed aside by jarring, more aggressive fare reportedly stemming from his interest in the music of Death Grips.... These louder tracks are done no favours by the process by which they were engineered: compressed and distorted in a fashion that leaves Tyler's vocals largely inaudible.

It isn't inherently bad, but it isn't great either.

Over ten tracks and 40 minutes, Post Tropical never picks up any steam, never comes to life. Mere gorgeousness is, it turns out, not quite enough to sustain a record.

The charm of the disconnected, breezy path that starts the album--seeming interludes punctuated by the odd story of a more solid, structured track--quickly wears thin when you realize said path meanders, the tracks mostly underdeveloped, only occasionally rolling into a bigger sound with tangible depth.

Beyond the overt gimmickry of the singles "Concrete" and "BLOODMONEY" (the latter sounds like she went rooting through Skrillex's trash), I Disagree is often surprisingly unchaotic.

It's a lack of originality that turns the sound stale rather quickly.

Walker is an exceptional blues artist at a time when there are few left, but on Hellfire, despite its volume, he comes off as frustratingly average.

Head Carrier sounds far more restrained and lifeless than it should be.

Wrangled lacks ambition.

The band maintain a proficiency at writing catchy riffs and intoxicating grooves, merging the likes of Sabbath with ZZ-Top, but the feeling of repetition, combined with a lack of impact like they used to have, may leave fans wanting.

While there are some standout cuts--most notably the Avalanches' Afro remake of "I'm a Cuckoo"--much of The Third Eye Centre should have remained on the cutting room floor.

Unlike their past efforts, though, Silver/Lead is sluggish when it needs to be spry and dull when it ought to be meditative.

Forever is essentially a pop record, but while there's no denying that some of these songs in isolation fulfill the catchy promise of that genre, there's just not enough to elevate this above being a decent debut and not much else.

Her move away from pop music on The Lonely, The Lonesome & The Gone signals a deeper understanding of the country, blues and soul genres, but there aren't enough ideas here to make it succeed.

Tempest is a mixed bag of ideas at best, many of which would be better served by someone like Tom Waits.

This album feels like they need to take another walk in the trees to reconnect with their namesake.

Musostics isn't an unpleasant listen by any means, but it doesn't have the same kind of warmth and charm as his pals' music.

Couple the simultaneously sparse and noisy production with the overall scant running time, and the album unfortunately fails to leave an impression, especially in an area of music that has become more and more saturated since the band's 2018 breakthrough.

The current release of the album otherwise known as Donda 2 — is a noticeably unfinished album. ... Not that the album is unfinished to the point it's entirely unsatisfying; there are clear winners here.

The lack of development and subtlety is a frequent problem for the album.

It's not time to write Porcelain Raft off, but Remiddi needs to bring more ideas to LP number three.

Wild Beasts have always been strong performers, but only when seemingly unaware; by tackling the trope of hubris-laden bro rockers, Boy King finds them becoming the butt of their own jokes, with little more than mindless dance tracks to show for it.

For a 13-track album, the majority is forgettable and doesn't live up to the colourful elements of Lewis's previous releases. The lack of energy on Caer leaves a longing for more originality and creativity he has once given us.

Nothing's going to change the fact that Hatebreed are the biggest hardcore band in the world, but this album doesn't do enough to win back those who got them there. Instead, it focuses too much on appealing to those who keep them there.

On Your Favorite Toy, it's all loud and all fast all the time. (One notable exception is "If You Only Knew," a relatively straightforward rock song that nonetheless stands out thanks to an excellent hook.) Compounding this problem is the fact that Grohl remains a frustratingly boring lyricist.

Weighing of the Heart plays out as the soundtrack to a forgotten '90s B movie; novel, but not great.

There's relatively no atmosphere and groove this time around, and many of the songs seem forced, as if he's tried to ensure this one goes mainstream.

The tracks begin to bleed together way before the halfway point of the album and there's not a single surprise to be had throughout.

Conscious is merely competent--never truly exciting.

The problem isn't with Carnation's expansive instrumental palette, but with the way that the record struggles to use its sounds to captivate, often letting each part float away into the ether.

It comes in flashes, and then it's back to a sort of dull, flat affect.

Brandt Brauer Frick are still immensely talented, and you can hear glimmers of greatness crop up in the background here, but they've sadly jumped the shark on this one.

With a few of its tracks trimmed off, No No could have made a great EP, but as it stands, it's equal parts fun and frustration.

A mostly forgettable but sometimes good album.

Golden Grrrls is an entertaining enough way to spend 30 minutes, although there's little below the surface.

Dahlia's a talented artist, but though the album aims high, it runs out of steam landing in the realm of just okay.

Undoubtedly this album will get a cursory listen by fans of hardcore, while gaining a special place amongst those whom embrace and follow its tenets.

The biggest strength of Up On High may be its greatest weakness: it's a record that is exactly what it is trying to be, a folk rock album that feels so much like a folk rock album that you forget about it as soon as it ends. Vetiver's latest is an album that you can put on and not think too much about.

This record would be great background music for a party or movie scene, but it does little to hold the listener's attention on its own.

Though Hail to the King failed to live up to the royal expectations of its titular disguise, The Stage's grandiosity smells of overcompensation; Avenged Sevenfold's crown lies somewhere in between.

Although the quality of the album tends to range drastically, it does offer a few glimpses as to why his music is so strongly followed. In the end, though, Dwell winds up being somewhat lukewarm.

If Whine of the Mystic was the boozy night out, Thought Rock Fish Scale feels like the groggy hangover. It doesn't hurt, but its lethargic haze makes you wish it were still last night.

American Nightmare is not convincing or consistent.

Hot Cakes contains vestiges of the brilliance that once helped make The Darkness a massive cultural force (at least in the UK). But too many of its songs feel like toss-offs and half-formed ideas.

It doesn't take long for the desire to have Auerbach dial down his magic formula just a notch to take hold.

The first record without co-founder and lead guitarist Matt Mondanile, who left last year to focus on his Ducktails project, it finds the band struggling to find their footing in his absence.

While it's a great attempt at a first album, Pick a Piper's tune could have been a bit sweeter.

The record is, unfortunately and overwhelmingly, a bland release from a band that feels like they're stuck going through the motions.

For Tweedy diehards, these intimate reworks may come off as a nice fireside chat with an old friend, but those less familiar with the singer are better off starting with the originals.

Unfortunately, Drink More Water 6--the latest iteration of a mixtape series started in 2012--shows little evolution in Makonnen's style, and hints that he may have exhausted the esoteric sound that he pioneered.

On the businesslike Cozy Tapes Vol. 2: Too Cozy, Rocky and his acolytes convene for a rundown of trends worth exploiting; as such, it often sounds like a Migos album as interpreted by 16 clueless New Yorkers.

If U2 was ever cool or exciting, that spark has been absent for a good 20 years, and with Songs of Innocence, they've never sounded so ordinary or cloying.

It starts off deceptively strong, with standouts like "I Got the Keys," "Nas Album Done" and "For Free" all loaded near the beginning. But once the album advances past this bit of clever sequencing, it barely strikes a chord.

There are admittedly some palatable textures here, an inevitability given the roster of talent, but so much of it is obfuscated in genre confusion and poor arrangements.

Rainbow Arabia attempt to pay tribute to the heyday of synth pop, but overlook the small details that could have made FM Sushi a pleasurable, Technicolor retelling. Instead, the listener is left with black-and-white new wave Cliff Notes.

Asmara, Gaika, Bon, Baby Caramelle and Nunu all make contributions to the disc, as do rappers K-$ and K-Rizz. Too often, they're at cross-purposes. The album is so lacking in continuity that it fails to sustain either a groove or the listener's attention.

Apart from the uprated production, there's not a great deal to offer to listeners.

At its best, Somewhere Else produces a few tracks worthy of putting on and dancing to in the middle of the night. At its worst, it's repetitive material that should've stayed on the cutting room floor.

Evolution certainly doesn't sound like anything they've done before. At best, Evolution could add a few more bangers to their roster and slip by unnoticed. At worst, it could knock the band down to Creed levels of self-parody.