They avoid mere imitation, but a sense of aimlessness still floats through the record.

There's a thin line between owning up to the voracious hunger needed to reach a new level of fulfillment and being trapped by the desperation to regain a title that is no longer his. Ludaversal finds itself somewhere in between.

Steve Earle doesn't make the same kind of hi-test outlaw country he used to, but The Low Highway shows that his swagger hasn't completely disappeared.

It makes for a record with some distinct highs and lows; when it works, it is a lovely shimmering thing that amply demonstrates just how precious Flying Saucer Attack were and still are.

As a standalone release, devoid of the visual context it's designed to pair with, Rat Film doesn't always find lasting purchase, but it does in parts. ... Still, Rat Film shows off increasing nuance and range in Deacon's abilities as a composer.

Maybe it's the tedium of a career spanning nearly two decades, or a shred of complacency settling in after winning the highly coveted Mercury Prize in 2016, but Skepta seems subdued on Ignorance. A decent album, but not his best.

For now, it's likeable despite feeling a little too aimless.

Goldenheart functions as a hypnotic aural distraction, but little more.

While PND's production is typically on point, his songwriting and vocal skills are still evolving.

Although ultimately underwhelming, Moon Duo still create an enjoyable easy-listening psychedelic atmosphere in Stars Are the Light. It might not be the kind of album you can become deeply attached to, but would never fail to please as background music.

One hopes that once this space opera is complete Haley will allow himself to broaden his horizons a bit more. In the meantime, Silicon Tare is worth a listen.

As much as these songs hit upon Mudhoney's winning elements, there's a lack of swing in the band's step.

It's a logical continuation of 2007's slick Cassadaga (less so 2011's rock-inclined The People's Key) — but given the renaissance Oberst has enjoyed with his side-projects in recent years, it doesn't quite live up to Bright Eyes' lofty name.

Skullcrusher's debut points to Helen Ballentine's undeniable skills, particularly as a melodist. A bit more distancing from popular templates, however, may have served to further distinguish her work from that of her abovementioned contemporaries.

In shearing off that thorniness, Drop Nineteens have returned as a highly competent, often lovely, and perhaps less interesting version of themselves.

Among the paint-by-numbers tracks, Born In The Echoes has still got a couple of artful numbers peppered throughout.

Though his skill is absolutely unmatched, homophobic references and overly misogynistic bars in 2018 do feel excessively out of touch. It's not his best or his worst--but, it's definitely what fans deserved eight months ago.

What Trouble lacks in focus, it largely makes up for with ambition and dexterity.

Oyamada's work as Cornelius over the past 20 years has defied genre, logic and time; on Mellow Waves, it sounds like he's on cruise control.

Monsters Exist stands as one of Orbital's most frustrating albums--the ideas are present, but the execution simply isn't.

Technically flawless, but focused to a fault, Albert Einstein is further proof that Alchemist could benefit from a mistake.

This is a forward-looking release by a group still searching for reverence.

So There, Ben Fold's collaborative LP with yMusic (a classical sextet from New York) is poppy, ambitious and bold. Yet despite clocking in at nearly an hour--including a 20-minute-long concerto for piano and orchestra with the Nashville Symphony--the new record feels scarce on songs.

Foam Island is a patchwork album that never ends up feeling quite settled.

There's a lot to like about Songs My Friends Wrote, especially the way it celebrates lesser-known tunes — but unfortunately, not a lot of the charm and wit that Corb Lund fans have come to love.

Caveman have followed-up CoCo Beware with a solid effort that retains some of the looseness of their debut. However, with the added label pressure, that looseness sometimes feels forced.

Much of Fixion, while enjoyable, finds Trentemøller stuck on the same weary note, reaching for what's comfortable and familiar rather than pushing his craft forward.

Some may chide Farrar for playing it safe on Honky Tonk, but in nearly every respect this album sounds as if Farrar has finally arrived at an artistic place he's always longed to find.