At its best, the music accentuates the songs’ difficult subject matter. At other times, it becomes monotonous, with the immersive layers distracting and turning into a wash of indistinguishable noise.

Fans of Mr. Bungle and Patton’s wilder/heavier tendencies may not find a lot here, as the project skews more towards the Avett Brothers side of the house.

As a bleak artistic shift from his folksier Americana, the album is a complete product, just not a very engaging one. Todd Snider seems to be in transition with this record.

It is in the opener and closer where perhaps the most interesting experiments lie. Cobb opens with “Beyond Measure (Piano),” a solo piano number that sounds almost demo-like and starts the album on odd footing, but the closing “Beyond Measure (Fixin’s)” brings the whole band back to the track. Perhaps combining those two efforts in Neil Young-like fashion could find a successful middle ground between Cobb’s rock and Americana urges.

Though an uneven collection taken as a whole, Dream Into It still boasts enough songs to convince you that the sneering, charming Idol is not quite ready for the retirement home yet.

Thematically, it sounds fairly cohesive, but the songs themselves, lyrically, vary from solid to great, to moments of cloying sentimentality. That’s not to say that Heavy Glory is a bad record, just one that’s a bit more challenging than Iceage fans may have come to expect.

Like all of the band’s reunion releases, The Night The Zombies Came is a mixed bag overall. Some heavier offerings, slightly off-kilter rock, acoustic strums, and larger sounds add to the musical range. It ends up as a serviceable rock record that never sniffs the heights of their early career classic output.

The collection of songs is ambitious – at times brilliant and other times tedious. But you can’t accuse The Avett Brothers of simply rerecording the same album over and over again.

Moving in a lot of directions, That Delicious Vice proves that Kid Congo & The Pink Monkey Birds are willing to experiment with sound and scope to deliver their tunes, even if not all their outings are successful.

On Happiness Bastards the brothers Crowe retreat to their safer classic rock roots with efforts that gun for mid-70’s arena swagger, falling short of the band’s prime, a touch uninspired and derivative of their best work.

End of the Day is a bit of an enigma. Fans of Anonymous Club may enjoy the atmospheric score and recall some of their favorite accompanying scenes from the documentary. For everyone else, there’s not much to get out of it.

Lyrically Batiste plays it middle of the road, not to offend, and at times that hollowness can seem like a bad parody. ... That title, World Music Radio, pledges a larger scope of sound which Batiste is certainly capable of incorporating, but too often different genres get a quick cameo before Batiste goes back to the dance-ready pop tracks.

Lyrically, this is mixed but has its strong points. Few write with his kind of insight. Yet, musically it fails to generate enough sparks with most of the songs stuck in similar mid-tempo modes. The true ballads are strong.

The slow tempos are fine in doses but that novelty wears off quickly. More variations in tempo would likely work better. When we get to the closer “It’s All in the Game” it just seems that Rickie Lee is stuck in that molasses-like groove. She’s intent on being a torch singer and she’s damn good at it although it takes plenty of hutzpah to take on the Great American Songbook.

Though the album is unequivocally emotionally rich, with most songs building to vibrant climaxes after mellow beginnings, as a whole it lacks the power, swagger, and singalong aspects of vintage soul records.

The resulting unwieldy quadruple album manages to be overwhelming and underwhelming at the same time.

Clearly, the group put time and effort into production (the dance/electro “Flutter Freer” and vibrating “Andy Helping Andy” both sound alive) but made an artistic choice to neuter their more rock efforts. Had the instrumentals been more invigorating this may have been an interesting choice, but as People Helping People wraps, the feeling of No Age just going through the disenchanted motions sets in.

Burnett is not a fan of technology, modern trends, or much of anything in general in the despondent middle offering of his trilogy. As a result, The Invisible Light: Spells oozes a murky uneasiness that floats throughout the album.

While the highs on the album are high, the lows are apparent and hard to ignore. There is a battle between the band’s influences and their own vision for their sound which leaves them with a batch of great ideas that weren’t executed to their full potential.

Hellfire is a decent album, one where on at least half the tracks come from the Black Midi we remember, always on the cusp of something brilliant and humbling and confounding in the best way possible. On the other half though, they are lost in their own precision, echoing their better work and confusing ability with purpose.

This new one smolders but never truly catches fire. Perhaps as a measure of the emotional disarray in which Young found himself at the time—he sounds almost as distracted at times as on that Seventies LP delayed some forty-five years–he couldn’t really cut loose, even in the comfortable company of Crazy Horse.

It’s also overly self-serious, an album begging to be considered above its pretentions and to be analyzed as art. For the most part, it works. It works as a piece of baroque chamber art and it works like a flip side to Hercules & Love Affair, a testament to the pair’s virtuosity. Still, it’s frustrating that with so many talented musicians collaborating on this project, it can feel like a missed opportunity.

As a whole, WE is a fairly good album and would be better received if it wasn’t an Arcade Fire album.

Radiate Like This floats along in the vein of 2016’s Heads Up as the former art-rockers wander in semi-aimless, sleepy pop waters. Warpaint’s dreamy vibe is pleasant, starting with the ambient-looking cover art, but it doesn’t leave any real lasting impact.

On (watch my moves) Kurt Vile lets his wooly freak flag fly, never reigning in his scattered thoughts and never rocking out, content to just drift along in his unique way.

The album is riddled with pretty hooks that are buried under interesting complexities.

Overall Fear of the Dawn (like White himself) never sits still and while exhilarating at moments, none of the tracks stand with the best he has written and feel like experimental jam sessions.

As a whole Screen Time is a curious listen/mood piece, the outings are all semi-interesting but (like the album as a whole) remain one note in tone, leaving a minimal visceral imprint. Screen Time’s sketches and atonal guitar jazz wanderings have moments, just not enough, however, with Moore, all guitar phases and releases are worth checking in on.