At times, you wish he’d push up the speed--thrashing out blues-rock in the frenzied ’60s and ’70s tradition. But by today’s timid standards, this burns.

The new Honest goes for something more personal and earnest, though many of his rhymes lack the nuance to make those revelations more than rote. Luckily, there’s enough depth in Future’s spoken, and sung, verse to lend them the vulnerability they demand.

Never a subtle singer, Jones attacks her soul anthems like a blunt force instrument. That’s fine, since nuance isn’t called for here. Force is, and Jones has enough of it to thrill. That still isn’t enough to drag the Dap-Kings out of the shadows of their idols.

The songs’ dreamy quality won’t surprise Wilco fans. But, reflecting the relationship of the players, the album has its own low-fi, homey intimacy.

If the music still plays to the lighter side of power pop, it’s more animated and edgy than either musician has managed in too long a time.

The album ends up seeming more like a stop-gap than a surge ahead. For the first two-thirds, Drake relies on his usual sing-song style, stoking interest only with his inventive stretches in phrasing.... Otherwise, cooler hooks, melodic flashes of R&B, or great variation can be hard to find.

Due to the depth of LaMontagne’s talent, any recording by him has automatic conviction and appeal. But Auerbach’s sound proves too defining, making the star seem like he’s trying to squeeze into another man’s clothes.

For the new disc, they clarified their sound with a stripped-down lineup. It’s one of their hardest-rocking releases.

Mockingjay has a distinct ’80s feel, evident in its more-is-more approach.

Due to the era the album fetishes, the music sounds inescapably chintzy.... Jepsen’s improbably young voice helps distract from that.

The new wave sound--anchored on brisk claps, cracks and booms--gives Swift’s new songs a certain breezy appeal. But her choruses tend to rest on a songwriter’s laziest fall-back: the repetitive, arena-mongering chant.

Sucker ends up monochromatic, but that only helps Charli hone a persona. If the one here doesn’t exactly make her the new Joe Strummer, it does suggest a British answer to Kesha. She’s the likable brat of the hour.

Cohen vocals frequently sound more robust than they do in the studio, which is a surprise.... Still, it’s the band that gives the tracks the most animation.

Taken as a whole, Hotel Valentine creates a trip of a disc, referencing the ghosts of old New York while exorcising them into something new.

The pace remains measured, the production pristine and the tone a tad too tame.

The dance songs don’t have nearly as much uniqueness or specificity.... By contrast, exhilarating ballads like “Whole Damn Year” make the most of Blige’s queen-of-pain character.

The sound is more dense and self-conscious than ever, the twin Achilles’ heels of this star. At times, the mix blurs Tesfay’s vocals, preventing them from taking a deserved center stage.

The sound is so dense it threatens to asphyxiate the singer, which may just be the point. Everything about her work plays into fantasies of a potentially fatal manipulation.

Mellencamp finds his own delicate melodies, including some of the prettiest of his career. Their finery offers a sweet contrast to the increasing grit in his voice and bile in his lyrics--the most incisive of which take dead aim at himself.

“Uptown Funk” turns out to be one of the only lazy tracks on Ronson’s fourth album. Yes, the other songs obsess on the past, but most enliven it. Better, some revive a quirk of history others overlooked.

We get pure Stevie--needier than some might find comfortable, but also unexpectedly wise. It’s too much for the casual listener but catnip for the devoted.

Sean doesn’t have Drake’s brooding soul, but he’s a lot more fun to listen to these days.

It’s a richly orchestral work, eager for drama and full of appealing tunes.

The obvious skill and spring in May’s delivery can excite, but her music has become too uniform, too fixed in its backward view to keep us rapt.

Nostalgic fans will no doubt lap up Prince’s old-school falsetto preens and funk beats. But such a sustained recoil from the current world has a consequence. It can seem regressive or overfamiliar.

Part of Morrissey’s charm is his resistance to change. Another part is the sick wit that lies behind his vitriol. The titles of his songs alone draw perverse smiles. He may be a pill and a scold, but you can’t deny the guy’s got style.

Disappointingly, Pink hasn’t taken Minaj further into the surreality that first promised to turn her into Missy Elliott to the 10th power. But there’s no denying the album’s catchiness.

If the end result isn’t as big a blast as the star’s previous records, it still has his likable tone and witty character to count on.