It has ten passable tracks and one certified super-smash that will either get listeners gleefully singing-along or reaching for the skip button. You decide.

Even through all the morass, a vague optimism seems to always seep through; he plays with our senses, waiting for that final act to pull a disappearing act that can leave one utterly spellbound.

When it’s all said and done, it’s a bit of a blur, but in the same way that looking back on a good evening might be when you wake up for work a day or two later. You’re glad it happened, but it might not stick with you.

Part 2, by comparison [to Part 1], simply feels like an inessential cash grab, and it's strong evidence that everyone’s favorite pop star might be overstaying his welcome.

The collaborations are interesting, and at times fascinating, but there is little doubt that the destiny of most tracks here will be, once again, as sonic accompaniments to visual productions.

Admittedly, R Plus Seven is a challenging album, one that doesn’t quite unravel itself on an immediate listen. Yet for all its complexity (of which I’m still trying to comprehend myself), it never comes off as ham-fisted or impossibly inaccessible.

Bloom’s vocal debut with Glow & Behold is solid without ever being magnificent, staying within its means and applying a decoration to a sound that is cleaner and melodically stronger than its predecessor.

Each moment on Is Survived By is a hotly tempered emotional assault that leaves no closet-bound skeleton unaccounted for an un-torched.

Lyrically it’s weak, and the over-polished studio buffing does nothing to emancipate the blueprint that is, essentially, the same as it was 17 years ago.

For the first time in a while, they’re moving forward with a sound truer to their nature.

While this leap into the big leagues proves that he’s still very much a rare talent, it unfortunately seems that genuine inspiration is even rarer.

It quickly veers into a curious stream of whim with their most alienating, and unfortunately, their most characterless yet--they deliver an onslaught of acrimonious synths in the post-apocalyptic, jazz-tinged Mystery Disease, while Cool Song No. 2 shamelessly takes a page out of the Can playbook with its grimy, overcompressed effects.

Imperium is more homage than innovation, and while it further preserves the integrity of early indie rock, it only hints that Blouse is more than a revival act.

Crystal Stilts won’t be winning many new listeners with Nature Noir but that won’t matter to the band’s fanbase, as another album comparable to their previous work has been created, albeit with an improvement on the production side.

Janelle Monáe has not simply lived up to our expectations here; she has shattered them, delivering a confident, creative, and enormously entertaining record that marginally betters her sublime debut.

It is a solid and dependable album, sure of its own purpose yet ready to complement those poignant moments when all that seems to be missing is a cue for the dramatic music to start.

There’s no denying that the elements that make up Nobody knows. are profoundly captivating, from the album's rich sonic detail to Beal’s reliably powerhouse vocals and personality. But as refined as these elements are, they still don’t quite add up to make the excellent record that many of us are still waiting for Beal to finally make.

Buckner’s songwriting, both in the arrangements and vocals, is laser-focused on the development and exploration of his scorched-earth aesthetic. Together, they project it with grace, refinement, and skill.

While not his best album, Hesitation Marks shows that he has no intention to fall back on old formulas.

It’s never a bad record, or even less than listenable--the individuals behind it have more than enough good taste and sense for that to happen--but it is a mildly disappointing one, considering the sheer potential of those early releases.

It’s well done, fun to listen to, and a damn sight better than 90% of other pop music right now, yet you couldn’t really describe it as essential.

This is perfection from a band at the absolute top of their game, but this by no means implies that they’ve peaked.

On this, her latest and most emotionally charged album, she's managed to create a painful outpouring of honesty, one that strikes that coveted balance of both melodic and lyrical expression; her message is equally powerful from each direction.

Chelsea Wolfe captured the essence of the album title eloquently, succeeding in making an album that is frighteningly honest, poignant, and graceful.

There’s still much celebration to be had in Carrier; they just channel it in a way that’s not expected of them.

Drenge’s debut is excellent, and it will no doubt have you appropriately ‘drenged’.

Though Out Getting Ribs already gave us little reason to underestimate him, 6 Feet Beneath the Moon holds up as the kind of statement to truly brag about--a debut that’s masterfully crafted, reasonably ambitious, and, more importantly, exists as a truly unique statement.

The resulting album feels fresh and contemporary--as much as any new young guitar band around today--and not at all a retro step.