His clever quips, wonky wordplay, raunchy voice and oddball timing combine into something beyond reproduction by anybody, not that any other MC is daring enough to try doing this type of grimy, soulful crunk-hop

Though deftly orchestrated, Everyday Robots feels deflated and aimless, and the nature-versus-technology theme frequently results in clichés.

Like Mickey Mouse conducting the ocean in Fantasia, she often seems more a celestial vessel for the heady energy and abstract imagery than a relatable character--a balance she doesn't always strike.

In reconnecting with her former Eric's Trip bandmates, Doiron rediscovers her edge, wrapping her warm, frayed vocals around awkward and occasionally dissonant melodies, layering multi-track self-harmonized phrases over heavyish rock-focused arrangements and crafting dynamic songs that leave you with a satisfying sense of being shaken up.

The best songs are the few featuring Keenan's lovely voice, like Teresa, Lark Of Ascension, which serves as a sad reminder of the talent we lost.

The album is full of the group's signature dreamy arpeggios, massive drum rolls, epic builds and breaks--expertly produced with Stuart Price. But it's the push and pull between the sociopolitical reality and urge to escape into nightlife, where dressing up, social cliques and the pounding beat of pop music can feel life-saving, that fuels the drama.

With this single self-produced masterstroke, Alela Diane has effectively shaken off all the ill-fitting labels of “new weird America” and “freak folk” and given notice that a warmly expressive and unique voice has arrived with stories to tell.

This EP, a teaser of what to expect from the full-length album scheduled for January, sees the vocalist reining in some of his more histrionic tendencies while expanding his palette of influences and sounds.

RAA's secret weapon has always been the expert drumming of Paul Banwatt, and here he's given more of a chance to shine.

This collection of B-sides, recorded over the past few years, is way more put-together than Modest Mouse’s previous rarities comps, Building Nothing Out Of Something and Sad Sappy Sucker. But it lacks the carefree charm of Isaac Brock’s pre-success indie rock experiments.

This debut is mostly a collection of re-recorded singles so there aren’t any filler tracks. Excellent find, McGee.

The result is murky, hazy, psychedelic and endlessly replayable.

Their fourth album reveals the breadth of the genre.

Near the album’s close, the psychedelic insanity of Ka Re Ha Te Ta Sa Ki is a whirlwind of pounding drums, circular chanting, spasmodic guitar noise and violent soloing that perfectly exemplifies Smile’s fusion of panicky, heavy abrasiveness and lush, melodic and dreamy sprawls.

The Baltimore psych-experimental rock band's ninth begins in a youthful and joyous way, but the exuberance unravels into something close to obnoxious chaos.

The songs are not so much about love as the memory of love and, accordingly, there's a chasm between her aggressive vocal runs and the cautiously generalist lyrics, especially on the maudlin latter half.

They have returned to (non-mariachi) form and then some.

Each is gently strummed, sparsely drummed and deeply crooned by Brett. Rennie takes care of the lyrics (and a few sweet harmonies) and deftly avoids love’s clichés.

Rhumb Line gives the impression that mostly good things are ahead.

Even though the songs are full of warm analog synths, a strong sense of cold melancholy and anxiety permeates even the most upbeat electro-pop moments.

[Alex Turner] and the lads put their trust in Queens of the Stone Age heavyweight Josh Homme to help craft a record that, though not completely successful, frequently surprises, takes chances and demands further listens.

Both sides are endearing in their own way, and both show off a musical legend with plenty left to say.

Their distinctive differences as songwriters (Emily Saliers is soft and spiritual, Amy Ray punk rock and raw) are often complementary, but sometimes the songs cry out for more input from the other.

Phil Ramone’s austere production seems designed to let Lynne’s voice carry the album, and that’s a big mistake, since she has neither the emotional range nor the soulful finesse to convey the real hurt at the core of this material.

XXXX is more than just pastiche, however. Songs like "Lonely’s Lunch," "She’s Spoken For" and "Glory," a callback to their earlier sound, reveal a chemistry that is entirely this band’s own.

Lux sounds a lot like the kinds of slowly evolving patterns you can generate with those apps, but they come across as disappointingly ordinary when divorced from that participatory element.

Maus sounds as pretentious as his album title when he's at his least self-censorious, delivering empty, eye-rolling provocations on Cop Killer and Matter Of Fact.

It's the ballads--a side of her repertoire that had taken a back seat to forgettable chart-chasers--that show Jackson's at her vocal and songwriting best.