Still on offer are his immaculately crafted lyrics and preoccupation with place.

Sonically, Demons has a lot in common with Renmin Park, although this disc feels a bit more produced. It's a touching tribute, to be sure, but we wish they'd left a few more of the rough edges in this time.

While the songs are hella catchy and pleasant, a little more grit and sorrow would have bridged the emotional disconnect.

In the end, Car Alarm is likeable enough if you’re already a fan. Just don’t expect to die of excitement.

Without the bizarre lyrical invention and fuck-shit-up whimsy of his earlier work, Beck's attempts at party jams come off woefully overwrought and flat, making the darker bits interspersed throughout seem intriguing by default.

You don't always know what cosmic tunnel Memory Tapes will drag you through, but you can always expect a metamorphosis.

In typical Rush fashion the compositions tend to feel coldly scientific or laboriously calculated.... Nevertheless, it's a solid record.

It’s less cohesive than the high watermark he set with Malibu, but hitching a ride back to Oxnard is a freewheeling and occasionally exhilarating quest into Paak’s sonic curiosity.

Despite two-thirds of the album taking risks by adding everything from saxophone to opera, the final handful of songs feel like filler. Still, Evermore: The Art Of Duality largely delivers.

Mike McCready’s guitar solos mostly take a backseat to the band’s meaty rhythm section, and, sure, some of the 12 tracks are victims of awkward construction. But Lightning Bolt resonates, especially the band’s jarring (if kind of clichéd) conclusions.

Williams leads the five-piece throughout this charged-up record that rarely comes up for air.

It’s a nice, low-key respite from NIN’s angry catharsis, but 65 mid-tempo minutes with little variation (the sparse acoustics of How Long? aside) make it a slog.

It's all about throwback synth melodies, programmed beats and melodramatic bellowing about non-specific relationship trauma, sorta like Human League, Spandau Ballet or maybe the Associates.

Add an ability to string lyrical and musical narratives together to create a complete whole and Bluefinger should serve as yet another highlight in an already stellar body of work.

Acrobats drags a bit near the end, but there's no denying that it's a huge leap forward.

All in all, a bewitchingly beautiful debut.

The band tries out big, fuzzy, folksy blues riffs on tracks like 'The Wanting Comes In Waves/Repaid and The Queen's Rebuke/The Crossing,' but the proggy result is unmemorable and middling.

A few tunes are forgettable (Baby Rocking Medley, Hobo's Lullaby), but for the most part the album is full of gorgeous harmonies and refreshingly sparse instrumentation.

Kweli's curse- 'n' cliché-free rhyme-ripping proves he needs no help on the microphone. He outshines his celebrated guests, including labelmate Grae, KRS-One, Norah Jones (!), Sonia Sanchez, UGK's Pimp C and Bun B, Musiq Soulchild and Raheem DeVaughn.

Deeper Than Rap triumphs over this authenticity deficit and is among the best rap albums so far this year.

Grown-up, seductive and a little bit explicit (when it needs to be), it’s a small triumph for guys trying to get in touch with their emotions through the medium of R&B.

Bad Brains can still blast with ferocity, but the jarring changes in tone and tempo could prove more of a problem than the lo-fi production for many listeners.

A mood-altering drug for pop fiends.

On first listen, it seems like they picked some pretty obvious anthems, but the standards are bookended by enough discoveries to make the overall package strong.

While the exceptional company he keeps (see appearance by Earl Sweatshirt and the elusive Jay Electronica) sometimes highlights his shortcomings as an emcee, Miller’s guests also push him to be better.

There’s still a tendency toward icy detachment, but considering their affection for almost overwrought instrumental embellishments, the restraint serves them well.

The boring beats and throwback rhyme flow (circa 92)--which is weak even by Edmontonian standards--put Afterparty Babies somewhere beneath Don Cash’s home demos and the outtakes from Organized Rhyme’s Huh? Stiffenin’ Against The Wall.

Some might lament the increased accessibility and decreased experimentation, but it doesn't take long to realize that these tracks do as much in four minutes as the 18-minute epics in Black Mountain's past.