King Animal doesn't sound like a nostalgia-fed cash grab, nor is it poisoned by the desperate commercialism of Cornell's post-Soundgarden projects.

Some Machinedrum fans will find his newfound cheeriness disconcerting, but Stewart approaches the project with so much enthusiasm that it’s hard not to get swept up in the good vibes.

You can’t really fault the band for successfully doing much what it did in the 90s, but don’t expect Purple. There’s no Vasoline or Interstate Love Song.

They easily incorporate traditional folk elements like Nick Drake with contemporary indie rock and cinematic string arrangements that often soar above many of their songs' humble openings.

The story is hard to follow, but after a few listens the band’s rallying cries take shape.

Every song has a lovely flow, with a steady cadence and easy accessibility that no fan of poppy indie rock will want to do without.

Great sleepy Sunday-afternoon music, but it could have been more than that.

It relies heavily on ambiguous world music tropes, highly melodic, canned inspirational hooks and arena-style arranging.

The album is rich in texture but light on memorable melodies.

It’s the band’s plainest meta-record yet: a recording that calls deliberate attention to its own materiality as a recording.

When Drake swoops in to pick up the thread, his clear, articulated voice is so much more animated than Future’s that the impact is jarring.... Occasionally the two conjure interesting spaces between underground murk and pop-star sheen (Live From The Gutter, Scholarships), and the tension, as they adapt to each other, is compelling.

It’s an inward, headphones-on plug into a young man wrestling with varying levels of success, from codependency and addictive behaviour to self-acceptance. It’s the sound of Zayn grappling with toxic masculinity.

An album defined more by its background players than its star.

Takes’ boldest move and its artistic centrepiece must be the mashing up of Aphex Twin’s positively scary To Cure A Weakling Child and Boy/Girl Song into a melodious lullaby.

The bigger problem, though, is Young Buck's yawn-inducing rhyme flow, which, paired with relentlessly slow, chugging beats, creates pure aural Sominex.

Too many of the tracks seem more like very good imitations of song types than like actual songs.

On Strange Pleasures, Still Corners ditch their 60s psychedelia shtick for sounds two decades younger, and it works.

Kelis... raps, rants and successfully maintains her spacey freakiness while sailing out into even radio-friendlier waters.

Some stand up to the violins and mandolins, but others get overwhelmed.

Occasionally, it feels like she's trying a little too hard to reach American ears, but she balances the conservative neo-soul vibes with just enough hard left turns to keep listeners on their toes.

The songwriting is outstanding: striking and smart, concise and full, and James Bagshaw sings superbly throughout.

For diehards only.

There are enough good songs to give Queen a pass, but if it’s going to be 19 tracks, it needs to be more consistently awesome.

The production on this unfocused album is, as usual, nothing mind-blowing. Still, Skinner has an insightful charm and a lyrical gift that makes this a respectable send-off.

In Our Bedroom After The War is better than expected even as it wallows in its own broken heart.

Whether Hill's singing or rapping, the fearlessness and tempestuous drama in her voice are palpable--and matched by equally raw accompaniment that makes many of the other cuts sound a little too clean by comparison.

It feels like a bunch of friends jamming on a farm, even if there are still a few electronica elements here and there.

The album basks in sun-drenched classic rockisms while managing to sound leagues above throwback jam bands like Phish.