It's not exactly adventurous, but he remains tough to pigeonhole and doesn't sound like he'll be slowing down any time soon.

The straightforwardness of their songs recalls great indie pop bands of yesteryear like Beat Happening, but also causes some of their songs to blur together.

This disc might not change your life, but it's an undeniably solid hard rock album that proves how much credit Slash deserves for the success of his former band.

Like all Hip records, this is a snapshot of a band constantly moving away from their past and toward a strange musical unknown.

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.

The amoebic versions of Nirvana songs sound only unfinished and strange. If the goal was to render Cobain an artsy oddball more than a rock god with a Midas touch, then mission accomplished.

His more abstract, mellow songs don’t work as well, too often sounding like buildups to a big drop that never comes rather than completed tracks. But Greene has filled out Feel Infinite with just enough bangers to keep the momentum from lagging too much.

Unless you’re a desperate DCFC fan in need of satiation, The Open Door isn’t worth the purchase.

Fans won’t be let down by this latest collection of accomplished and almost too-smart songwriting that borrows from the classic sensibilities of piano-based jazz.

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.

Unfortunately, few songs truly stand out. Peven Everett’s effusive turn on Strobelite is the biggest pop moment, while De La Soul fronting the pounding Momentz gives the album some early momentum.

Most of the album is kinda ho-hum and overly mild in tone, as is Pitts's voice.

A likeable, though inconsistent, record.

Hopefully, the band will release new material soon, but No, Virginia is a good snack before the next meal.

Despite Skinner’s undeniable verbal and production talents, and his online hand-wringing about embracing positivity without getting cheesy, there is something undeniably sappy about this record that won’t sit well with people expecting to hear more mockney slander about drunken gits.

Plenty of bits tug on the heartstrings, but only in the moment. Once that swelling piano ceases or Watson stops singing, the goosebumps disappear.

While angular, skittering tracks like Stutter and album opener Haircuts/Uniforms add post-punk energy and experimental variety to the album, they also kill the mood.

Fans of his ambient hip-hop and blissed-out impressionist R&B will be more pleased with Guilt Trips than those who prefer his clubby side.

Plant's voice is noticeably lower than his salad-days falsetto, and Jimmy Page's guitar sounds slicker than before, but for the most part this is the Zeppelin of yore.

There's enough decent material on Sawdust to exempt Brandon Flowers and his Vegas boys from cynical gap-filler accusations.

Excellent lyrics can’t save the record from the unnecessary length of some songs; Flesh sacrifices some of its immediacy and impact in tracks that can drift away from the point.

The songs have cool, memorable hooks and great guitar textures, but an overarching lack of enthusiasm hurts even their strongest material.

The sophistication suits the songs, which have a tragic seriousness without becoming a gloomy slog.

Understandably, he’s lost a little youthful edge: there’s no defiant Mr. Cab Driver, for example. But the songs hold up.

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.

The production bangs, and there are many references that'll appeal to readers of liberal non-fiction (Fast Food Nation, Chomsky, Al Gore), but some of the good Mr.'s thoughts on this future we live in are unconvincing.

This disc won't change your life but makes for a pleasant 40-minute listen.

Perry’s ballads are so unadventurous and heavy-handed (chiming U2 guitars and slow-building, reverbed drums), they start to feel like caricature anyway. Her approach works better on the feel-good half of the album made up of top-notch roller-disco anthems.