While the best moments prove the country queen is still at the top of her game, missteps like spoken word breaks add unneeded cheese, and Pure & Simple isn't all that thematically diverse.

While it’s not a bad debut, it’s nothing special either.

Choosing to record only songs by women is an intriguing twist. It might actually have made for a great comeback album if Moorer had dug a little deeper for more appropriate material.

Carey’s back to adding her sparkly touch to summer-ready pop tunes.

Too often it feels as if they’re all going through the motions, opting to play it safe, while Oberst himself seems bored and uninterested.

Coaster’s not exemplary, but it’s definitely a quality late-career entry in NOFX’s increasingly uniform catalogue.

Front and centre is impressive guitar work; the band’s got a knack for writing spring-loaded hooks that build into beautiful shoegaze-inspired swells.

If you can't stand top-40 contemporary dance pop, don't bother (and consider not leaving your house for the next couple of years). Listen to Contrast with an open mind, though, and you hear a kid with real talent.

Most of the tracks sound pretty familiar, though, with just enough new tricks to avoid feeling like a complete rerun.

The songs aren’t as lyrically cheesy as Kroeger and Co., not as overtly retro as the Sheepdogs, more fun than Theory of a Deadman and most interesting – by far--when harnessing prog rock, as on The Giant. Too bad the latter only happens once.

Like any growth spurt, Age contains the obligatory awkward phases, like the reggae-inflected Afterparty. But the Hidden Cameras have always taken risks, and this time the payoffs are much bigger.

A few verses drag out too long, but Drew’s storytelling remains firmly in the foreground.

At times his vocals sound too distant in the mix and overpowered by guitars (No Device), but singing any more forcefully would undermine the peculiar comfort that most of the record maintains.

The production sometimes eclipses the songwriting.

Despite their brevity, the songs are repetitive, wanky and almost impossible to differentiate. They make you yearn for the days before genre cross-pollination.

Wilco drummer Glenn Kotche and Jim O’Rourke bassist Darin Gray needed three years to create, during breaks in their schedules, the unhurried dream-like expedition that is their fourth full-length album.

Taylor isn't pushing the limits of pop so much as flattening and stretching them out until they evaporate into nothingness. He creates a dreamy mood, but you may not be awake by the end.

She catchily sends up herself, her Britishness and the unlikelihood of her (likely) stardom.

There's something genuinely refreshing about smiley-faced singer/songwriter Rosie Thomas's straightforwardness.

Side A is mostly introspective threats, neurotic boasting and paranoia about enemies. Side B is the same but with a focus on women and his love life. As with most of his releases, it works perfectly--but for 25 tracks to work is undeniably impressive.

She manages to cut through generic themes to inject darker predilections with hard-sung vocals that sound downright masochistic at times.

KRS-One's wordplay remains clever and topical, especially on the anti-Auto-Tune anthem Robot, while his sanctimoniousness has been toned down to more tolerable levels. Black Moon’s Buckshot is a comfortable pairing and, although his street-savvy sound may not have aged as well as some of his Duck Down Records brethren’s, he still finds a familiar dynamic when rapping alongside old cohorts.

The tunes remain pleasantly unhurried, lush and laid-back but fail to stimulate. His small, fragile voice now seems slightly whiny and affected.

A song like AM/FM is downright uplifting, catchy and groove-heavy which, along with bucking our expectations, is always what lifted this eight-member band above the fray.

Too bad clunky lyrics hold things back at times.

It comes off like a neutered reprise of the band's decades-old spirit.

Unfortunately, singer Gary Lightbody can't resist playing it safe. He slides comfortably back into the stadium-size ballads and mushy MOR formulas that scored on their million-seller, Final Straw.

They’ve set their laser harp on “snooze” and come up with a yawn-inspiring set of digital whoosh over which to chant some nonsense that at best resembles the Chemical Brothers at their worst.