Brazen Bull is a cohesive, if lengthy, album that offers only occasional audio reminders of who was behind the board.

Gucci's head-down focus on honing his signature sound is admirable, but the monosyllabic stuntin' gets old fast, and flashes of lyrical or melodic invention are scant. Disappointing coming from a man with an ice cream cone face tattoo.

Overall, the record is buoyed by relentless exuberance and good-natured charm.

Ufabulum won't blow the mind of anyone familiar with his work, but it's a decent entry point for new fans and a very satisfying collection of light-hearted left-field dance music.

While this is an atmospheric record, it's also upbeat and poppy enough to encourage dancing or at least vigorous head-nodding.

The tongue-in-cheekness can create a distance that prevents the songs from hitting hard and/or stirring up your feelings. But you can still sit back and appreciate Arner's songwriting craft, knack for memorable hooks, the intelligent places his songs go to, his and Delisle's harmonic chops and the lo-fi production aesthetic that speaks to a talent for doing a lot with a little.

After 16 songs ranging from electro-country to the parody-heavy We're The Pet Shop Boys and various quasi-conversational raps à la the Streets' Mike Skinner about losing his virginity, I felt the man should rope things in.

At first, the minimalist acoustic guitar and Canning’s murmured vocals sound almost nonchalant, but his deft playing and nuanced arrangements elevate tracks like However Long and Bullied Days.

While opener 'Trash' sounds like the sort of thing Bloc Party should have done after "Silent Alarm," most tracks are hurt by a real lack of lyrical depth.

PB and J also don’t lose their mass appeal here.

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

There's no cohesion... That said, Luda can still turn out solid tracks based on three qualities: clever lyrics, commitment to concepts and taste in beats.

When it works, it’s as joyful as the best Tune-Yards songs. ... Given her soaring delivery elsewhere, the talk-sung ABC 123 and Now As Then fall flat in comparison, and the reliance on 808s feels a tad dated for a group lauded for their innovative production.

A macabre mood keeps it cohesive and lends a cinematic quality, kind of like the A$AP Rocky Horror Picture Show.

If you can disregard the arrogance of proclaiming yourself outside the parameters of musical taxonomy and if you don’t mind Anna Barie’s shrill chanting, appropriately ghoulish on Sand Tassels, you’ll probably dig this synthesized blueprint of the future.

The intricate vocal arrangements and alluring harmonica parts of opener 'Shampoo' grab the listener with bright potential, while 'Hey' is a lovely upbeat duet with Lavender Diamond’s Becky Stark.

Being out of control is a hallmark of Wayne’s style and what’s made him impossible to ignore for the last two years. In this crew, only Minaj’s paying attention.

2 Chainz likes to offset the raunchy with the heartfelt, but when the tone shifts to earnestly autobiographical, he sounds derivative.

It's wildly diverse, but there's a lightness and unobtrusiveness to each song that mirrors her airy delivery while hinting at even more untapped potential.

This time, the Mos Def/Common/Talib triumvirate contribution is expectedly solid. Saigon proves his debut's delay is criminal. Malik B shows how much he needs to be the permanent Prince Po to Thought's Pharoahe Monch. And Kamal, Hubbard and ?uestlove flesh out a series of sonically stunning numbers midway through.

As sex-filled as Trigga is, typical bedroom R&B is no longer such a turn-on.... Nevertheless, Trigga is smooth and singable, with its share of gems.

The results are sometimes sharp, as on mischievous New York City and Here We Go Again, with their mirrored melodies reinterpreted on flute and sax. Other times, his lyrical directness relies on clichés--reminding us that love sometimes sounds quite ordinary.

It’s when the pace slows that the record drags slightly, though Klein’s lyrics elevate even the mid-tempo songs.

The trio hit on a raw, emotional, gritty new sound, but success failed to materialize until some 40 years later.

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

This is still effervescent, hook-based pop, but it eschews the Delgados' more orchestrated moments in favour of simpler instrumentation, whipped into cabaret-ish arrangements or pared down into frantic post-punk, with driving lines of ringing single-note bass and guitar.

For the most part, this album would sound completely at home on classic rock radio.

Originality isn’t always the most important criterion in music like this. Familiar, nostalgic sounds can please just as much, as they do here.