With this balanced collection of solid rockers, more airy, toned-down tracks and far less self-indulgent noodling, Oasis prove they can learn from their mistakes.

Without any clever arrangements or production gimmicks to rely on, Keys tries to compensate for the obvious shortcomings by oversinging each syllable in a way that would make Patti LaBelle cringe.

Not amazing, but steady and fun all the same.

The results are surprisingly engrossing.

Reg has matured a lot, and Jet Black is easily the most dynamic and upbeat record of his career.

Unfortunately Summers’s voice and persona just don’t suit this material.

It's often a little too wacky and silly for its own good, but overall Personal Computer is a fun collection of weirdo funk pop.

Born Ruffians’ sophomore album is a cohesive, occasionally repetitious helping of choppy indie pop, almost brutalist in its minimalist instrumentation and dry-as-a-bone production.

While sometimes dreamy and ethereal, South are able to bridge quieter moments with danceable, gloomy pop – simply speaking, a great achievement.

Jackrabbit is smart, charming and ambitious. But it would have been a lot more concise without the filler tracks in the middle.

The album wouldn't be satisfying if it was just another version of Freudian. But Caesar calls the album an experiment, and that's often what it feels like. He's still figuring it all out.

He [bandleader Anthony Gonzalez] masterfully weaves myriad sounds and structures--mainly late 70s- and early 80s-influenced--into a remarkably strong, cohesive unit.

An album that's high on good intentions but low on spark.

Three albums and 700 guitar solos later, they sound like a band becoming a bit too comfortable in their niche.

It's a better album than their last, and diehard fans should be satisfied, but it's not going to get the rest of us very excited.

LeBlanc's garbled vocal delivery only serves to obscure weak lyrics.

Haze is positioning herself as a top 40 infiltrator, which is fine, but she’s also diluted her uniqueness.

This lengthy offering comes complete with a detailed manifesto about its inspiration. Too bad it reads like your kid brother’s first ’shroom trip.

Awkward and embarrassing, the mixtape as a whole feels like a PR move to get you to listen to Nash-free embedded song Silly by new protégé Casha.

That free-form fury is a critique of the tendency to look for precise meaning in music, thereby devaluing the visceral and the emotional. But the most menacing part is the words uttered at the beginning.

A few songs recall the off-the-cuff, askew rock 'n' roll they built their name on. Others, though, are barely listenable.

Aussie collective Architecture in Helsinki return with an awkward mess of shrieking faux island riddims and embarrassing rump-shaking elasto-funk.

One Love goes surprisingly deep, but an instrumental companion disc would’ve been a nice touch.

Charlotte Gainsbourg's Beck-produced IRM was a stellar sleeper gem of an album, but this follow-up sounds tossed together.

O’Connor’s impassioned delivery elevates the most middling melodies and predictable rhymes.

Yes, all the songs are nice and pretty, but there's something missing. It could be that in 2016 there's palpable nostalgia for mid-2000s indie rock (see Wolf Parade reunion tour). But it's the actual music from a decade ago that fans are yearning for, not necessarily the newest versions of the bands themselves.

If you're only into the band for the music, then this will be a solid purchase – it's far more polished and focused than Songs About Jane. Lyrically, though, this album gets tired fast.

It could have worked, but the dated production style bogs it down.