Williams leads the five-piece throughout this charged-up record that rarely comes up for air.

ew singer William DuVall spends half his time replicating Staley’s nasal misanthropy and the other half buried by Cantrell’s vocals.

Building on the critical goodwill he received from 06s stripped-down This Old Road, the 73-year-old Kristofferson offers another sparsely produced batch of reflective acoustic tunes that he sings with sage simplicity.

The lack of instruments coupled with Sandoval’s unvarying singing style lead to mind-wandering and reminiscing about her past work, like the killer hook she added to the Jesus and Mary Chain’s Sometimes Always.

All the more frustrating is the fact that Ghost’s guest verses on the new Raekwon album are stone-cold incredible. Clearly, he can still rap, but only when his audience isn’t looking.

No doubt Kingston can write a tune that sticks in the ear like a small insect. But just like having an insect in your ear, once the novelty wears off, it starts to get irritating.

The Brixton duo’s music fails to connect with any of the collaborating vocalists, to the point where you wonder if those involved were even in the same room together.

Brendan O’Brien, best known for his continuous work with Pearl Jam and Springsteen, takes over from Gavin Brown on Billy’s third s/t offering, and there’s some noticeable dulling of the edges here.

Vapours dutifully recognizes the playful history of the group and, with the re-addition of drummer Jamie Thompson, is sure to appease followers and win over new listeners.

TNV’s latest rises above previous efforts thanks to anthemic No Time, No Hope, which might jog memories of a barely coherent Lou Reed.

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

There’s a casual feel to this recording that generally works in its favour. Nothing sounds too laboured, and you get the feeling that they banged out the tunes quickly in an attempt to capture some live urgency. On the downside, the unpretentious approach often borders on unambitious.

There’s a mopey, self-pitying quality to the lyrics, and the duo never once connect with or transmit the sultry passion that existed between those 60s icons [Serge Gainsbourg and Brigitte Bardot].

Cudi deserves credit for such an audacious high-concept debut. It falls a bit flat, but at least it falls forward.

Stellar 12-minute opus 'Time Flies' teems with Pink Floydesque arrangements and moving lyrics, while 'Octane Twisted' offers up massive guitar riffage that you can bang your head to.

This isn’t a summer jam. The Reykjavík natives’ seventh studio album is moody and minimal, with slow-building beats.

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 band’s sophomore effort is solid throughout, offering a heady mix of shimmering guitars, arty lyrics and creative rhythms that build on the work of romantic NYC indie bands like the National, the Walkmen and French Kicks.

The pitch-correction software is alive and well even on this record.... This glaring inconsistency is the least of BP3’s missteps.

Current fans may appreciate these saccharine sounds, but others will find them a little much. Still, the highlights make this album worth recommending to those with a penchant for breakup music.

Over the years, his raps grew less engrossing and his albums bombed atomically. But he’s back on point with OB4CL2, sounding as fierce and focused as ever.

It never sounds gimmicky--instead, the juxtaposing of acoustic guitars and synthesizers seems completely natural.

The Mississippi native leads a spartan group that includes the Felice brothers’ Ian Felice and Greg Farley through 10 woodsy cuts that convey warmth, loneliness and the rural South’s sinister underbelly.

The highlight is the laid-back Across The World with B.o.B, where Pitbull gets introspective for a minute. “Mr. 305” is at his best when tying together different styles, but the mindless, misogynistic filler on tracks like Full Of Shit and Girls sours the album as a whole.

This offering sets him apart from other acts and may secure his spot in the canon of bedroom crooners.

If you let go of your preconceptions, what you’ll hear is a strong soul album by a mature singer who’s successfully channelling a lot of real pain in her music.

[Alex Turner] and the lads put their trust in Queens of the Stone Age heavyweight Josh Homme to help craft a record that, though not completely successful, frequently surprises, takes chances and demands further listens.

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