Ginuwine sounds more than comfortable throughout, and succeeds in making fundamental R&B with a good deal of replayability.

Every song on this--her fifth--album sparkles with intelligence.

His tendency to cram a million ideas into every song gets toned down, too, but fans of that aesthetic shouldn’t worry; the songs are as intricate and delightfully off-kilter as ever.

The album has some great moments but a few too many fumbles to hold up as a complete package.

It’s all very lush and fabulous, but also restrained and calculated to the point of coldness. If that’s intentional, they’ve pulled it off, but not necessarily to the album’s benefit.

A highly polished 50s-girl-group sound prevails, bringing out production values that verge on cheesy but also string and vocal arrangements that are impressively, bombastically Bacharach.

Now the songwriting is more ambitious, cerebral and not always out to attack, and third vocalist Wade MacNeil is increasingly putting his stamp on the sound. It doesn’t always come together.

Reanimation never sounded so lifeless.

The large cast of vocalists are quite upfront in the mix, and the quality of the songs tends to depend on their talent, but for the most part it’s a strong collection of bangers, with few missteps.

The band’s put together one of their more accessible albums, full of immediate thrills instead of drawn-out weirdness.

The Ecstatic begins with the Middle Eastern/rock-music-influenced Supermagic and doesn't let up on the sound clashes until the very end. Production by Madlib, Oh No, J Dilla, and Mr. Flash (yes, the Ed Banger Records Mr. Flash) keeps The Ecstatic's instrumental canvas as multi-textured and eclectic as they come.

When they slip up, it’s due to stupid lyrics or mainstream tendencies (like the beginning of the first single, 'Burial'). But they do create winning synth moments on 'Song For No One' and 'In Search Of.'

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

The much richer sound on these formats spins songs recorded as many as 40-plus years ago eerily into the moment. It’s as if you’re listening at the exact instant of recording, making the music as personal as a direct memory.

This back and forth continues throughout the album and makes for a satisfying mix of clarity and perplexity. In the indie rock game, Grizzly Bear’s expansive scope is unmatched.

His push toward “real” songwriting is aided significantly by Canadian expat and multi-instrumentalist Jason “Gonzales” Beck, who spins a Parisian pop spell on the track Luxury and grounds Tiga’s high-camp inclinations on Shoes.

If you’re able to tolerate the graphic descriptions of rape, incest, drug abuse, dismemberment and felching (Google it), the reward is an incredible amount of introspection, and top-shelf production by Dr. Dre throughout adds to the replayability factor.

For all its glossy, soul-searching schmaltz, the band’s full-length debut is a polished record full of consistently catchy hooks.

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

His brilliant, whispery, Gainsbourgh-like vocal delivery is replaced by base shouting, his hilarious wordplay reduced to grating, beat-poet-like observations.

A stellar offering.

For those who never quite got John Vanderslice, he’s finally made a love-on-first-listen recording. Yes, you have to pay attention to the lyrics, but the reward is clever, well-developed storytelling.

Everything sounds lovely, but the songs are too indistinct from one another, and there’s very little emotional range on display.

On this one, there are wonky backup vocals, trashy-sounding drums, disgustingly distorted guitar solos, vaguely off-key horns. You get the sense that Lewis, also a talented comic-book maker, does whatever the hell he wants, and it totally works.

He’s abandoned the tres, a three-stringed Cuban guitar used uniquely on earlier efforts, in favour of a few not-so-good stabs at reggae. But he keeps his songs zippy and focused, and infuses many with foot-tappin’ playfulness.

The story is hard to follow, but after a few listens the band’s rallying cries take shape.

Cam’ron has evolved on this no-frills release, and it is disarmingly effective.

Quicken The Heart, however, goes nowhere new and hardly bests its predecessor.