Despite repetitive structures and an average song length of over seven minutes, the duo hold interest with their sterling musicianship and artfully detailed performances.

If you already hate him, nothing on this disc will change your mind. But some surprisingly creative moments throughout the album will likely inspire hundreds of clones over the next year.

Listening to the fiercely adrenalized sophomore disc by Sweden’s Love Is All is like being at the fair for an entire weekend, stuffing your face with cotton candy and taking one too many spins on the Gravitron.

All the tracks on her eighth studio album, Our Bright Future, are as clear as her voice, and the lyrics are simple and honest.

The Bronx’s third self-titled album sounds a little too comfortable.

So the cookie-cutter joints are tossed out the window for The Renaissance as Q-Tip attempts to show that he can creatively flow over whatever unusual progression or production twist comes along with each successive track.

There are some really gorgeous moments here, as on sleepy waltz 'Don’t Watch Me Dancing' and beautiful lazy closer 'Evaporar,' but overall the album comes off as an incomplete and thrown-together hobby project.

Even though he’s become a much more expressive musician, the updated Berlin is no more powerful or gripping than the original commercial flop. It is, however, much more consumer-friendly.

It feels like she’s made no effort to censor herself musically or lyrically, and that naked honesty makes this disc stand out strikingly.

Occasionally sounding like Vast Aire’s little brother with Bigg Jus aspirations, this immense man spills his solemn life lessons while treading the literal lyric territory that Vast owns so effortlessly.

The rewards are there--it just takes some work.

Ronson lowers Ricky Wilson’s maddeningly limited vocals and amps the bass, but the disc still fails to come alive.

4:13 Dream is slightly better than the misguided hype suggests.

The otherwise likeably raunchy and bratty Pink is now officially walking a fine line, leaning dangerously close to the humdrum.

If you’re not up on that stuff, Microcastle may seem like a more impressive creative breakthrough than it actually is, which could explain the gushy reviews.

This album, like everything else Legend has done, showcases his skill as an artist, but it lacks the passion that would help him reach the Stevie Wonder status he strives for.

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

There are some great moments, to be sure, but there are too many spots where the lyrics induce cringing and the electronic interventions sound more like gimmicks than real song elements.

While the production is tight, it’s not going to cause rival producers to sell their samplers and look for jobs in air conditioning repair.

In the end, Car Alarm is likeable enough if you’re already a fan. Just don’t expect to die of excitement.

While the record is a solid listen front to back, standout moments include 'Princes,' which features Ghana-London rapper Tinchy Stryder, and the breathless vocals on the ghostly 'House Jam.' Watch for this album to pop up all over year-end best-of lists next month.

On the Dears’ fourth album, the Montreal melancholics take simple melodies and spin them into seamless epics.

When these two dimensions come together, as on the stunningly awesome 'American Names' or 'Who Do We Care For?,' it all but erases the anguished waiting for him to finally come back around.

Black Ice may sound like a vintage AC/DC record in a superficial way, thanks to producer Brendan O’Brien and engineer Mike Fraser, but having Brian Johnson squeal dumb cliché phrases--three of the 15 songs have “rock ’n’ roll” in the title while a fourth has “rocking”--over a steady 4/4 thump is going to bore even their most ardent followers.

Williams does sound inspired, and there’s an energetic current running through Little Honey that was missing on previous records.

Excellent lyrics can’t save the record from the unnecessary length of some songs; Flesh sacrifices some of its immediacy and impact in tracks that can drift away from the point.

All six tracks are taut, catchy and depressing, 'Fire In The Ocean' in particular--making you wonder what could have been had they stayed together.

Of course, being an audio document, you miss out on the entertaining high-handed flourishes of González at the piano and Bárbarito Torres showboating by playing the laúd behind his back, but it’s still a stellar document of a special performance, the likes of which we’ll never encounter again.