Thoroughly enjoyable from beginning to end, the band have stuck to their formula and produced another decent if less-than-outstanding record.

A Melvins selection box of sorts, Basses Loaded is packed with delights.

Shimmering industrial dance pulses seem so back in vogue that it’s almost as if no-one ever laughed at Nitzer Ebb. Hence, Wrangler’s second studio album, generally much less brutal than Nitz, but featuring a few lyrics undercooked enough to have featured in the latter’s back-catalogue, may be ploofing about at just the right time.

The laidback intimacy of the recording reaps especially rich rewards on the heartbreaking Sad Songs And Waltzes, further enhanced by Mickey Raphael’s harmonica. It’s the sibling bond that’s strongest, though: a whole history of great American music coursing through the Nelson blood.

While it isn’t without its moments, that is not enough to forgive the sub-standard R’&’B and lumpy rock crossovers.

It’s wilful experimentation with no pay-off, sounding lonely, old, with only the occasional, tempting flicker of a genius that once burnt bright.

Boys Forever goes some way to making things alright, under or above ground.

There are numerous examples of predictable usual suspects (the fuzzy goth of The Cure's Primary, a trippy twist on The Cramps' Goo Goo Muck), but deeper riches are found in what, on the surface, might be seen as curveball choices. [Apr 2026, p.105]

It’s an edgy, spirited 12-track affair, and it feels like the logical successor to the band’s recently reissued Dung 4, rather than a belated follow-up to Devil Hopping.

The old sarcasm and spite that made the first few records such evil fun is still here--in particular on Long Haired Punks and Grinding Teeth--and while speedy thrash beats aren’t present, miserably filthy and heavy drone riffs are--a step forward.

It’s easy to like but, ultimately, easy to forget too.

With Lost Themes II, John Carpenter and band have delivered an album that not only stands up to its predecessor, but surpasses it. In addition to eerie atmospherics, the album is laden with addictive grooves, and feels sharper.

This record is a composite piece blessed with a vision and singularity that repeatedly surprises and invigorates.

Third album Abbar El Hamada continues that [broad musical] path, though it eschews the largely acoustic nature of Soutak for a more electrified outing.

A surprisingly wide-ranging six-track EP of instrumentals providing a loving partner-piece.

Genuinely touching tunes such Driving and Tomorrow add a layer of depth and will help fend off inevitable accusations of ironic retroism, but Delicate Steve’s core appeal will always be that of good times all the time.

Musically it’s a side trip to the shop of horrors.

Singer John Paul Pitts explains there are also other heavy themes on this record, varying from mental illness to car accidents. But still the sunniness pervades. Ironically perhaps, Snowdonia is a summery sounding record, produced in a time that could easily have called for a deep freeze for Surfer Blood.

He channels snippets into new compositions played over an 808 with some rudimentary vintage synths, evoking memories of his teenage past sitting alongside a radio with fingers tentatively poised on play and record.

A bygone feel permeates a few of the songs; the joyful saloon rock of Frankie Fell In Love takes listeners back to The River, and Down In The Hole recalls the more reflective Bruce of Born In The USA and Tunnel Of Love.

As with Robed In Rareness, the music here is insular, at times verging on the claustrophobic, though Butler again looks out to his wider network, granting features on all but one of the collection's seven track. [May 2024, p.105]

As she breezes past 70, the mood of Dolly’s songs is inevitably nostalgic and retrospective.

Capsule Sickness boasts a warmer tone, if one that lacks direction, unlike the fuller sound of Crux with its sharply distorted, decidedly un-humanlike “vocals”. Other tracks stalk the no-man’s land between noise music and techno, constantly threatening to stomp on any unexploded landmines just to see how impressive a sound that might make.

Songs like Fire Burn and Close The Door show the band still have a passionately political edge, and Bounce is a worthy addition to their canon.

Motion Set has songs--channelling Blue Cheer, Crazy Horse and Velvet Underground by proxy--but they just seem like context provision for Rogers who, even this deep into his career, keeps jettisoning the most luminescent, surging six-string gymnastics since Paul Leary’s psych-pimping turns on Butthole Surfer’s exquisite Hairway To Steven.

This isn’t an album in the Simon & Garfunkel mould, a folk-tinged duo with a good-humoured foray into the past. There’s barely a guitar in sight, instead all violins and cellos, just a touch of electro going on amid the orchestrations that make it, at times, dark and moody, and always thoughtful and imaginative. The orchestrations are deftly arranged, far from simply a star singing with strings attached. [Christmas 2024, p.128]

Tull’s strangely titled 24th studio effort breaks no new ground, yet would fit seamlessly into the band’s run of polished 80s albums like Crest Of A Knave and Rock Island. [Mar 2025, p.105]

The leaping chorus of Exile Rag’s hysterical country-rock, Jon Spencer-ish juke-joint holler of Belmont (One Trick Pony), the Dylan-indebted Slice & Delta Queen and fell-off-a-barstool theatre of Fake Magic Angel are vivacious vagabond story-songs with vim and character to spare. A colourful cast of wayward angels and thrill-seeking beatniks populates their fringes vividly.