The LP's concerted efforts toward eclecticism feel more like a frantic effort towards containment, playing out like rote exercises in proving Snaith's stylistic mastery rather than genuine moments of strobe-lit inspiration.

Those aching for Parker's winning synthesis of classic rock's melancholy and poppy euphoria still have plenty to chew on here. To ravers, Deadbeat might sound like not much more than beach bar music.

The project consists of six previously released remixes, which have been butchered into new edits half their original size, one remastered demo track leaked online 15 years ago ("Gone Gone Gone") and one new remix. .... This may not be the Veronica we wanted, but the Veronica we have is a pleasant enough nostalgia exercise for the golden era of late '90s dance music.

This album has an overall ephemeral quality. It's commanding when it's on, but aside from a few highlights, it feels like a minor work in both artists' discography. Time will tell.

When she steps away from the overproduced big drops and focuses on body groove, Kelly's world is worth stepping into.

Honey also lack the narrative depth that invited us in so close on Suddenly. If you look beyond the sweet, sticky surface, you'll likely be left craving more substance—until you're distracted by melodies that spin you into infatuation once again. For newer Caribou or Daphni fans who aren't as concerned about the polarising split between Snaith's two projects, Honey still services that dance floor giddiness—with a subtle drip of bittersweetness.

While some of its tracks were closer to completion than others when she died, the album overall still sounds unfinished.

He can't find a way back into the very culture that created him. This tragedy, and its lack of resolution, defines the saccharine and overdone sound of In Waves, whose missing of the mark is evident from its earliest moments.

The tracks that feel like direct tributes to older, better tunes tend to fare better than the majority of the album, which is hugely sentimental but never sufficiently sharpens its edges to counteract all that mush.

Of course, this repetition is the point of a record titled Endlessness, yet it feels like a central motif seemingly existing for its own sake.

The flatness of their construction, despite refreshingly warm undertones, means the songs easily collapse beneath the weight of Smith's carefully constructed persona, losing the plot on his apparent quest to let loose. Where they might blossom, the album's new cuts mostly bore holes into themselves.

Bridging that pop-underground divide has always been what makes Gou an interesting artist, but on I Hear You, she can't seem to veer from the middle of the road.

King Perry (released on Tricky's label—he also co-produces four tracks) simply falls flat, lost in technological tricks and devoid of Perry's classic, quizzical warmth.

It's an album that sounds less extreme than it has any right to, inspiring a cold and technical appreciation for Lopatin's craftsmanship, but not necessarily excitement.

Their tenth LP, For That Beautiful Feeling, returns to their well-established formula once again, at times surging with renewed ambition and other times falling curiously flat.

Secret Life is undeniably gorgeous. But it's a mainstream, you-know-how-this-ends kind of gorgeous, like a Hollywood remake of some European arthouse film. ... It's difficult to be mad at Secret Life. But the bigger problem is that it's hard to feel anything at all.

The album gets off to a rough start with "Don't Leave Me Like This," whose poppy melancholy could be better appreciated if Bobby Raps's vocals weren't distorted to an infuriating chipmunk pitch. ... But on tracks like "Way Back," Moore shines, and his knack for earworm melodies, genre mashups and collaboration comes through.

Listening to the album feels like opening a time capsule to the early and mid-10s, a period marked by a cheesy, over-the-top hedonism that might only be truly understood if you survived the Great Recession and saw Obama become president twice. ... It's easier to get behind Quest For Fire when Moore's dubstep influences are subtler.

Gibson's earlier work mixed pop mastery with genuine feeling. Actual Life 3 is the Hollywood remake, with not-quite-convincing lookalikes and a script laden with clichés.

Beyoncé is clearly itching to experiment with her sound. This latest album may not be her most cohesive release, but it does come with a handful of well-executed surprises. ... The album falls flat when it tries too hard to immerse itself in a culture that does not belong to Beyoncé.

Though not without its charms, the floundering moments of Crash suggests that Charli XCX may be most comfortable making subversive music.

At its best, the LP touches on the dizzying maximalism that made past records so thrilling. But at other times it treads the same ground as the healing frequency meditation videos that proliferate on YouTube.

Overstuffed with ideas, some of Magic Oneohtrix Point Never's odd juxtapositions and clever references feel merely "neat." You don't get the sense Lopatin's deeply invested—more that he's throwing concepts at the wall and seeing what sticks. There are stunning moments on Magic Oneohtrix Point Never.

While a clearing of the cobwebs is liberating for the artist, the resulting record is a tough sell for its audience, even one as dedicated as Vladislav Delay's. Rakka could be a step towards something great. But too often, getting through it is like walking with a stone in your shoe.

Suddenly is a frustrating listen. Snaith's talent for writing earworms, hooks and choruses has never been so apparent. But overall he sounds like he's trying too hard, taking influence from too many places.

The album has bags of character and is big on ideas. Unfortunately, not all of them work. ... Jarring sounds and heavy-handed ideas dominate the album's second half and ultimately spoil the record.

Some of the work Power did as one half of Fuck Buttons matched the grandiosity of this record's melodies, but did so with emotional resonance. But with the sense of plastic emptiness so ever-present, Animated Violence Mild too directly mirrors the very thing it's critiquing.

Swinscoe has a knack for both producing lush orchestral movements and picking worthy collaborators. On To Believe, they are unfortunately not more than the sum of their parts.