While her vocals absolutely rule 99% of the time, the instruments just do not measure up. It's hard to even point out specific parts because it all blends together and not in a good way.

‘1999’ has a nice, early 90s computer game vibe, but the BMTH-esque screaming vocals completely kill any momentum that the two-minute track had. It really is a shame because there are plenty of moments here that make you think that Danny might turn the corner and bring back some of the whacky, darker vibes from the past, but those moments are always killed by embarrassing vocals, cringe worthy pop choruses and not enough of Danny himself actually rapping.

Period is an album of lukewarm nostalgic bops, where the few moments of truly interesting artistry are left to languish alone in their respective corners. It’s by no means a poor record if you’re just in it for some lighthearted background party jams.

Never Enough's tepid reheats demand some form of urgent rethink.

While much of the record’s content could be charitably filed under inoffensively middle-of-the-road, ‘Outsider’, ‘Addicted To Pain’ and ‘Shards’ are some of the feeblest compositions the band has ever released.

All in all, Forever Howlong feels like a missed opportunity. There are enough good bits to show that the band are as capable as ever of crafting a spellbinding moment, but there’s a frustrating lack of direction or commitment that prevents these moments from ever coalescing.

Despite the obvious beauty on display, there’s a thick veil that I just can’t seem to lift in order to fully connect with the work. Try as I might, a good portion of the record seems to roll by its picturesque scenery without causing too much of a stir, with “Capezio” and “Hanging Out” challenging the confidence of my object permanence.

A willingness to wear many hats and Benny Blanco's dreamy production help usher in Selena's best project yet.

The number of songs and the length would be a bit more understandable if there weren’t also the feeling that some of these songs are woefully undercooked and underdeveloped, but it feels like a true russian roulette to engage with the totality of Music when you get a song that feels kinetic and lively and progresses, only to then be met with a bonafide voice memo that repeats one idea over and over.

The core songs are decent, still, there’s nothing mind blowing. While the instrumentals occasionally dive into intricate progressions, they never truly reach a powerful climax. Thus, we are left with several fragmented bits and a couple of fleshed out numbers in between.

Off With Her Head is a solid album, well-produced and with occasional moments of brilliance, but ultimately it’s the singer’s blandest effort to date, its best moments offering little more than a bittersweet reminder of what it could have been.

While the ceiling is low and the majority of So Close To What is annoyingly undercooked, there is still a lot of promise to be found. Tate and her team clearly have an ear for sticky melodies and the lack of necessary lore is appreciated, but there still is a very pervasive sense of figuring things out here.

If I’d stuck to just a listen or two of Bad Apple or No Homo, I’d be tempted to think this was a good album. But underneath the fight-montage attack, the songwriting feels about as lazy as it can possibly get. I’m not looking for math-rock bridges or string sections in my garage band or anything, but there’s a difference between walking down a well-trod path and wallowing.

Ringo remains Ringo, for better and worse. And in keeping with the hangdog Ringo persona this isn’t even the best country-adjacent album by a Beatle. It’s an album for Ringo Starr, and if we can’t give it any sort of adulation, we can at least respect its intentions, and those of the artists who made it.

Fennesz' ear for striking textures takes the spotlight precisely once here: through the latter minutes of the opener "Heliconia", he plucks and rakes his guitar as though putting it on life support, the stark tone of the instrument a fragile contrast to the densely processed sound that otherwise dominates the album. It produces a genuinely compelling tension and sets the bar modestly high, this but proves to be an early peak: the remaining five tracks lay down one languorous chord pattern after another, their digital modulations and cavernous reverb settings spread too thin to patch the threadbare cast-offs.

The Last Will and Testament is slickly produced, conceptually sound and stronger in its first half. Unfortunately, it lacks an overall aesthetic that would see this record reach the accolades of Blackwater Park, Watershed or even Heritage while dabbling in those clear elements.

The faults of Bouquet lie not in the genre lane-switch, but in the artist’s seeming disdain for her own talent, which by-and-large goes unutilised here in favour of an exceptionally flavourless, dirt-road bland, pop country excursion.

From Zero is a tale of two halves. The first half feels like pandering to what people miss from Linkin Park. .... However, by the time “Overflow” rolls around, a switch flips. Though it’s more of a Shinoda track, it sets the stage for a strong second half, with its dark and captivating atmosphere and simplistic instrumentation that makes it a powerful standout. From this point on, From Zero maintains momentum.

Supercharged is a surprisingly decent, albeit flawed record. There are elements of greatness at the heart of it, but the problems soon arise when The Offspring attempt to veer away from their wheelhouse of driving riffs and infectious hooks.

The interludes don’t do much, while a handful of tunes need a richer structure in order to develop an immersive atmosphere. As a result, Powder Dry is similar to reading pages from a diary, some entries describe full stories while others share only a few scattered thoughts. Nevertheless, I appreciate Tim for discarding all guest appearances and the idea of a comfort zone to truly realize his own vision.

The truly interesting thing about this is that, for such a spacey album, it’s among the shallowest things I’ve ever heard.

Kantos isn’t all bad, but it is his worst album yet. It’s somehow both too cluttered and more conventional at the same time, and the lyrics, while pretty most of the time, don’t hit as hard as they did on this record’s predecessor.

The radical optimist in me wants to commend Magdalena Bay for channelling their myriad inspirations without referential pussyfooting, but they play their theoretically dazzling palette so straight, with such frictionless segues that the bulk of its tracklist pans out as one proverbial thing after another.

‘Espresso’/‘Please Please Please’ are each strong enough in their own respective ways to carry Sabrina to stardom and keep her there for years to come. It’s just a shame that the rest of this record couldn’t live up to those efforts, because anything worthwhile to be gleaned from this particular era of Sabrina Carpenter’s career has already been out and heard a hundred times over.

This album's initial impact and discog-relative quality may be nothing short of a wonder, but it only takes a few songs for all-too-familiar snags to make themselves felt. Though the mix places him appropriately low, Corgan is still one of the worst singers in all rock music.

Smile! :D is a weird album. It’s equal parts disappointing and enjoyable: it’s a good time if you don’t pay too much attention and zone out every once in a while. Most of all, it’s a failed experiment.

Well-meaning and inoffensive.

Post Human: Nex Gen is genuinely impressive. How does one band manage to rip off Deaf Havana, Deftones, Boston Manor, Enter Shikari, Porter Robinsonbithfimtaylorswift, Green Day, Radiohead, MGK, Iggy Pop and DreamWeaver, feature Underoath, Aurora, Lil Uzi Vert, Daryl Palumbo and Glassjaw… and be this goddamn boring?