‘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.

An opus that reaffirms Tinashe's place within the pantheon of modern R&B, yet one that also proves that she needs to slightly refine her formula to craft that defining record she's been hinting at here whole career.

There is hardly a wasted second on this thing, not a single gap in the energy rush it sustains, and I suspect it will fare extremely well in a live setting as such. Quibble if you will over this being the mode Melt-Banana have opted to commit to; we're still getting them at their best.

The listener might not quite know what they’re getting, song by song, but the whole tracklist remains high-quality guitar-driven pop. There are notable highlights - among them the utterly infectious opener “Never Be Lonely”, the immaculate title track, and the drugged-out and strangely hypnotic “Screensaver” - but every tune has its own merits.

Sure, this is the worst Charly Bliss album, but it’s also the most fun I’ve had with music in a while: it’s an innocent, radiant celebration of life’s lovely parts.

With the influx of diverse instrumentation and delightfully wacky songwriting/production choices, Paradise State of Mind may actually be their most accomplished album to-date – either way, it’s definitely their most entertaining.

It towers over the vast majority of contemporary rock music with its controlled tunefulness while ever maintaining the effortless modern appeal of Jack White himself.

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.

Bando Stone... really is just an excuse for Glover to flex his acclaimed range, with a mishmash of tracks that presumably gel with moments in the movie given the snippets of dialogue peppered throughout. The price of this lost cohesion is that the man really does have the range to pull all this off.

The social media taint/ industry plant vibes radiate from this project as if it’s been sprayed by a skunk, with very little to recommend it other than as a soundtrack to some upcoming TikTok trend. There’s doubtless an audience for Ice Spice amongst the army of impressionable youths who may find this kind of rap wonderfully diverting, but it’s hard to deny just how artistically barren this release in particular is.

Dr. Dog stands on the shoulders of the band’s other modern efforts. If it’s quality indie-rock you’re seeking, then this is an album that you simply shouldn’t overlook. Dr. Dog is back.

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.

Fans of the band’s earlier albums should enjoy it, while those pesky unbelievers may even be converted as well.

There’s just so very little here to work with, and even as a listener who’s dying to find things to like about this album, every minute spent revisiting it feels like a minute wasted. I sure hope they have it in them to rebound from this disastrous release.

Even when certain songs weren’t quite working, I still found myself able to nod along and get lost in their rhythms. Even when another guest verse cropped up and it threatened to kill the album’s momentum, I found myself rewarded by another dynamite verse from Denzel thanks to the album’s breakneck pace.

It does feel lesser when compared to Blems After Banging’s debut LP, partly because a lot of the novel intrigue has washed away post-Cry, but also because it feels slightly incremental in its employment of familiar tropes and introduction of diverting yet somewhat unnecessary ones. Nevertheless, the record still possesses an intoxicatingly spacey sense of style, the ambience of the music permeating the atmosphere and remaining like the smell of exhaled smoke. Whether it lingers for seconds, days, months, or even years after is a question entirely dependent on the listener.

While Johnny Blue Skies may not boast the adventurous songwriting of Sturgill Simpson’s most daring epics, there’s something about Passage that is honest and comforting. It feels like we’re getting an actual glimpse into his life for the first time in nearly a decade, and while it’s not all rosy (see the nine minute closer about falling out of love with your soul mate), it’s at least all real.

The Death of Slim Shady (Coupe De Grace) isn’t a blazing return to glory, but it is an intriguing album filled with some legitimately light-hearted and funny moments – something I feel has been sorely lacking in his material for years now – the battle between Eminem and Slim Shady is a great concept that is explored pretty competently here, and the instrumentation, while far from perfect, captures the essence of what he’s trying to accomplish here.

The Great American Bar Scene sees Bryan once again settle into something of a familiar groove. He tries throwing John Mayer and Bruce Springsteen features into the mix, but the results are ultimately the same: more slow-to-mid tempo country crooners with results-may-vary emotional resonance. The album is unsurprisingly at its best when Bryan injects fresh ideas and more energy into his formulaic approach.

Warts and all, My Light, My Destroyer is an accomplished effort, and given the context of its release, I’m very happy we get to listen to it.

Dedicated fans of The Felice Brothers can bask in another strong batch of songs, while newcomers may look to this as a gateway to the group's very best material. Either way, Valley is about as worthwhile as b-side compilations come.

Arrangements shift almost entirely between verses, and a dense, psychedelic mix feat. hyperkinetic panning makes you turn up that Mario Caldato Jr. goodness and just lose yourself in the noise only to find yourself being pummelled by Love Heart Cheat Code's final brace of tracks.

It’s sonically daring, and challenges itself to be both unique from the scene and true to its creator.

The content is raw, warm, personal, acid-tongued, poetic, and, given Young’s age, remarkably accomplished.

Les Chants… mostly finds its own spot in Alcest's discography by being the most complete and accurate representation of what the band are all about. It's unlikely to turn naysayers into fans, but if you need an album to introduce newcomers to Alcest, this might just be the one to show them.

Nothing feels forced, the tunes’ order plays like a summary of a night long DJ set that starts slow and ends at the crack of dawn with downtempo/trip hop. Some are highlights, others fly by making less of an impact, yet they are not throwaways. Despite being released as separate singles, the LP plays very well as a whole.

As such, not much of the sonic territory meandered upon here is particularly new for the band, but they manage to provide highly satisfying renditions of many of the styles they’ve explored over the years. As such, this latest album feels like a rather comfortable, but nonetheless impressive, addition to the canon.

[Forever] ends up being a stitched-together collection of hackneyed, banal platitudes laid over tongue-bitingly asinine hook after hook, all so mewling and flabby there’s little to grasp beyond feeble stabs at nostalgia.