It’s not all bad, but one can’t help but think that this fifteen-track recording is a long album for someone with nothing to say.

[A] thrilling and possibly definitive album, it's impenetrable, multifaceted, and irrepressibly imaginative.

DevilDriver put on one hell of a show, and Winter Kills, while not groundbreaking nor particularly surprising, features material well worth blasting from your speakers or seeing live.

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.

Crash Love doesn’t demand the listener’s attention to the same degree as Decemberunderground did, but closer inspection reveals a more intricate and well-constructed album.

In essence, this album sounds like Death Magic if Trent Reznor had gotten a hold of it. They’ve subverted the congenial elements associated with their last record to make some of the band’s darkest incarnations yet.

While Transistor Rhythm ends up as the superbly-produced album that Addison Groove has always hinted at, it's the uniform sterility and refusal to tread water beyond the reach of his peers that stops it from succeeding beyond anything more that simple idol worship.

Stars are quickly carving out their own niche among their peers. And in doing so, they're writing some of the most fluid and organic music of their lives.

Given the great work apparent on the album’s first half, it’s a pity to see the album slide to a close so disappointingly.

Unlike past efforts, however, Ti Amo is jarring for how glossy and smooth everything sounds.

The World Is Yours won't set the world alight with insightful lyrics or experimentation, but that isn't what we've signed up for. This is an LP that just does not let up from the get go.

There are a couple groovy licks scattered here and there which are half decent, but otherwise it's a tepid exercise in mediocrity difficult to even feign interest in.

Estoile Naiant is an invigorating, perplexing journey through the post-modern contextual climate of the information age that has synthesized an almost completely new narrative for the future generation of music, one that is both progressive and retrospective all at once.

It is overbearing, pretentious, huge, and begrudgingly catchy, but most importantly, it unveils a band without direction.

Quite simply, Mechanize corrects all of the band’s past missteps including those made prior to Dino’s departure. It is a collection of everything that made them great without any of the extraneous influences that came later.

Most of the tracks emulate what could be B-Sides of a post-Lemons Ant, doing nothing so groundbreaking as regurgitating mid-90's soul.

The main problem with most of the songs on Grand Hotel stem from The Explorers Club's inability to moderate pretty much anything.

Although it might not be his most cohesive or strongest collection, the man manages to cater to every fan. He sticks what he knows best and that's how we want hi

The point is to not look at What a Time to Be Alive as any sort of triumph of ambition and music, but rather as a solid assortment of irresistable bangers from two artists for whom that shit comes easy. It's not the accomplishment, it's the victory lap.

Felt, in turn, is not Suuns going through the motions; it's Suuns putting down their guitars and dusting off the synthesizers and scrounging up less than stellar material.

Timewave Zero isn’t going to fuel everyone’s jet, and those looking for another slab of progressive death metal madness are sure to be miffed. Comparatively speaking, this little group from Denver set the bar dizzyingly high with their death metal albums one and two, but regardless of preference, Blood Incantation continues to impress—resetting the timeline as they go.

In its simplicity lies a uniquely Eels beauty, realistic and wise. It may be unsure, yes, and there’s certainly some fresh horror around the bend, somewhere, but perhaps that future is more promising than what came before.

Time Team, while displaying shades of true brilliance, is simply an album that doesn't know what it wants to be, and makes the adjustment to compensate for its lack of identity far too late; which is odd, given how well it was doing up until that point.

Mean Everything to Nothing is an excellent record, but no better or worse than its predecessor. It’s just different.

Queen’s greatest asset is Nicki’s dual propensity for virtuosic verses and catchy pop elements. She skillfully blends them on the album’s best tracks.

It's by no means the work of art that it accompanies, but it's almost as endearing and charming as that begrudging look of acceptance on the countenance of the moon at the sight of its unwelcome guests.

A very fun listen.

Temporary Pleasure is a glitterball of an album, shining just right when the light hits and falling where it doesn’t, but like any party, it’ll get you moving if you’re in the mood.