Whilst with Sakura they haven’t quite achieved that elusive balance between the raw emotion and intimacy that made Big Deal so enticing in the first place and the intensity and power of a full band, all the signs suggest they will soon.

It's no surprise that the best tracks on the album are taken from her two excellent EPs that came before, full of that experimental, genre busting pop she wanted to achieve. The rest of the album, though, fails to truly inspire and stir up those same emotions in the listener that Sey so clearly has in her voice.

There are at least a half-dozen verses in this album alone that stand amongst his best ever. ... Problem is, saying a whole lotta nothing for 70-plus minutes doesn’t exactly make for a compelling rap record.

They demonstrate a knack for so many areas it’s hard to predict where they may go in the next few years, although it’s a bit incoherent at times as the band schlep from one genre to another while still trying to hoist in their innate pop flair. This record’s a crossroads.

There’s no inherently bad songwriting here, but most of it isn’t particularly interesting, either. This ultimately becomes the chief complaint here.

Croll has some great, great tunes but they so often artfully distract from the rest of his approach, which can often be minimal, and lacking in effort.

Like the rest of Ranaldo’s work post-Youth, this is a record that suggests that he was perhaps always the member of the band that had the most traditional songwriting sensibilities, and this is once again a thoroughly solid alt-rock effort with just enough of an adventurous slant--particularly, the flashes here and there of glitchy electronic textures--to please casual fans of his old outfit.

With multiple writers Sideways to New Italy perhaps lacks the focus and clear direction that the music deserves; stark changes in vocal styles can break an aural ‘fourth wall’ and remind the listener that the songwriters, while complementary, are also competing with one another for our attention.

The uneven narrative is often jarring, but as an attempt to put a modern spin on old-time rock and roll, Liberation! hits more than it misses.

Silver Wilkinson is a solid return to (mostly) familiar, territory.

There is certainly less filler here than on previous albums, but there are still points which feel a little dull or repetitious.

For the most part, then, The Flower Lane is a glowing ember of a record that shares much of the spark of Mondanile’s “day job” band, but also a little of their occasional tendency toward stylistic appropriation over dedication to content and originality.

The hodgepodge feel is a shame, because at its best RELAXER is euphoric and poignant, at its worst it is frustrating and lumpy.

The Aces are reaching for the stars on this release, and the glimmers of what they could be further down the road burn bright. Unfortunately the album is brought back to Earth when their usually precise hooks and focused direction are left behind in favour of lackadaisical experimentation – the candid lyrics manage to cut through, but it's easy to imagine this album being seen as transitionary in hindsight.

Hayward’s kinetic drumming and Moore’s topographic guitar sprawl recurringly align and separate, speed up and slow down together, in what start to feel like nearly identifiable patterns. Such shapes may be just figures in the clouds, but they catch the imagination as they drift by.

The tunes are there, they’re tsunami big and surfer cool--the lyrics are there, bold, bleak and biting--but there’s been an oversight when it comes to stamping on the pedals, letting rip and allowing Surfer Blood to tear this material a new hole.

The opener and closer are a real treat, and it's a shame that they weren't packaged together where they would have made a shorter but more satisfying whole.

Just as it really gets going and starts shining, it splutters and finishes, leaving a sort of empty feeling.

One of Chung’s strengths is not overstuffing his music, but there are moments where Parallels’ nonchalance makes it feel like less of a full album and more of a holdover between more momentous projects.

What we hear is a man playing conductor, curator, ringmaster, director--a brilliant facilitator, yet one never quite able to hold his own on the stage of his making.

In another step away from her new-folk singer-songwriter roots, Emmy The Great has delivered with a well-considered venture into a wider, colder, dystopian world.

Frankly, a rap space opera shouldn't work this well, and it's a testament to the trio's vision that it does, even if Splendor & Misery can be a pretty turbulent voyage.

There’s nothing in the way of a bold step forward on Unseen, which is the wooziest collection of songs they’ve put out in quite a while; this is very much an album for the wee small hours.

A muddled record that thrills and distresses, equally, in short bursts.

4:44 offers renewed hope for fans who, since Kingdom Come, have felt increasingly disenfranchised by Jay-Z’s loss of touch with his roots and apparent marginalisation of his rap career.

In terms of catchy beats and somewhat meaningful lyrics, each song has one or the other, and Lil Nas X just needs a little more time to get them to match up.

Cults is a pop band--albeit a very distinctive one--and Static only works when the band delivers on the melodies that made its debut so compelling.

Every bit as dense and nuanced as their more traditional work, Celestite might end up finding itself falling between two stools, but no-one could accuse Wolves in the Throne Room of going at this half-heartedly.