A gorgeous album. [Jun 2018, p.50]

The guests (Denmark Vessey, Nick Offerman--yes, Ron Swanson himself--and Your Old Droog among others) are perfectly judged and the deeper message of the album, that relaxation and repose in 2018 are luxuries that those on the frontline can’t afford, is delivered with extra heft and power thanks to the lightness of touch and the sardonic style hiphop’s coollest couple demonstrate throughout. [May 2018, p.63]

This is music strapped for battle, the beats tooled up and live-sounding, the loops and details kept to a brute minimum by Doom so that the lines, and guest spots from Vinnie Paz and Open Mike Eagle, can really punch through. [May 2018, p.63]

Challenge Me Foolish reveals just how influential he was and continues to be. [May 2018, p.62]

Most of what they play live here is more serene and thoughtful. Not that Pirog is incapable of letting the sparks fly, particularly on “The Inner Ocean” where he opens up with an electric guitar stormer worthy of Sonny Sharrock. “Crowds And Power” perhaps references Fugazi’s glory days. “The Weaver” subtly winds the album down with Pirog on acoustic guitar and an unexpected flurry of orchestral strings. [May 2018, p.60]

This is Byrne at his best, as he calmly describes the impact of the object upon the victim’s history, feelings and anatomy that are being destroyed as a result of its violent intrusion. [May 2018, p.60]

Exorcism addresses a similarly uncomfortable subject, her sexual assault in 2016 and what it means to be a survivor of trauma. That Wilson can turn such trauma into vibrant, addictive pop music is testament to her abilities within strict limitations--the entirety of Exorcism was crafted on a Prophet 6 synthesizer--but Exorcism is unafraid not just of its subject matter but of occupying an intrinsically ambiguous place for the listener. [May 2018, p.59]

This is no mere revivalism. It’s a bridge with the past, created for the future. [May 2018, p.57]

The problem is that this music, heard purely as a piece of product rather than as part of a wider performance with site-specific logic, leaves the listener with too much time in which to speculate what wider agenda the group may be spinning. [May 2018, p.54]

It occasionally breaks into shocking moments of lo-fi howl, as on the 11 minute “Distortion”, which begins with a juddering, buzzsaw chord. The jumbled and constant flow of imagery emerges every now and then from the tumult of his guitar, so that one pulls the other in a different direction. [May 2018, p.54]

While Harris’s voice has become more manoeuvrable, the combination of echo, layering and breathy delivery push the literal meaning of her lyrics just out of reach. Instead the words are like a lure, drawing you further into the space between unfurling sequences of hesitant notes and quiet cries. [May 2018, p.49]

Well-placed details like the joyfully absurd airhorn sample in “Pachyuma” and the phased pulsing of “Orion Song” come across as both lighthearted and profound. “Moscow (Mariposa Voladora)” is a churning, chugging dancefloor banger, textured with acoustic instruments and resonating with a timelessness that unites past and present, ancient and future, here and now. [May 2018, p.46]

It's a pity that the albums is slight, with five songs, one of them a minute-long interlude, in just over half an hour, and settles for revisiting a sound Carlson knows rather than anything more daring. [May 2018, p.44]

This is von Hausswolff’s most open, personal and ultimately affirmative recording to date. [Mar 2018, p.48]

This box is not an artefact but an act, a decisive statement of Czukay’s immutable id bereft of egoistic nostalgia or sentiment. ... Cinema is a beautifully appointed and stylish tribute to a sampladelic pioneer who changed the sound of popular music forever. [Apr 2018, p.72]

The epic slog of Culture II offers up more than 20 courses of candyfloss, toffee apple and burnt syrup in lieu of any real variety. [Apr 2018, p.68]

Lala Belu is his first new recording for decades, and it lives up to the expectation generated by their live appearances. [Apr 2018, p.67]

A warm and thoughtful record. Sometimes the production is a bit light--the first half in particular suffers from a rather MOR unobtrusiveness. But Laveaux’s voice is a treasure, her guitar playing is fresh and prickly, and things get more tangled and interesting the further along we go. [Apr 2018, p.67]

A return to form. ... If anything this album is neither nervous nor holding its nerve, but powerful, solid, the work of a group who know what it is they do and how best to play to their strengths. [Apr 2018, p.64]

Plushly layered drones and percolating beats nearly bury some of the hardest, saddest words they’ve ever sung. [Apr 2018, p.63]

Each track feels like an experiment in throwing footwork principles at other genres to see what might stick, but the results are uniformly excellent. [Apr 2018, p.62]

This is jazz that’s best heard at maximum volume. [Apr 2018, p.62]

Something about its balance between geometric elegance and genuine emotiveness gets at the heart of what makes him a great composer. The playful movement lends a sense of humanity to the structure, and the structure lends rigour to the dance. [Apr 2018, p.60]

This is digital music with great big jammy thumbprints smeared all over it. The little glitches that patter through any one of UNIEQAV’s 12 instrumentals present the human at the heart of the machine.

Mozart’s Mini Mart, his first LP since On The Hot Dog Streets (2012), is militant and magnificent--as oddsome as dress wearing-era Kevin Rowland, as socially astute as Sleaford Mods, as mythomaniacal as Kanye West.

When the singing’s done the guitar returns, its tone so stretched and distorted that you can’t quite tell whether it’s purging or celebrating the lyric’s outcome. Are the voice and guitar together or not? It’s complicated.

It’s a beautiful album, easy to play and dance to, but no less than Seun’s, tinged with enough bitterness, anger and sorrow to provoke deep thought about West Africa’s richest and most problematic musical legacy. [Apr 2018, p.51]

Fela’s youngest son inherited Egypt 80 from his father in 1997 when he was 14 years old and keeps alive its joyously angry spirit. “Last Revolutionary” is a passionate tribute to the wider inheritance of anti-colonial effort and courage that comes down through Kwame Nkrumah, Patrice Lumumba and Jomo Kenyatta, as well as the Nigerian founders. It gives way immediately to the signature title track, which owes much of its airplay to a typically intense but refreshingly unmannered Carlos Santana feature as well as some of Seun’s most intense tenor saxophone. [Apr 2018, p.51]