What holds it all together is solid writing that sticks close to stock pop/rock methodology.
Crosswords, as a collection of loose leaves, doesn't have the weight of Grim Reaper but that also means it doesn't have the pressure. Crosswords is something you can just consume without trying to wring every inch of intent out of it.
Though Crosswords’ lackadaisical pleasantness is by no means offensive, there’s no compelling reason for this EP to exist.
Of the other four previously unreleased tracks, "No Mans Land" utilizes the classic Panda Bear tropes of expertly weaving weird and wonderful, dense and disorientating aural oddness with more accessible vocal prettiness.
That's the beauty of The Expanding Flower Planet—its songs are unconventional, enveloping and mesmerising. 'Cosmic ideal' is not far off the mark.
Exhilarating, hypnotic and sometimes even danceable, there’s no shaking this record off once it takes root.
The songs are each densely packed musically, but so taught and unpredictable that it's clear that they are the vision of a single creative mind.
The Expanding Flower Planet is a confident declaration of independence from a vital artist operating at the top of her creative game.
She understands the properties and possibilities of an expanding flower plant and lets the idea of such possibility guide her songwriting.
Unlike the mellow tunes her contemporise produce she pursues an otherworldly noise inspired by East Indian, Middle Eastern and traditional Japanese influences. It makes for an interesting and challenging debut album.
Samantha, despite its resemblance to a past-tense version of Toro Y Moi, is a present-tense triumph that moves so coolly and confidently.
Weirdo Shrine is more a solid collection of songs with a similar stylistic through line that helps each feel very much of a whole but prevents distinct tracks from making themselves known.
Weirdo Shrine is a miraculous endeavour to behold, but as an album, it suffers because of its untamed splendour.
That willingness to step outside any boundary is what makes Georgia such a promising pop artist. A true maverick with years of experience under her belt, she takes control of all those disparate ideas with a confidence that far exceeds her age.
Cry Baby shows that Martinez is admirably ambitious, but her insistence on sticking to the album's central idea leaves her contorting into uncomfortable positions.
Mick uses Wave[s] to show his growth, versatility and risk-taking fearlessness. And although it doesn’t pan out on every track, the cohesive work allows the listener to feel that they’ve plunged into the depths of Mick’s mind and come out with a soaked sense of clarity.
If The Water[s] helped us excavate the depths of Mick Jenkins’ mind, Wave[s] is the result of coming up for air. The fierce lyricism isn’t gone it just comes in waves. The food for thought isn’t gone it just comes in waves.
HEALTH’s commitment to making the brain flush dopamine through sensory overload is unfailingly undermined at every turn by their commitment to an aesthetic that’s oppressive, suffocating, bordering on malevolent.
This isn’t so much an album as it is a living monument, a ribbon-cutting ceremony for a museum that Dre funded, built, owns and operates.
Most of Dead Petz sounds pretty much like the Lips' latter-day output — she aims for Coyne-like high notes that don't suit her lowdown voice. But she scores wacko successes like "Milky Milky Milk," "Cyrus Skies" and "Slab of Butter (Scorpion)," along with cameos from Big Sean, Ariel Pink and producer Mike Will Made It.
He may have softened his edge, upped the production and pulled in the stars, but The Weeknd remains an outsider.
All Yours proves that taking a little time out to breathe can work, and this airy record captures that feeling.
All Yours doesn’t demand much of its players or its listeners, and sometimes that’s the treatment a breakup album needs. But it also gives the album a feeling of transience, of drifting by like a summer day where nothing much happens in particular.
While the music may not always match up, the lyrics reaffirm The Libertines’ place as one of the most vital British bands ever and should usher a fresh generation of believers on board the good ship Albion.
Much of the album rides that line between the pain of the past and the pleasure of having gotten through it. Consequently, it frequently lacks catharsis and powerful moments. Rather than dip into the depths or climb to the heights, Anthems sits in a gray middle.