David Bevan

It’s better to approach Album not as what its title offers, but a collection of singles. These are the new rock ’n’ roll 45s, variations of the same sad pop song shone through the prism of a guy who’s survived his own unique heartache.

Though it doesn’t hit with the same force as the early singles to which every future Pearl Jam anthem will be compared, it’s an oxygen rush nonetheless—one worth hoping for and high-fiving to when they unleash it live.

Cudi is most comfortable stoned and trapped inside his own head. Alone. And that’s exactly where he spends most of Man On The Moon, a concept album where Cudi’s harmonized, emotionally raw LiveJournal-ing meets interstellar synth drifts.

The duo’s debut full-length, Post Nothing, is a starry-eyed blast of Clinton-era crunch, each of its eight songs a sweaty salve for quarter-life miseries, or better yet, girl problems.

Keep It Hid, his first collection of solo recordings, never strays too far from the plaque-covered crackle of his day-job riffs; when it does, the well-worn results flirt with rootsy perfection

In spite of that earnest, staunch reliance on its blueprint, TPOBPAH’s debut full-length is refreshingly watertight throughout.

As usual, their guitar interplay is well-lubricated and dirty when appropriate, but in spite of the reheated disco tropes and skronky electronics, much of Tonight feels like it's been forged with the same stale, trademarked chorus in hand.

Although albums are born and bound by them, it's never easy to find a record's core in just one specific moment. But in the very first second of Skeleton's very first song, "Dead City/Waste Wilderness", all four dudes slam their individual notes into the ropes at once, and from there, everything follows some kind of frenetic punk ballet in which those moving musical parts are hopelessly trying to find their way back to their feet. Somewhere in that fraction of a second, a safe is blown wide, wide open, and its contents are pretty gnarly.