This is a staggering statement that manages to overthrow the greatness of even The Pale Emperor.
She’s as lucid as we’ve ever heard her, stripping down to her emotional core and daring us to make eye contact.
songs is Lenker’s most complete, her most personal work; her least comprehensible, but her most comprehensive.
Parker proves good songwriting can hold the basis of a band’s sound, and despite the lack of guitar here, The Slow Rush does just that. It’s not as pristine as previous entries, but it certainly holds up Tame impala’s incredible reputation.
Sorry is exactly the shot in the arm that indie-rock has been missing lately – a fearless band that has set out to make its mark on the new decade, and with 925, already has.
Once again, listeners must dig through a veritable mountain of songs to find the gold nuggets that are always present on her albums. But they are becoming fewer and farther between.
Visions of Bodies Being Burned ruthlessly pulls at the edges of that world until it falls apart, dissolving back into our own, undoing the illusions its predecessor meticulously created.
On Circles, Mac Miller found his heaven, and it looked a lot like everyday life with the simple things.
If the immensely underrated Cassadaga was a roadtrip across America scored by psychedelic preachers and country singers in smoky bars, Down in the Weeds... is a twisted companion piece, one where the travelers rush home in fear that it's the last chance they'll ever get.
Petals for Armor could never have been a Paramore album. It's not just the sonic depth and breadth of it, the way the production skims along styles and sheds them as effortlessly as Hayley Williams' hooks translate to every genre she tries. It's the uncompromising, scalding, open rawness of it.
Psychotic Waltz isn’t returning to a genre saturated with sound-alikes; they’re returning to a sound some have tried to emulate, but none have managed to reproduce.
After two and a half decades, Deftones are still finding new ways to energize, enrage, and inspire themselves – and with Ohms, they’re finding new ways to peak.
Miss Anthropocene takes everything about Grimes the musician – her uncanny ability to build a song out of parts no one ever thought to put together before, that idiosyncratic voice, her ear for a classic melody – and concisely packages it into her most penetrating record yet.
Completely mesmerizing from start to finish, there’s virtually not a second here that won’t win you over. Just when I was getting a sense of “I’ve seen it all” when it comes to black metal, Im Wald restored my passion and love for the genre in a single, but massive 120-minute fell swoop.
Paradise Lost don’t lose an iota of focus or momentum in the making of this concise project – the scenario only serves to strengthen Obsidian’s case for being their most revered album for the years to come.
Microphones in 2020 hits the pause button for Phil to reflect and catch his breath, and in that there’s a certain peace to be found.