Their back-to-our-roots arc is hardly new, (cf the Stones’ Blue And Lonesome), but this music is timeless, alive, and about as good as it gets.
A searching, typically heart-warming record about middle-aged men somewhat adrift, yet ultimately anchored to people and place, Endless Arcade testifies to the Fannies’ endurance.
Idles are finding new directions home: the hallmark of a great band.
Three years in the making, with over a dozen sessions spread across seven studios, from New York to LA, I Don't Live Here Anymore is the most grounded War On Drugs record and the best: a calm space amid a world in collapse.
Cerebral, caustic: exhilarating John Parish-produced debut from art-schooled Londoners.
The young seven-piece have ... progressed at warp-speed, here passing the full-length test with confidence.
While the band’s fury at corruption, incompetence and duplicity remains fierce, Spare Ribs is a strikingly layered response to harder times.
This is what Ignorance delivers: the document of an introvert empowered by the vastest crisis of passion imaginable.
Boy From Michigan is Grant in panoramic mode, looking back and looking forward to create his biggest picture yet.
This edge of madness — а sense of a record that has stewed in itself, fermented, and re-emerged in a surreal form its creator had not planned — is a large part of what makes Fever Dreams the free-est, fun-est, most psychedelic Villagers record so far.
It’s sonically deeper and more emotionally engaging, from start to finish, than any previous SOK release.
While Coral Island's concept is unusually robust ... it's the melodic strength of its 15 'proper' songs that's the real mindblower.
Fat Pop (Volume 1), conceived and written mid-Covid clampdown, suggests Weller’s ability to write fizzing pop tunes, slinky soul anthems and weird dub-electronica hybridisations is inexhaustible.
More than clashing sonics or soaring hymns or pervasive anxiety (and the quest to overcome it), the quality that best defines Carnage might be Cave's reckoning with the unknown, or his recognition of the unknowable.
After almost 30 years documenting the bittersweet mysteries of life, this one’s for the angels.
The intoxicating strain of California anomie that pervaded 2019's Norman Fucking Rockwell is still, thankfully, strong on Del Rey’s excellent seventh album.
It's masterful stuff: a full conceptual realisation, filled with great melodies, deep grooves, colourful characterisations and sonic detail that reveals itself over repeated plays ... Even if its heart is in the '70s, Daddy's Home is a keeper for the decades to come.
It's a subtly sophisticated piece, but it also creates space for Sanders to showcase his tender, measured, lyrical phrasing, abstracted scatting and, 34 minutes into this 46-minute marvel, a brief sputtering blast of free saxophone energy that proves, at 80, his fire remains potent.