There are a few moments when the concept's cooler than the result, but in general The Rose Has Teeth's experiments result in frenetic dance tracks doubling as reading lists.
While We Are the Pipettes often swells and soars ... it doesn't come near the symphonic grandeur of the best of 60s girl pop. At its best, however, these pocket-sized songs still burst with verve and vitality, mixing heart-pumping melodies with carefree, almost conversational vocals.
If Blood Mountain, their brilliantly upsized and unrelenting third album, doesn't confirm their position as the greatest big-time metal crew on earth, I demand a state-by-state recount.
It's Dilla's show-and-tell method, however, that's most effective, because it illustrates how he's, more or less, upgrading soul music-- we get to see how he unpacked its bag, what spots he told it it missed ... In that sense, Donuts is pure postmodern art-- which was hip-hop's aim in the first place.
His first album's the work of an MC in love with rap's freedom of expression but at odds with its current landscape.
Like all Cat Power records, The Greatest is a mostly sad, heartbroken, hopeless, rainy-day affair; it just isn't damaged. For that reason, it's also going to gain her a lot of new fans.
The pop star offers his ambitious, grandiose sophomore album: Almost entirely produced by Timbaland ... the album abandons the feelgood sheen which the Neptunes peddled so adroitly on his debut, Justified, but makes up for it with the largesse of its sonic embrace.
Encapsulating and elevating the best of Destroyer's back catalog, Destroyer's Rubies serves as a potent reminder that the intelligence of Bejar's songs has never obfuscated their emotional weight.
The Body's story is just vague and gruesome enough to be weirdly terrifying, totally Orwellian, and grander, louder, and more electrifying than anything the Thermals have spit out before.
At no point during Beach House's 35 minutes does it ever sound like the work of more than two people. Mostly, those people even sound human.
Flirting with shoegaze and ambient, Pink is a 47-minute frenzy that welcomes 2006 with open arms, bludgeoning fists, and a call to arms against MOR complacency.
Beyond production, Grizzly Bear have stepped up their songwriting in every way, assembling melodies that proceed in a logical fashion but never sound overused or overly familiar.
Succeeding rather than regressing or retreating, Liars have had the last laugh: Drum's Not Dead is a majestic victory lap, and on all levels, a total fucking triumph.
He not only has a commanding, rousing voice but he also says something worth hearing, displaying gifts for both scope and depth that are all too rare in contemporary rock-- indie or mainstream.
Fishscale reiterates with cinematic verve that the most vital current Wu Tang Clan member's storytelling can match Biggie's in both excitement and humor.
Ys offers an endless wealth of substance, teeming with dense, well-mapped beauty.
Like their first albums, the songs build on loops, grooves, and drones. They feel familiar, but they've never sounded this good-- or this thick.
A far cry from the duo's friendly first singles, Silent Shout gorily births the Knife's mutant twin. The result is creepy enough to warrant its own genre: haunted house.