More mediocre bops from "Mid Cudi." At this point, the only thing I associate him with is his reputation as the Diddy snitch. The sole saving grace here is that this was 12 minutes.

Throughout this entire album, I was met with the recurring thought: "Oh, this is just Kanye." For a reunion 5 years in the making, you’d think the biggest group on the planet would bring something more to the table.

There aren’t words that truly do justice to the cultural nadir that is Tom MacDonald. This 19-track lecture was easily one of the longer hours of my life, a contradicting and hilarious creative vacuum.

I came into this expecting nothing, so Into Oblivion was a genuinely pleasant surprise. The band sounds incredibly sharp and heavy as hell, but Randy Blythe is clearly struggling to write a chorus worth a damn.

70 years young and still the most divisive person in the room. PLAY ME is a fascinating, if slightly jarring, pivot. She occasionally misses the mark, but this is an interesting direction from an artist who refuses to stay still.

This country-funk pivot is the definition of "ridiculous music for a ridiculous time". Sturgill delivers a messy, chaotic reflection of a world that’s lost its mind, and it’s his most infectious work in years.

It’s James Blake. While there are genuinely tranquil and beautiful moments here, they’re often undercut by a hollow, predictable sound we’ve heard him play for a decade now, leading to a certain emptiness in his repetition.

Beautiful, but hollow. This record left me nostalgic for a place I’ve never been to. Expecting anything more is probably just selfishness on my part, so, selfish I shall remain.

Maybe I’m alone here, but this was pretty corny. How boring is your life that you're still writing songs about fake friends and online trolls in 2026? Raider Klan energy with none of the grit. Strictly Not 4 Me.

I’m starting to enjoy this genre more, but early life crisis proves tolerating isn't loving. The beats are head-nodders and the aura is there, but it’s all superficial. I’m clearly becoming too old to understand.

Most artists eventually cross the threshold into "Why are you still doing this?" territory; Moz moved in decades ago. A creatively bankrupt tour-de-farce; a parody of a legacy from a man who's as out-of-touch as he is redundant.

Nothing here is inherently bad, but it’s the definition of a safe pop album from a complacent musician. It’s expensive, polished, and perfectly pleasant background music that never takes a single meaningful risk.

The Great Satan isn't a comeback; it’s a collection of industrial clichés he’s been rent-seeking since 1998. At its core, this is a passable Zombie record, a mediocre Ministry tribute act, and (by any objective standard) a bad album.

Mitski sounds completely in control here. Nothing’s About to Happen to Me moves with quiet confidence: careful songwriting, restrained arrangements, and none of the emotional overselling that sinks lesser artists.

Why should Damon Albarn care when he can outsource the heavy lifting to feature acts? An album centered on death should spark something, not feel lifeless. The Mountain can't decide whether it wants to mourn, inspire or vibe.

Paint-by-numbers Bruno Mars. It’s wall-to-wall worship: big gestures, bigger vows and no oxygen between them. Halfway through I started imagining him recording under duress, paying off his gambling debts in power ballads.

The dulcet, laconic Callahan (FKA Smog) isn’t trying to reinvent the wheel. He found his formula three decades ago and, with only slight adjustments, has sustained a level of consistency that few in his lane can touch.

One of those albums that makes me question my obsessive need to hear everything. It’s a lifeless nothingburger of an album. Soulless, uninspired music for a world that’s given up, and the worst part? It doesn't even sound that bad.

This 20-minute collaboration is ultimately passable. The Alchemist’s warm, understated production glides, but Larry June and Curren$y drift more than they drive. Pleasant in the moment, it rarely pushes past surface level.

One of the funniest albums I’ve heard in a while. The amount of trauma dumping here is kind of wild. Aren’t you a 40-year-old businesswoman? This feels less like a confessional pop album and more like a PR risk.