Pop
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The three-sister American rock band pulls over with fifteen tracks’ worth of zingers and bangers even if it doesn’t completely electrify.
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Over twenty years after their acclaimed debut, the Canadian stadium firebrand limps and drags with their dance-ward trajectory.
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A high-brow epic rap opera based on heartbreak, lineage, feuds, and past glory. Or so you’d wish for a third-rate blockbuster.
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Three years after their masterpiece, the acclaimed six-piece realises their transition to prog-pop at the cost of a big piece of their core identity.
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After her spell with boygenius, the Virginian’s fourth album is earnest in its feelings, but fragile in its songwriting and delivery.
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The Seattleans have concocted one of the sharper and more tantalising pieces of full-on rock records of the year.
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The Qúebecan bedroom pop sensation’s latest album ebbs in its echoes, yet nothing noteworthy comes out of it aside from vibes.
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The French indie pop project doesn’t have to make depression sound this misleadingly fun under their new name.
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This is definitely one of the more carnivalesque, rapturous celebrations of the end of the world as we know it in its apocalyptic sightings.
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Amidst some signs of nice slacker delivery comes dulled potential and wasted execution for the Ohioan’s folksy tale on personal memory.
GutterPutter 