Nirvana’s middle record Nevermind is nothing but demented pop songs, showing the public a new kind of hit that would complicatedly redefine the “alternative” music genre.
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As a reissue, Lifes Rich Pageant is decidedly louder, but for a purpose.
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Player Piano pales to 2009’s Seek Magic so much you’ll wonder if it was solely that EP’s initial freshness that made Memory Tapes so good.
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Washed Out’s new album can be celebrated for what it is: nine songs of glowing, smeared harmony, with more replay value than the peers to whom they will inevitably be compared.
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“He” is Scott McCaughey, a mop-haired member of so many bands, David Letterman had to remark “you look familiar” when he appeared with rustic supergroup Tired Pony on that show last fall.
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It’s all a big drag when it shouldn’t be, an unfortunate part of the late ’90s nostalgia wave. Things ain’t like they used to be for either Eminem or Royce, with both rappers long past their prime.
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Lerche gave his name to an album that represents potential in bursts.
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Vedder proudly flashes his cards, relieving himself of all blame if you’re pouting 34 minutes later.
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By and large, the stories of Street seep into the veins like vodka lemonade.
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The dude literally cut his teeth: A car accident in October 2002 left Kanye West with his jaw wired shut.
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Roar sounds like the calm before another April storm.
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For the first time on record, Here We Go Magic actually sounds thrilling.
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