music commentary

Melkbelly's song reminds our writer of "childhood's summer ether," inspiring her to be strange, to get out the face glitter and hunt for salamanders.

It's really hot out, and Scott the Minivan is turning into a swamp, but when our writer hears "Call It Off," his body dances and his soul pops.

"Heard Em Say" might have a cold sound that's currently fashionable in pop music, but Leikeli47’s voice fills it with beautiful, uncommon humanity.

On his new album, Mac DeMarco does soul better than John Lennon, and indeed better than most so-called "soul singers" today. He's also like Mozart.

The unabashed result of a process of renewal, HEALTH's new album puts its pummeling noise-rock aesthetic through a contemporary pop filter.

Although laced with sadness, distress and fucked-upness, the overall effect of The Most Lamentable Tragedy is more triumphant than miserable.

Future returns to the drug-fueled morass of his early work, but in the process loses some of the introspection that made that work special.

On her new album, Chelsea Wolfe goes deeper than ever to bring back souvenirs as grotesque as they are beautiful.

Our writer would like this album even if he didn't want to be more like Albert Hammond, Jr.

A dozen years after their first album, Desaparecidos would still rather speak truth to power than capitulate to the lowest common denominator.

This might be the only piece about Luke Bryan that compares him to Keith Sweat or to Pharrell Williams wielding an axe while doing a two-step.

These down times desperately need Fist City's noise-surf anthems. Our writer apologizes for not giving them the attention they deserve.