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Kanye West's sixth album is the sound
of blood rushing through a mind that can't stop obsessing over the person
surrounding it: It's ugly and loud, dissonant and percussive, full of imagery
that's both inherently shocking and designed to provoke reflexive reactions.
(His usage of the "blood on the leaves" image from "Strange Fruit" to indict
new-millennium consumerism on the woozily aggressive "New Slaves" and subsequent
looping of that lyric to soundtrack a vicious diatribe about ruinous romance on
the "Runaway"-recalling "Blood on the Leaves" is probably Exhibits A through K.)
It's hard to separate this noisy, loathing-choked album from the boldfaced-name,
Kardashian-attached Kanye persona, although that's probably part (most?) of the
point. West might enjoy life's finer things, but his implicit and explicit
indictments of the new American dream of fame, which come louder and faster with
each entry in his catalog, are the director's commentary for what he clearly
sees as a cautionary tale playing out in real time. - Maura Johnston
The fourth solo album from the former Destiny's Child member has a
not-insignificant amount of bangers: "Kisses Down Low" brims with sexy
confidence, while the brooding "Down on Love" is just tart enough to have bite.
But "Talk" really takes off after "Dirty Laundry," a wrenching slow jam in which
Rowland details an abusive relationship that made her question all her other
friendships. "You Changed," which immediately follows, not only kicks a stale
relationship to the curb, it proves that her bond with Beyoncé and Michelle Williams has survived the
years — the two guest on the song, their voices serving as an independent-women
fortress. After this, Rowland retakes the reins and sounds buoyed enough to be
defying gravity: "I Remember" and "Red Wine" pair her voice with airy keyboard
lines, and the two Pharrell jams that close out the
album put her front and center, placing a bow on her comeback. - M.J.
"Anthem" isn't just a title for this band of
Oklahoman brothers' ninth album; it's an indication of how their songwriting has
shifted since they skated into the pop consciousness with "MMMBop." Which is to
say it's grown to arena size: "You Can't Stop Us Now" has a fist-pumping chorus
that brings to mind Van Hagar's roof-raisers; "Juliet" is peppy and jaunty, with
power-pop "ahh"s trailing the lovelorn lead; "Tonight" is an inspirational
greeting card with the brothers trading off urgings to "throw up your hands and
sing it out loud," among other slogans. Those listeners who felt abandoned when
Maroon 5 fled to more electro-fied
pastures might find refuge here: Hanson have specialized in pop-rock with heavy
dashes of soul since their youngest days, and Zac Hanson's vocal timbre
almost directly recalls that of Adam Levine, particularly on the
spirited "Scream and Be Free." - M.J.
This Pittsburgh MC is a clear disciple of '90s
hip-hop: Haze-obscured loops from classic soul and copious references to that
fuzziness being replicated in his mind dominate his second full-length. But he
too often mistakes endless, circular jams for sonic explorations. Ideas bob to
the surface and disappear again before being fully realized, while guests like
Action Bronson and Earl Sweatshirt threaten to steal the spotlight from their
affable host. (The closing track "Youforia" — see? — at least drifts along
pleasingly.) His lyrics have mechanical talent, with copious internal rhymes and
clever double entendres, but too often the "deeper" ruminations on mortality and
each person's place in the world are about as shallow as a half-awake dorm-room
conversation, only with even less frontal-lobe knowledge of women as people. -
M. J.
Knotty and intricate, with rhymes that pile up on
themselves in often-thrilling ways, the second album from this Queens MC finds
him once again on the outside looking in. His instrumentals are sprawling yet
miniature, with details leaping out after multiple listeners. Over these
meticulously crafted tracks he worries about success threatening his integrity,
reflects on his former idol Nas looking askance at a track of his, and throws
down verses that could be about his fraught relationship with hip-hop as easily
as they could be about women. The skittish "She Knows," built around a warped
goth-lullaby vocal, is subtly unnerving, while "Crooked Smile" is a boost for
those people who might not live up to society's expectations of them — Cole,
apparently, included. - M.J.
