Smog mastermind Bill Callahan traffics in the same casual baritone speak-singing of latter-day Lou Reed, but adds just enough of Lyle Lovett’s amiable wryness to keep the delivery light on it
Despite their name, Chico Fellini’s scope never feels cinematic; rather, their self-titled debut is insular and airless in a way that still manages to conjure plenty of drama in its own right
The Flying Saucers may sound like your dad’s garage band, but age clearly doesn’t equal schlock for these bluesy beer-swillers.
FACT: The last Superchunk full-length came out in 2001. It (Here's to Shutting Up) was fucking great.
FACT: 2001 feels like a long time ago. Probably because it was.
When Jewellery was bestowed upon me, I immediately Googled Micachu to find out if it was a Pokemon (is not) or these so-called Shapes had anything to do with Shapes and Sizes, The Shapes,
The girl who sat next to you in sixth period trig, the one with the Ani-inspired boots and the Boys for Pele T-shirt, wants you to like this album.
Reflections is the perfect title for this three-disc retrospective of Graham Nash’s nearly 50-year career.
The Monks’ Black Monk Time bursts from the speakers as a bacchanalian humdrum of Cold War paranoia and exuberance.
Given the recent collaboration between Bela Fleck and Malian kora player Toumani Diabate, it’s possible that there’s been no greater spotlight on the West African nation at any other ti
Akron/Family has intelligently crafted an eclectic, malleable record that is not afraid to experiment — almost to an alarming level for a fairly accessible group.