Mayer Hawthorne's old school pop-R&B homages are so meticulous that it's tempting to overrate his pipes.
Gary Allan has long been one of country's most reliably velvet-voiced beautiful losers.
Critics should stick to their convictions.
Ever wonder why people are so determined to reach for white picket fences, supposed normalcy, a nuclear family? Well, try growing up without one.
By the late '80s, I was already giving up on rap music.
No band on 21st-century radio has mined pre-grunge hair-metal's sleaze like L.A.'s Buckcherry. So it makes poetic sense that they'd spend their sixth album tallying all seven deadly sins.