
The Weeknd’s ‘After Hours’ Finally Puts His Two Selves on One Record: 8/10
A restless singer's fourth record sets nocturnal confession against gleaming, damning light, never softening his own ruin.

Records we have scored.

A restless singer's fourth record sets nocturnal confession against gleaming, damning light, never softening his own ruin.

A record of stillness: Lorde's third work trades tumult for calm, its finest hours proving her spirit yet, its middle wafting like idle fog.

A record of comfort, not spectacle: Harry Styles settles into ease across 13 songs, style abounding where substance sometimes fails.

An album that pairs sunlit melody with private doubt and quiet dread, mostly succeeding at a hard task.

Heavy Light, tenth record from U.S. Girls, turns memory into soul-warmed song, its finest moments carrying a weight the shorter pieces cannot quite match.

Selena Gomez opens a settled record of self-worth; Rare answers what remains when nobody else tells you who you are.

A dance-floor tale of pain turned release, told through a wandering hook, a tearful song for two, and a hopeful close.

A pop singer's confession, told across sixteen tracks, some plain and true, some too polished to feel — a review of Manic.

A record of love, wherein warmth and trouble mingle beautifully, though wanting the hand of an editor.

A dream of gold and disco: Musgraves opens her voice from Slow Burn to Rainbow, a world seen plain and full of wonder.
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