It’s beautifully discreet, formed with an elegance that pushes it to the point of invisibility — blissful for some, but perhaps too despondent for others.
Fans of Blake's stripped back vocal/piano tracks are served well here, with the title track a particular highlight.
The group have confidently cemented their status. If they stay together they can progress toward any direction they so desire.
For an album that clocks in well over the hour mark, it’s regrettably unambitious and even a little safe. This is effectively James Blake on autopilot.
Blond flirts with indulgence but just about manages to stay grounded. It’s an account of slight thoughts, vague ideas, and delicate musings.
22, A Million feels like a nondescript blur. It doesn’t deal in structure, but in loose clusters of peculiar sounds and imperceptible words. It's a pretentious mess.
An extremely smooth ride with no turbulence or unnecessary distractions, full to the brim with colourful instrumentals and warm, comforting Solange vocals.
Kendrick explores a multitude of personal predicaments, but it's difficult to stay focused on what the record is actually trying to convey. It feels incomplete.
The record is scattered with gorgeous moments that ultimately feel like a tease. Utopia occasionally grips its claws in, only to let go seconds later.