Stop me if you’ve heard this one before.
The album aims to showcase a more meditative side to the customarily libertine Chicago rapper but is only partly successful.
Notwithstanding a few interesting compositional quirks, the album feels like an imitation of Thom Yorke’s saturnine shtick.
The album articulates a working thesis for the singer’s artistry that exists independently from commercial exhibitionism.
Throughout the album, the ever-changing tides of everyday living are hardly explored with much complexity.
The rapper operates in two contradictory modes: pedaling surface-level platitudes or going for easy humble brags.
The album allows the singer to get things off of her chest after years of holding it all in.
The duo’s first album in nearly 24 years finds them returning to their craft but not exactly returning to form.
The album serves as a concise and clear-eyed showcase for Slim Jxmmi and Swae Lee’s innate talents at crafting pop-rap.
The last thing you’ll be doing is dozing off to these overwhelmingly fretful compositions.
The game is an absurdist lark, with a few potent howlers and some delirious plotting.
The film feels like it’s content to check off to-do notes and scratch the viewer’s nostalgia itch.
The film sands down everything that made DnD a massive success in the first place.
The album feels more like a placeholder in the singer’s discography than an audacious new chapter.
Like many artist documentaries, Moon Is the Oldest TV is an exercise in selection and emphasis.
The relationships and rapport you build at the start pay off in emotionally satisfying ways.
While it may appear wholly flippant upon first listen, the album is far more sophisticated than it seems.
The game is one that will keep you up at night and stick in your subconscious for weeks to come.
Listening to the entire album in one sitting is akin to binging a seven-course meal.
The album evokes a childlike wonder, where the difference between terms such as “music” and “noise” becomes almost meaningless.