Kiss All The Time. Disco, Occasionally

An excellent record that is at points raw but more often joyful, but is also proof of the importance of taking time out.

Refreshing, comforting, and accessible, Kiss All the Time. Disco, Occasionally. is a fine transition album that points to even bigger and better things for the pop star.

The electronic palette moves him in a fresh direction, and although some of the mid-section does congeal into one, the album’s overall arc is a successful embrace of personal, and above all sensual, evolution.

By stepping away for a minute, allowing any fears of getting left behind to cease, Styles has been able to return with newfound clarity and, more importantly, music that actually sounds like him. He let the light in, and it shows.

Largely, Styles taking a new approach to things really works – ‘Kiss All The Time…’ feels like an album that you’ll really want to spend a lot of time with, letting all its layers envelope you.

Delightfully strange, often lovely, and consistently fascinating album.

There’s plenty of standard, perfectly safe Harry Styles fare — enough to satisfy die-hard fans and casual listeners. But every so often, he lets the seams show, resulting in some of the most thrilling songs of his career. He could certainly afford to let his music get even more unhinged.

As fascinating as this all is, it’s a bit undone by the sense that Styles is withholding from us.

With Kiss All the Time. Disco, Occasionally., he’s given us his biggest curveball yet. It may not be perfect, but the hustle deserves respect.

Intermittently delightful if sometimes obtuse fourth album.

The results are always interesting and fun, but often hard to get a hold of – a slippery confection of influences that never stay still for too long lest they reveal a lack of depth.

There’s something oddly laudable about an album that doesn’t seem desperate to be loved, even if the results are occasionally a little too opaque for their own good.

There are enough nods on Kiss All the Time to Styles’ stated influences—-a sharp, craggy synth running through “Season 2 Weight Loss”; chattering drum machine on the bittersweet Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix-ish highlight “Taste Back”—that you can at least identify his intention. (This isn’t Dua Lipa talking up a Britpop album before delivering nothing of the sort with Radical Optimism.) But Styles undermines himself every time with moves straight out of the stadium-pop playbook.

While his charisma and star power remain undimmed, too much of this record is – pun intended – style over substance.

The result is a collection of futile, brooding songs that tries to encapsulate bigger-than-life emotions but ends up being too afraid to truly delve into them. He could just need a little love from someone, anyone, to get that refined taste back.