James' own lyrics are plainly stated and confessional, as on tracks like "The Book of Self Doubt" and "Seems Like I," though she often embellishes them with pitched-up accompaniments. The tracks with guests are often the most successful, as they offer a bit more tonal and melodic counterpoint.

It comes off a little too sweet, much like running through an ice cream shop and sampling all the flavors rather than eating a proper dinner.

Anyone expecting the sharp, high-lonesome sound of "How Mountain Girls Can Love" and "Roll in My Sweet Baby's Arms" may be disappointed at the sound of the septuagenarian's old bones croaking together, but anyone who can appreciate the stark purity of honest American folk music will hold this album close to their hearts.

Caithlin De Marrais' graceful, yet abrasive vocals craft the dynamic of the band: well-directed musicianship without the frills of overproduced punk-inspired anthems.

The overall mood is casual, laidback, and relaxed.

The white-girl blues thing very rarely does anybody any good.

Departure Lounge has forged an enchanting record to tune in, turn on, and drop into.

ShelleyDevoto is obviously having a blast, and while Buzzkunst is no thundering masterpiece, the blast is not at listeners' expense.

Long Distance's successful moments make its well-groomed monotony especially frustrating: Ivy polished these songs to a fare-thee-well and invited guests like James Iha and Eric Matthews to play on them, yet they couldn't give them more individuality or emotion.

Despite solid songwriting, glimmering production, and a broad palette of emotions, Breathe shows the Leaves' potential more than anything else.

An added bonus for Orton loyalists.

Maroon is simply charming. It's not outstanding, but the Barenaked Ladies do keep their self-defined whimsicality top-notch.

This release is a bit more synth-driven, and songs like "Taking off for France" and "Taxi" exude a sophisticated disco flair that's naturally linked to Cracknell's sweet but smooth persona.

This is the kind of debut that lurches into the grungy excess befitting trashcan fires, anachronistic outsider idolization, and massive Feeder collections assembled inside Southern Californian suburbs.

It's another conventional rock record, thrashing guitar hooks and throbbing bass lines are in place, but frontman Max Collins has lyrically improved.

The Pretenders' eighth studio album, Loose Screw, is their first on an independent label after 20 years with Warner, but the switch hasn't made any difference in the group's style.

The album's laid-back, off-the-cuff experiments are just enjoyable instead of brilliant, but they nevertheless display the undeniable creative chemistry that the trio shares.

In short, if you've been waiting for Yo La Tengo to rediscover the amps they used on "Mushroom Cloud of Hiss" or "Attack on Love," well, this isn't quite your dream disc but it's a step in the right direction.

It's not something that will convert doubters, but it's done well and performed with conviction

The downside is that, much like his earliest material, Change Is Coming has a light feel that's undeniably enjoyable but also a bit tossed-off.

In a few cases, the songs rival or eclipse material on Sound of Water, but they probably weren't included because they didn't fit the general, easygoing flow of the immaculately sequenced album.

Sure, it could've been worse, but it also could've been slightly different.

[rating only; no review]

The Minus 5 record really works when it gets close to power pop, such as "Got You," the sprightly "You Don't Mean It" and the wistful "A Thousand Years Away."

The changes are so minute and the record so unassuming and melody free that it is really hard to care about the band anymore.

Probably one of indie rock's more dignified efforts of 2003.

He sticks with simple acoustics and subtle string arrangements; however, A New Day at Midnight doesn't possess the heavy heart of White Ladder.

Between the Senses rests with honesty and a tenderness similar to the likes of the Verve, but without pretense.