Rather than moving through a broad palette of sounds, moods, tempos, and styles, the two British DJs choose to remain consistent, signaling the development of a signature style and a certain sense of confidence.

This record is really nothing more than a collection of sharp, witty, well-constructed pop songs.

Definitely a treasure to be sought out, A South Bronx Story is essential for any hip-hop head, post-punk connoisseur, dance fanatic, or Luscious Jackson fan.

The first recording that the hardcore Stereolab fans need not own.... What was once endearing has mutated into the irritating, as the chanted vocals, simple organ runs and endless, pulsating rhythmic drones alienate listeners instead of mesmerizing them.

The songs are sharper, the production is layered, and the performances are as compassionate as ever, resulting in their finest album since Vitalogy.

The album lacks the visceral, immediate impact of the best beat poetry and frequently seems fueled by self-consciousness instead of stream-of-consciousness.

Melodic, wistful, whimsical, reflective, yet clever, the album showcases Hatfield at her peak, crafting fragile, endearing post-jangle pop songs that reveal themselves shyly and sweetly.

Messy, noisy, directionless, and painfully shy on both tunes and purpose... and winds up sounding a bit like a parody.

It has the same combination of sweetly sentimental ballads and endearingly gaudy dance-pop that made One More Time.

A dense, plunderphonic kaleidoscope of an album with giant, noisy jazz breaks and groovy electronic synthwork.

Constantly yields new musical surprises.

Much of This Time Around feels like a conscious attempt at furthering their craft, defining their sound, and honing their songwriting skills. In other words, it's a stab at maturity.

You can't tell if Wishville is the sound of a band losing steam or just being too self-conscious.

Although it is never overpowering, Dusty Trails is too well crafted to be reduced to mere background music.

The album has a more polished feel than its predecessor Up a Tree, as well as more of an electronica vibe...

Their brightest, most accessible album to date... the band is absolutely brimming with confidence and vitality.

To call Bachelor No. 2 a masterpiece may be overstating the matter somewhat, since an album this intimate and unassuming (but not unconfident) doesn't call attention to itself the way self-styled masterpieces do. However, it isn't hyperbole to call it the finest record Mann has made to date.

Their most accessible album to date, lacking the flights of fancy and exuberant bizarreness that have marked each of their albums.

The album is not the flawless statement against complacency the band seemed to strive for, but it succeeds at tearing heads off, shooting fascists, and quickly asking questions later with unbelievable fury. For these reasons alone, it easily serves as one of the band's highest marks.

A pleasant sound, to be sure, but not exactly what Young followers were expecting.

A return to their early-'60s Beatlesque sound...

A collection of more shimmering, weightless pop that is nostalgic for yesterday's visions of the future but remains on the cutting edge of contemporary music.

Even though you wouldn't call the sound upbeat, it is indeed mesmerizing, tranquil, and head-bobbing.

Even if it is a very impressive statement overall, Figure 8 isn't quite the masterpiece it wants to be -- there's something about the pacing that just makes the record feel long...

With Return of Saturn, No Doubt have made a terrific, layered record that exceeds any expectations set by Tragic Kingdom.

With Come to Where I'm From, Joseph Arthur shows a willingness to ease up on the stifling angst that dominated his previous efforts. To be sure, the album still has more than its share of gut-wrenching misery -- there's no shortage of lines like "I feel like taking a razor blade and on my wrist write an invitation" -- but this time out, the anguish is balanced by healthy doses of self-awareness and a winking sense of humor.

A remarkably spare and focused collection?

Reed genuinely seems to be stretching towards new lyrical and musical ground here, but while some of his experiments work, several pointedly do not?