In fact, "delayed," "drenched," and "dervish" pretty much sum up Goodbye. Schnauss piles on effects and layers in a psychedelic melee that would leave Ozric Tentacles and Pink Floyd standing transfixed by his stroboscopic strategies.

The melodies still rumble with elegance. The choruses are instantly unforgettable. And the band's original members--Maginnis, Bill Janovitz (guitar/vocals), and Chris Colbourn (bass/vocals) - remain intact and chillingly in synch.

Isbell's best songs will remind you of Richard Buckner, Raymond Carver, and Neil Young.

On this album, GB make the Dead Kennedys seem subtle. And it would be nice if there were more variety to their sound.

New Maps is a terrific sounding record; at least two-thirds of it begs many repeated listens.

This album blows the doors off its predecessor. Save a pair of disinfected ballads ("The Last Fight," "Gravedancer"), Libertad is all about hand-grenade chords, drag-racing riffs, and circus-tent choruses.

Ms. Kelly, though, has some points to prove, foremost among them that this songbird can rock.

T.I. is at the top of his game, though, and he makes it heard.

A return to form in every way.

With results that transcend category, Willis sounds like an artist renewed.

Far be it for the imaginative contrarian to retrace Dylan's steps, and sure enough--despite an omnipresent harmonica--Ferry does just the opposite.

Everywhere on Icky giant riffs leap and shout, with Flamenco horns and those eerie bagpipes and rhythmic shifts and Jack's impatient vocal kinetics, marking new territories even as the White Stripes again populate them with vintage ideas.

Songs cascade along in loping forward motion, as prone to lushly orchestrated decomposition ("Apnea Obstructiva," "Te Amo...Por Que Me Odias") and succulent adagio ("Faltamos Palabras," "Olhas") as they are to the simple, charismatic sense of melody that propelled S&S.

A travel kaleidoscope of a neverending road passing by the window.

Lost Highway isn't "Bon Jovi goes country" so much as a meaningful tribute to the Nashville ethos done on their own terms.

Amiina enchant like a peek inside an elven gathering under the roots of Yggdrasil.

No less than a half-dozen songs have hit potential.

Characteristically classy tunes that will thrill Thompson's fans, who have been waiting for just such a set of literate and challenging music from a musician who never delivers less.

There's an undeniable, infectious energy at work here which is put to great use with the self-deprecating humor and immense pop chops.

The nine tracks run a tad samey-same, but that's at least part of their charm. They and assert Boeckner anew as a prescient, skeptical voice, coarsely toned and draped in machine-sounding music even as he inveighs against the post-modern world--technology and urban living and traffic and so on.

Most of Light at the End of the World works within the familiar confines of the vintage Erasure formula, drunk on everyman synthesizers, listing through painfully vague and obvious rhymes.

It's certainly the group's most cohesive album in ages.

Now this is more like it.

A tight disc that skitters from track to shiny track with imagination and a renewed sense of rap's widened boundaries.

It's not likely this music will age spectacularly well, but so what?

These 50 minutes of music are as cohesive as they are conquering.

A knockout punch.

A return to their former glory days, Snakes and Arrows shows this seminal prog rock band reclaiming some of the sonic territory that they'd lost over the past few years.