It's a perfect set for folks who think Oasis are too humble, that Pink Floyd lacked ambition. TSOOL lay down Stonehenge riffs and cosmic mumbo jumbo so earnestly and expertly that nearly every outfit they raid from the classic-rock closet flatters them.

Filter adhere to the blueprint laid down by the breakthrough power ballad "Take a Picture"... with such anguished arena sing-alongs as "The Missing" and "The Only Way Is the Wrong Way." [#9, p.146]

Let's face it: Foo Fighters are dull. [Jul 2005, p.117]

As groups like Hot Chip and LCD Soundsystem are making analog programs ring clear as Marshall stacks, Williams makes them sound mysterious, creepy and sexy again--even when geeking out on a cover of Bow Wow Wow’s big hit, 'I Want Candy.'

He has nimble delivery and a pleasing Nelly-esque hiccup to his voice. [May 2008, p.78]

Too often... their ideas are dead ends. [Aug 2004, p.140]

A strange brew. [May 2004, p.128]

Pay too much attention to these songs, and they dissolve into sweetly harmonized meaninglessness. [Apr 2004, p.130]

Keith and co-writer Scotty Emerick can't resist country cliches, but at least they use them brilliantly. [Jul 2005, p.118]

At its best, the echo-chamber soup of flute trills, infinitely cascading drums and fuzz-ball stoner riffs does seep into your head and expand the contents. But the jams often drift when Ejstes wants them to glide; his singing, all in Swedish, is a touch whiny; and his ear for melody can be painfully flat.

Nada Surf settle comfortably into adulthood. [Nov 2005, p.138]

This new material could benefit from the kind of friction that kept Whiskeytown from being stable for more than a few months. [May 2003, p.115]

Striding purposefully forward on vaguely cinematic fanfares and catchy soul-queen loops, Murs reveals more than you want to know about his sex life. [May 2004, p.130]

They resemble a Seattle version of Iggy and the Stooges. [#9, p.152]

Album No. 5--their first for indie stalwart Epitaph--amps up the band’s aggro guitars, cookie-monster yells and proggy ambition.

Recalls The Bride Stripped Bare, Ferry's 1978 art-R&B lament. [#8, p.116]

Unfortunately, the production smoothes down the band's sharp edges to an overly polished finish. [Jun/Jul 2001, p.116]

The formula gets a bit stale. [May 2004, p.133]

They exult in a catchy send-up of swaggering retro-rock sleaze. [May 2005, p.121]

Orton still oversteps the foul line that separates affectingly vulnerable from irritatingly feeble, but this is a step twards something more distinctive. [Mar 2006, p.114]

[Hayley Williams'] Tennessee crew's second album isn't as charmingly precocious as the first. [Jul 2007, p.116]

The CD is loosely tied together by a browbeating concept that condemns the glorification of Scarface-style violence and disposable pop-rap, but the moralism is as trite as a Tony Montana reference.

Linkin gain from their hip-hop daring, and the dance domos get to wedge a foot in the crossover door. [#9, p.151]

Neither for the faint of heart, nor for those allergic to pretentiousness. [Jan/Feb 2005, p.103]

Musically they offer nothing that hasn't been heard in every coed dorm via their 1989 hit "Closer to Fine." [Apr/May 2002]

All of this might be more satisfying if the group's lyrics were strong enough to turn caricatures into characters. [Sep 2003, p.116]

It takes a few listens for Songs to feel more than just odd, but as with most Eitzel projects, its mood lingers like cigar smoke. [Jun/Jul 2002, p.106]

Rhett Miller’s lovelorn lyrics remain respectably literary, while his pretty singing and his pals’ pretty playing turn increasingly wan and half-cooked.

R.E.M.'s recent albums have increasingly resembled singer-songwriter records. Around The Sun is much the best of the last three... because the tunes are better. [Nov 2004, p.140]

The world's second-best co-ed lo-fi blues-rock duo are as sunny and merry as they've ever going to be, and that's not very sunny or merry. [Apr 2008, p.79]

Williams' rapping is thankfully peripheral and the music is a fantastic, distracting mess. [Aug 2008, p.90]

The electronic dance-rock gets the pop job done. [Mar 2003, p.119]

The promising threesome spend most of their time in a creative rut, largely because of an unrelenting adherence to a diet of chunky beats and straightforward battle rhymes -- neither of which is particularly easy to digest.

An inevitable return to their punk-meets-dance-rock basics, featuring their sexy, trademark battery of geometric riffs, careening bass and shrapnel noise. [Jun/Jul 2002, p.108]

On Tarantula, Mystikal futher refines his formula. [Feb/Mar 2002, p.114]

[The songs'] unrelenting wallop, growling guitars and mock-operatic choruses tend to blur together even as they're kicking your ass. [Oct 2005, p.137]

Curt Kirkwood has written a gorgeous album that channels his brother's world-weary relief. [Aug 2007, p.116]

One can't help but miss Erasure's old-school glee. [Apr 2005, p.116]

The Used remain best when dripping with sweat, not sentiment. [Jun 2007, p.108]

His blunt, hauntingly direct performances open up new perspectives on a song. [#11, p.133]

Loewenstein manages a decent impersonation of, well, Sebadoh, undercutting his bright melodies and morose shrugs with caustic bass lines. [#8, p.118]

Playing Coke to Knopfler's bourbon on some decent songs, [Harris] challenges his guitar to a beauty contest; it's a draw. [Jun 2006, p.140]

But there’s a fine line between subtlety and listlessness, and while Marshall’s purr excels at postcoital melancholy or numb disaffection, other times it’s just a bore. Her blues aren’t nearly as vibrant when they’re drenched in gray.

The bigger the gamble, the stronger she feels. By the end of the record, she’s lassoing the moon, getting through her loneliness the way she got past teen pop: by sheer force of will.

The details on October Road are exquisite, especially his tricky singing and deft acoustic guitar. [#9, p.155]

Much of the material features clamorous, heavy-handed production, and though Xzibit's subject matter ranges from orgies to the benevolence of his mama, his dexterous rhyming style is a little too undifferentiated. [#10, p.132]

Singing on nearly every song, the techno star gets more up-close-and-personal here--a ballsy move for someone the Lord didn't heap with vocal gifts, but one that pays off. [Apr 2005, p.124]

His band remains unsubtly one-dimensional... but Shaddix funnels a newfound sensitivity into gashing, coarsely melodic emo-metal that aches as much as it breaks. [Oct 2004, p.126]

His flirtations are mostly asinine, autopilot-Lothario stuff... but his voice is, as always, a hypnotic melt of menace and charisma. [Dec 2004, p.145]

The contrast between Pearl and Natasha isn’t always crisply drawn, but a central conviction animates both.

Her lustrous music can err on the side of sleepy, because she prefers atmospherics and tricky harmonies to blaring hooks. [Apr/May 2002, p.116]

A hedonistic debut that's thick with the stench of leatherette and fake fur. [Aug 2004, p.131]

There's a fine line between sounding passionate and overwrought, but [The Veils] find themselves on the proper side of that smudgy barrier--just. [Aug 2004, p.142]

Unlike some other singers, Timberlake never seems a puppet of his hot producers. [#12, p.154]

An ephemeral, genre-less mix of beat-driven mood music. [#15, p.127]

Case's own melodies aren't nearly as indelible as the country classics she's emulating. [#10, p.115]

The band's smart-boy quirks make repeated listens progressively more enjoyable. [Jun/Jul 2002, p.106]

After years of trading her signature flourishes for a radio-ready purr, she's left with almost no presence at all. [Aug/Sep 2001, p.118]

Textured mood music. [Apr 2005, p.119]

A vibrant, classy debut. [#10, p.126]

Liars are more about energy than solid songwriting, but these spastic, jagged grooves are powerful enough to inspire a sea of awkward punk-rock dances. [#9, p.150]

Vapor Trails combines the cartoonish familiarity of Geddy Lee's helium-tinged vocals and [Neil] Peart's hyperkinetic drumming with the tuneful, concise writing they've favored since 1989's Presto. [Jun/Jul 2002, p.113]

While his band's skeletal, rattling rhythms, swollen with synthesizer and studio ornamentation, feel more multidimensional than ever, Davis is most compelling when he retreats into the third person to describe an unnamed, uninspired singer with a "dumb-ass song" ('Ever Be').

The closest his polite bum comes to tearing loose is when he gives his music-hall skiffle a Dixieland bounce. [Apr 2009, p.80]

There are two even matched KT Tunstalls on her debut album: One borrows from Chris Martin's bag of shopworn metaphors... The other one is more unsettling and more intriguing. [Apr 2006, p.118]

Gutterflower, for better or worse, is a perfectly executed encapsulation of the unexciting state of mainstream rock in 2002. [Jun/Jul 2002, p.108]

On the harder-rocking half, Duritz is nearly emo-esque in his self-loathing.... The disk's Sunday Morning half, is more acoustic, quieter, reflective. But after the epic bender that precedes it, it's also just kind of a drag. [Apr 2008, p.78]

As double albums go, it's a hell of an EP. [Mar 2006, p.114]

While they once sounded behind the times, they now sound outside time, with songs evoking about 30 years of guitar pop, in the vein of R.E.M. and Fountains of Wayne, though nowhere near as original. [Aug 2005, p.113]

Welcome to tonight's Very Special Episode of pop-punk. [Nov 2004, p.130]

It's the sound of a New Yorker coming home for a breath of country air. [Nov 2005, p.130]

The gorgeous arrangements are still firmly in place, and the wavery vocals more earnest than ever. [#9, p.143]

A surprising return to form. [Feb/Mar 2002, p.114]

The group aims for a mix of artistry and cred, a la N.E.R.D. or the Beastie Boys, but their music is rarely as catchy. [Aug 2004, p.130]

What’s revealed is...well, what we’re used to. Beyonce is still a beauty-shop feminist, quick with the smack-downs, and she still describes the rattling rush of love with preternatural poise.

Her signature sound -- voice snarling through a tangle of massed guitars -- is here, but so is a softer, more vulnerable tone. The melodies, while radio-ready, have a stomping insistence.

Most of the album, like the single 'Tick Tock Boom,' sticks to formula. [Nov 2007, p.150]

[They] emerge from the Chemical Brothers' shadow without ever threatening to break new ground. [#13, p.93]

While the lyrics are strictly study-hall (“I’m no gentleman/I can be a prick” = poetry!), TAI… separate from the emo wolf pack by cribbing furiously from ’70s rock.

Best enjoyed in the privacy of home. [Apr 2008, p.76]

A growth statement even diehard fans of its debut couldn't have expected. [#8, p.122]

Here, they simply sound jittery, putting romantic complaints to studio-worked music that's oddly brisk and busy, with a dissonance that drowns out the emotion. [Nov 2008, p.73]

What could have been an awful mess is instead a glorious mess. [#12, p.151]

The result is more than nostalgia: Carrabba imbues all 12 tracks with welcome new tricks--layers of cascading harmonies, a startling falsetto and even a dash of subtlety.

Sweet, spooky harmonies, partly inspired by the death of a close relative, given a naked acoustic production. [May 2003, p.125]

Grohl's every intense metal rave-up quickly passes into a sweet, breezy melody that makes it hard to take most of the songs all that seriously. [#11, p.137]

In fleshing out the contours of a sound once slavishly indebted to early-'80s titans like JD and the Smiths, they've nuanced the moods Banks moons over. Awesome for him. Only so-so for us. [August 2007, p.114]

The West Coast stalwart's ninth album doesn't entirely make good on 'Seduction''s wacky promise. [Apr 2008, p.82]

It's hard to shake the feeling that this is a collection of dope beats in search of some rhymes. [Aug 2004, p.134]

Faith in the Future is built with recycled beats and borrowed sounds, relying on castoff samples and guest contributions... [Aug/Sep 2001, p.132]

No, it ain't rocket science. But when they're headlining arenas, it's gonna look fairly brilliant. [Jan/Feb 2006, p.98]

The results can sometimes get bland; unlike its predecessor, which was moody and aimless, Drops is so polished that there are no ragged edges left to hang on to. [May 2006, p.109]

Certified would be pretty great if it weren't for one huge mistake: his suite of god-awful sex jams. [Nov 2005, p.131]

[Moss'] raw, husky delivery [is] able to turn even throwaway lines like "I swam to the bottom of the sea for you/I climbed to the top of the trees for you" into high drama. [Apr 2006, p.111]

Some are endearingly autistic... And some are sublimely idiculous. [Mar 2008, p.97]

There isn't a song on her debut that doesn't paint in huge strokes. [Sep 2004, p.143]

Crimson features enough syrupy string swells, maudlin piano filigrees and layers of production sparkle... to choke an army of purists. But these credibility-destroying effects only enhance the pure pop kick. [Jul 2005, p.114]

Sadly, Sneak Attack also reflects the influence of Professor One's recent ubiquity on the college-lecture circuit; windy speechifying interludes take up a third of the record. Too bad -- when he does rap, he shows twice the gusto of many rappers half his age. [Jun/Jul 2001, p.112]