Borrowing liberally and transparently from Bright Eyes, the Cure and mid-1960s chamber pop, the band sublimates familiar expressions of indie gloom with string flourishes and twink­ling piano lines, giving Olenius both a shoulder to cry on and, in soaring songs like 'Tonight I Have to Leave It,' a source of joy.

The music is as sexy as it is horny. [May 2006, p.105]

Even as they take on the album title's potentially heavy theme, two vocalists sing with wide-open smiles, and they toss in new-wave beats alongside the saloon pianos and tube-amp guitars. [Aug 2008, p.84]

One of the country highs of the year. [#15, p.121]

A pretty wild ride, but it's not always clear where they're headed. [Feb/Mar 2002, p.112]

A worthy successor to Surrender.... This is dance music that still outstrips anything else in its class. [Feb/Mar 2002, p.113]

The Documentary is like a hip-hop Jurassic Park: a big-budget homage to a place most of us thought was ancient history. [Apr 2005, p.118]

The softening of his hardcore tendencies makes for a fruitful middle ground between his threats to foes and his pleas to Allah.

She’s more geeky than queenly anyway, ­jazzily singing and breezily rapping over buoyant reggae and soul throwback beats sculpted by a guy named Adam who previously worked with American Idol finalist Elliott Yamin.

Intermittently great. [May 2005, p.117]

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

The quintet’s debut LP often plays like a low-budget male companion piece to Amy Winehouse’s throwback hit 'Back to Black.'

The concept is basic and brilliant: a song for every bitter month of a year of off-again/on-again romance, from splitting the record collection in January to “A token e-mail/ A drunken text/A sorry go-round of cell-phone sex” in October.

Log 22 may be Holland's greatest export since Heineken. [May 2003, p.115]

With a thick strain of the DJ humor found in the music of De La Soul and Daft Punk, Kinky know no borders, slapping Mexican norteno with techno until it sounds like neither. [Apr/May 2002, p.114]

Shambling and confessional. [May 2003, p.116]

Full of life and energy. [Sep 2004, p.138]

Perspiration trumps inspiration, as madly sawing strings and short-circuiting robot bleeps compensate for the lack of hooks. [Oct 2004, p.120]

He's never tried so actively to fuse prescriptive politics into [the] mix, and the move feels suspect. [Aug 2005, p.115]

Here, he seems more comfortable in his pasty skin. [May 2008, p.76]

What Hammond... lacks in attitude, he makes up for in old-school pop charm. [Apr 2007, p.111]

Maps... swap[s] the band's trademark dreariness for the U2-style arena-rock sweep that makes their live shows... so exciting. [Mar 2005, 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 big-screen sweep and high-definition melodies (suggesting Weezer’s sluggish pep buoyed by the Flaming Lips’ hallucinatory orchestrations) make this “malfunctioning android”’s anthems of depression extra vivid.

Like his debut, is a coffeehouse classical-guitar-and-voice affair long on tonal beauty but short on melody and emotion. [Sep 2007, p.126]

Always dark, sometimes lovely. [Jun/Jul 2001, p.105]

Laces the Unit's thugs-to-riches formula with chunks of the Dirty South. [Aug 2004, p.143]

It's nicely done, but the relentless cheerfulness grates. [Nov 2003, p.122]