This I'm-coming-out record is an unhesitant move from songs of the heart to songs of the groin. [Dec 2003, p.130]

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

As eclectic as these 13 songs are, they all sound of a piece: Experlty cut and finished with fine details. [Nov 2004, p.135]

Coldplay barely scratch these levels of exultation and agony. [Apr 2007, p.111]

Mostly, these electro trances... sound like an ill-advised quest to make a Williamsburg version of Dark Side Of The Moon. [Mar 2005, p.132]

Their grooves can sometimes roll on as if unattended -- which is fine for living-room techno, but not for the pop songs they're trying to emulate. [Jun/Jul 2001, p.114]

Problem is, that kind of constant high gets as dull as life on Prozac. [Aug 2003, p.120]

They just sound cranky here, and their beats are mostly perfunctory. [Nov 2004, p.137]

Throughout the album, haunted-saloon piano and reverb-choked guitar conjure a murky, wobbly misaligned version of old R&B.

At times, the writing feels almost too weightless. But repeat listening makes these songs reliably addictive. [Oct 2005, p.133]

The bullying production threatens to obliterate what’s good here: A half-dozen gentle seeker’s songs with meditative acoustic textures and lyrics advocating reasonableness among humankind, which was always Cat Stevens’s domain.

An energetic, derivative genre exercise. [Oct 2003, p.118]

Persson does sadness the way Eminem does anger: with a conviction that takes the breath away.

The weirdest hip-hop album since OutKast's Stankonia. [Jun/Jul 2001, p.112]

The saggy country-rock complaints about corporatization and alienation [Farrar] offers... sound like submissions to an Air America poetry contest. [Apr 2007, p.121]

At Bloc Party’s best, music and message collide with astounding force.

Their tedious bravado is more entertaining than their music. [Apr 2005, p.122]

Offers few joys beyond the witty title. [Apr/May 2002, p.114]

Touching Down needs vocals, stylistic variation or any kind of respite from the relentless percussive onslaught. [#13, p.98]

This is simply a useful rampage through the best and worst impulses of the most important group in hip-hop history. [#9, p.153]

A stellar set. [Nov 2005, p.135]

Disparate dance genres mesh with impressive (and infectious) ease. [Oct 2004, p.113]

Like [J.J.] Cale, Knopfler prefers murmuring to emoting while threading fancy little guitar figures through songs that can't decide whether to shuffle into the haze or nod off. [Nov 2004, p.136]

If David Lynch were to direct a remake of the Victorian romance Wuthering Heights, he wouldn’t need to commission a soundtrack; Secret Machines have recorded it.

All too earnest. [May 2007, p.105]

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.

Celebrity shines brightest when the group matures enough to forget about its image and focus on the tunes. [Aug/Sep 2001, p.126]

Her haunting voice is perfect for these downcast dirges. [#11, p.139]