By turns sensual and despondent. [Oct 2004, p.126]

What's keeping the band from achieving a unique identity are Havok's generic whine and medoicre lyrics. [#15, p.120]

It's not until the seventh song that voice and material converge satisfyingly. [Jul 2005, p.115]

Wailing, distorted guitars and jumpy backbeats deliver messages of escape, refuge and, ultimately, sweet hope. [May 2003, p.124]

His Who-tastic riffs remain belligerent and plentiful, but Pollard sounds grimmer, as if the former grade-school teacher suddenly realizes that touring in a van past age 40 isn't as much fun as he expected. [Jun/Jul 2001, p.111]

Noel Gallagher has even less to say than he used to. [Jun 2005, p.112]

He specializes in layered harmonies, not deep lyrics. [Aug 2006, p.117]

In the quest to make overly bronzed twentysomethings sweat, this endearing pseudo–rebel loses much of the little–sister angst that made her so appealing in the first place.

Stefani gets her groove back when she sticks to two essentials: sex and the Neptunes. [Jan/Feb 2007, p.88]

It's delightfully wacky and right in character. [Dec 08/Jan 09, p.80]

There are moments when this third album is blissfully gorgeous--just not enough of them to make his song of himself interesting to others. [#11, p.125]

Loudboxer stands apart from other utilitarian dance music in its hypnotic sense of space. [#8, p.124]

When it works, his songs are intoxicating pop nuggets... But meandering instrumental interludes and clunky song titles are low on wink, high on wank. [May 2005, p.122]

Sonically, it's a tour de force.... But the success of this record depends on Johansson and she's not up yo the task. [June 2008, p.73]

The first third of 0304 tries too hard to impress.... But soon she calms down and knocks out undeniable hooks. [#17, p.142]

Too often, songs drift off into a fog of vague guitar atmospherics. [Aug/Sep 2001, p.130]

Nellyville will be the year's only record with a bigger-than-life number with Justin Timberlake, a capable ballad with Destiny's Child's Kelly Rowland, an acute dis of preachy rap veteran KRS-One, and an ode to the hip-hop footwear of choice. [#8, p.120]

On this clamorous, relentless album, a violent death lurks in every bar (“Rider Pt. 2”), licentious catcalls have replaced slinky come-ons (“I Like the Way She Do It”) and guns seem to fire of their own accord (every other song here). In doses, it’s rousing. Over the course of a whole album, it’s exhausting.

Sometimes the music can feel as cold and clinical as Kraftwerk, but even then, the lyrics emote wildly. [Jun/Jul 2002, p.106]

If the vocal tracks sound irredeemably icky... the instrumentals are as dreamily engaging as ever. [#23, p.100]

Aside from their outsider appeal, Join the Dots proves that the Cure's other trump card was Smith's misery-drenched knack for gleaming pop melodies. [Mar 2004, p.138]

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]

Even the fiercest moments never fully detonate. [Jul 2005, p.114]

A much more conventional Busta. [Aug 2006, p.111]

blink-182 without the humor.

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

MMW start with some dirty grooves, then add DJs, horn sections and singers for dissonance and disruptions. [Apr/May 2002, p.115]

Only a few of Barzelay's tunes... are the equal of their sonic textures. [Aug 2003, p.121]