Some of the most gripping singing you're going to hear all year.... A brave, unrepeatable record that speaks to her whole life. [May 2004, p.123]

Less of the recent Jesus-jazz, more funk minimalism--so far so good.... But the once-and-future Prince doesn't seem to be rooting around in the rich melodies of "Raspberry Beret" or the frenetic nu-wave soul of "Uptown." [#27, p.144]

There are no future standards, but no sugary returns to childhood, either. [May 2004, p.124]

They’re crotch-pumping arena pimps and introverted minimalists.

Unlke many underground MCs, [Levine] doesn't use a $10 word if it'll compromise the beat. [May 2004, p.118]

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]

Her voice--half dark, lazy molasses, half bourbon with a silky finish--rings with equal parts defiance and vulnerability. [May 2004, p.128]

Seachange wrap their songs in the glorious dissonance of Sonic Youth and the mighty alt-rock-meets-R&B rhythms of the Afghan Wigs, but underneath it all, they just want to creep you out. [May 2004, p.131]

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

Dub, metal, Okinawan folk, hip-hop and various strains of out jazz all inflect Blondie’s hooky popcraft, and they never pretend they’re something they’re not, such as young.

A debut on par with the music of Massive Attack, Underworld or Kruder & Dorfmeister.

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.

Kweller's skeletal songs rely mostly on his acoustic guitar, garage-y riffs and swinging, Beatlesque piano. [Apr 2004, p.130]

[Brock is] adept at wringing out emotion while straddling sentimentality, but too often here, gauche studio affectations make his sap sound plain cheap. [Apr 2004, p.134]

The genius of Sexsmith’s seventh and best work is the way he surrounds (or, depending on your perspective, atones for) the empathy overload with deftly assimilated, gloriously ascendant pop hookcraft.

Shimmers with a newfound sophistication. [Apr 2004, p.136]

There's no unnecessary reverence, so the roots move that could have tagged Aerosmith as geezers proves instead that they're still wild boys. [May 2004, p.118]

His guitar reinvigorates age-old lines on neat and tidy arrangements, but he's even busier exploring the limited expressive range of his singing voice. [May 2004, p.119]

What's titillating about Damita Jo isn't some easy flash of sexuality, but the varied soundbeds that Jackson and her producers create to house her love games, and the confidence with which she plays. [May 2004, p.116]

A daring and triumphant concoction. [#27, p.140]

His songwriting isn't a strength, and his ballads often drown in their own inanity. [Apr 2004, p.132]

He has a dusky, intimate voice and a weakness for overwrought lyrics. [May 2004, p.126]

Proves that [You Forgot It In People] wasn’t a fluke.

The best songs here brace his vulnerability with expansive flourishes. [Apr 2004, p.134]

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]

At 62, Reed apparently has indulged in the drug that rejuvenated Bob Dylan's career: enjoying himself. [Apr 2004, p.135]

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

[Some] attempts at genre-mashing suffer from some uncharacteristically sluggish Muggs production. [May 2004, p.120]