Like The Dismemberment Plan's Emergency and I, this seems to glide from one high-energy song to another, each one unique and fascinating by itself, echoing the sparse tones of The Police here and there, or INXS's Kick-era attention to beat in other places.

Ikara Colt deliver their rock with a boastful swagger but still fail to generate too much excitement.

Life On Other Planets isn't quite as much fun as previous Supergrass releases; perhaps, a sign that the boys are growing up.

He spits incisive, abstract rhymes that leave you marveling--and a bit confused, at times.

If Joy Division were to have formed in the last few years, they might sound similar to Calla.

Hints at greatness, but never quite sustains it.

Slideling isn't a terrible album by any means. It just doesn't have a whole lot of depth to it.

Log 22 is a collection of apparently simple songs whose catchiness is quickly overtaken by the many quirks and details the band puts into their music.

Once the languid beats and innocent twilight melodies of Mark Mitchell's spacious oddity of an album hits the fourth track, you begin to realize a certain cohesion to this eccentric electronic work.

This is a superb piece of rock.

He lets the technology overwhelm the proceedings and all too often it is used in service of forgettable, substandard melodies.

If pleasant melodies, electronics, ironic culture references, and played-out orchestration techniques could compensate for the lack of any discernable sense of expression, I could recommend Tahiti 80's Wallpaper For the Soul to you. I probably still wouldn't, but I could.

The lyrics are Echoboy's Achilles' heel.

Unfortunately, the doom and gloom here wears out its welcome quickly.

Gorgeously produced, beautifully instrumentated and infused with assurance and purpose, album number four by Australia's wonderkids is simply excellent.

Skimskitta's refusal or lack of ability to move beyond sketchy hisses and glitches makes for a too sprawling, too unfocused affair.

This is toothless, banal music that is so sweet it's like eating an extra helping of cotton candy.

It's all too much like a fumbling Pink Floyd tribute, continually reaching a point where the psychedelica fails to follow up with the required kick, allowing the whole fragile structure to collapse into self-indulgence and bathetic kitsch.

This sounds like a brand-new, re-energized John Mellencamp.

Moments of greater emotional color might have turned what is an exemplary post-breaks exploration by a master into something brilliant.

This music casts a thoughtful spell that deeper enchants the heart the more times it spins.

One of their catchiest, most rewarding listening experiences to date.

We Are Science is strikingly gorgeous and powerful. It's also just a little bit cheesy (but in a good way), as though you were watching Patsy Kensit star in Breaking The Waves.

The Datsuns' biggest problem isn't the style of music they're playing, though. It's the sub-standard quality of their songwriting, the uninspired performances on here and the fundamental lack of willingness to stretch beyond the safe confines of their older brothers' record collections.

It is the kind of album that becomes more endearing with each listen, with each song evincing a gorgeousness missed the first time around.

This disc is much more solid than Acoustic Soul.

This is the album of the year.

If the listener is patient, and wades through over an hour of mediocrity, there is brightness at the end of the tunnel.