Luluc has indie credentials to spare, but all that really matters is that this music is impossibly delicate and deeply beautiful. [No. 112, p.59]

Bed... opts to crank the volume knobs a little, with wildly divergent results. [#73, p.100]

Among the lot lie some stone-cold Pollard classics. [#55, p.76]

A genre-defying, glorious mess of an album. [#54, p.109]

The songs are mostly concise, ranging from less than two minutes to more than seven, but their motorik propulsion and detailed, gradual builds add more subtle rewards beneath synth-pop immediacy. [No. 101, p.55]

Buffalo Tom provides a warm blanket on a cold, dark night of the soul. [No. 150, p.51]

The emotional tenor on Lambchop’s 10th LP is hard to miss. Not that there’s anything wrong with being touchy and tender, but the calm, spare arrangements on OH (ohio) can only be described as pretty.

For those inclined toward the indie end of things, there's plenty to like here, but there's also plenty that will inspire head-scratching or, worse yet, yawns. [#71, p.89]

As mesmerizingly Zen as Korallreven's dreamy, glazed gaze is, it's hard not to long for the band to shake itself free of its googly-eyed trance, if only for a moment or two. [#82, p.57]

True, nothing here ever astonishes, but coming from such a unique voice, the familiar bests most else. [No. 96, p.51]

Cameron's vocals have a dramatic quality hat crosses the detached phrasing of David Bowie with Nick Cave's tortured rasp. [No. 134, p.55]

Algiers appears designed not to define, defy, offend and - most heinously- explore. [No.91, p.53]

Like everyone from Young Marbles Giants to Stereolab, less is always more with ARS, making every choice more deliberate and powerful. [No. 102, p.52]

Ghost's most ambitious achievement yet. [#74, p.98]

[The] only complaint is that the rest of the LP doesn't quite sustain the power of these two tracks ["Petrichor" and "Sharp Stones"]. [No. 107, p.55]

It does function gorgeously as a lush, entrancing mood piece, one that might pleasantly percolate along in the background, but could just as easily hold you rapt in the detailed folds of its layered, continuously evolving subarctic suites. [No. 129, p.61]

Albarn aficionados will, of course, lap it up, but for the rest of us, think of it more along the lines of a faintly beguiling curio in an otherwise fascinating career. [No. 109, p.52]

Drums dance around the downbeat while acoustic guitars push the piece forward, proving these two can do subtlety, too. [No. 123, p.57]

The problem with Answers is the grooves are slathered in all that useless skill. [#60, p.119]

Rarely do you stumble into a world so richly realized and so warmly, curiously inviting. [No. 104, p.58]

[An] effortless fourth album, which is every bit as blissfully pretty and/or unremittingly milquetoast as what came before. [No. 141, p.61]

Musically, long-time fans will appreciate that very little variation has been mad on their theme. [No. 130, p.61]

Earle sounds invigorated and relaxed, and these are some of his best songs in years. [No. 144, p.58]

Sadie Dupuis' sweet voice offers very little respite from her defiantly uncatchy band. [No. 107, p.59]

It's another creative leap for an artist who explores difficult human emotions with a bravery and intensity few singers ever approach. [No. 93, p.60]

It's his best album in years. [No. 108, p.59]

Modern Creation is big, buzzy guitar pop that is as timeless as it is timely. [No. 108, p.60]

Although the quartet might not have topped Merriweather Post Pavillion, it did the next best thing: make an album that's entirely new and just as exciting. [No.91 p.52]

Winds isn't without charm, but it feels like the work of a different group. [#64, p.84]

The balance of the album is crammed to capacity with placeholders for more fully developed ideas.

Liquid guitar licks, bobbing bass lines, slow-tumbling vibes and lush strings float in and out of the mix, wrapping snugly around Sam Prekop's mellow croon. There's nothing life-changing here, but it's nice; and sometimes nice is enough. [#47, p.116]

It's the rather unhinged propositions that sends chills in the warmest way, much like Will Oldham's timelessly classic mid-'90s output. [No.99, p.52]

With LUX, Eno continues to show off the theatricality of subtlety. [No. 94, p.54]

The energy is different [from previous releases], more mature and refined. [No.87 p.56]

Peel back the layers, and you're confronted with a wealth of oft-unexpected sonic exploration. [#90, p.60]

Despite an approach that can occasionally feel too reverent, these unreleased lyrics get a fittingly old, weird treatment that makes complete sense. [No. 115, p.51]

Not everything kills, but when the band's "psychedelic rock and blue-eyed soul" finds its groove, it's still a breathless wonder to behold. [No. 124, p.61]

Security brings new elements to the mix without compromising Antibalas' fundamental power. [#75, p.94]

For all the inventive whimsy of the arrangements, however, there’s no mistaking the slight lyrical content.

It's quite haunting. [#73, p.103]

Eight is the sound of a band in flux, and that churn makes for some of Radar Brothers' most intriguing, compelling work yet. [No. 95, p.57]

Stones-y rockers a la "Heartstopper" and "Trouble" have more chug and balls than Richards' band has displayed in a while. [No. 126, p.59]

For possibly the first time ever, it's hard to tell if he's trying too hard or not trying hard enough. [No. 109, p.56]

Converts to the cause will find much to love here, and curious newcomers and Anglophiles, it's as good a place as any to start. [#82, p.58]

Don't expect anything more earth-shattering than pleasantly folky indie-pop with a mild rootsy lilt. If that's your bag, though, don't lose out on this one. [No. 131, p.55]

The trio's execution is impressive, but the music is so tightly wound that it engenders a yearning for escape. [No. 128, p.61]

The lyrics are often buried in the mix. [No. 128, p.61]

Control is the finger-pointing punk record of the year. [#54, p.101]

Her built-in fanbase will exult in the sulky ruminations found here. [#52, p.101]

Make no mistake: You will dance. [#64, p.80]

Cupid Deluxe paints him as a producer and songwriter with massive potential that's only just begun to be realized. [No. 105, p.52]

The result is music that undulates and bobs, never really going anywhere, but accumulating density. [No. 101, p.52]

Much of Cistern feels deliberately nebulous, washed-out and distended. [No. 133, p.55]

For My Parents de-emphasizes stylistic juxtapositions for a more holistic approach to epic soundscaping. [No.91 p.57]

Never mind McBean's more successful other gig; Mountaintops don't get much blacker than this. [#71, p.108]

If you don't smell the brimstone smoke of hell when listening to Nothin' But Blood, then you just don't get it. [No. 107, p.53]

During its most commercial moments, Frances ventures dangerously close to System Of A Down, without the nu-metal grandstanding or fake volatility. [#67, p.106]

Magnificent Fiend follows up the band’s self-titled 2006 debut in powerful style, fashioning a blend of hard blues, herb-smoke-encrusted rock, country-tinged folk and swinging, blue-eyed soul.

Alix's absence of missteps or variations could be taken as relentless or monotonous--or a couple of pop perfectionists who found what they've been looking for. [No. 114, p.57]

There's both freshness and familiarity to this live-in-the-studio effort. [No. 97, p.53]

The multicultural mix and match works best on “Oh, Mojave.”... However, the Ruby Suns are less appealing when they land closer to home.

Fans will love her subtlety and clean new sound, but someone just coming on board might not find this an essential listen. [No. 85, p.59]

Offers little bits of everything Luna does well. [#57, p.93]

Features the same lyrical spirit and disjointed soul rhythms [as labelmate, Shabazz Palaces.] [No.86, p.58]

The whole affair has the energy of a younger band, one just starting on its first album rather than an act 30 years old. [No. 99, p.53]

A surprisingly accessible island of misfit pop songs. [No. 113, p.55]

The result is a modern dream-pop classic, a victory more major than minor. [No. 133, p.59]

Contrary to the urgency of the title, Silencio! is more intermission than showstopper. [No.89, p.59]

Love Is The Devil draws more obviously from film music, creating a moving, mostly instrumental platter loaded with evocative drones and coarse textures. [No.99, p.55]

Musically, it's their most ambitious release, with full orchestras and mysterious meditations of reality and fantasy. [No. 102, p.56]

Hypercaffium Spazzinate finds the band reenergized and more characteristically succinct. [No. 134, p.55]

The 13-track Parallel Play is a decidedly less ambitious effort, but it’s no less brilliant in its execution.

More restrained and tasteful. [No. 120, p.61]

Death Song isn't a wild step in any new direction but instead a grindstone-polished showcase of what the group does best. [No.142, p.52]

Tunng has taken one analog-age lesson very much to heart by making Good Arrows nice and short; it's 11 songs clock in at 43 minutes, and only one is an outright dud. [Fall 2007, p.108]

The distorted, shimmering sound world proposed by My Bloody Valentine's Loveless and perfected on Fennesz's Endless Summer is used here as a gorgeous facade behind which endless layers of processed guitars recede like ocean waves reaching for the horizon. [No. 133, p.55]

As he continues to spin funny, poignant, depressing and eminently melodic tales of woe, it's clear McCaughey is a staggering genius aging as superbly as a fine bottle of hooch. [#71, p.106]

Oh, what fey-but-fecund pleasures lurk in the grooves of the group's third full-length. [#74, p.91]

Margot seems abundant in earnestness, pulling together hooky, shoegaze rifts ("Disease Tobacco Free") with dulcet guitar tunes ("Frank"), Tim Kasher lyricism ("The Devil" and a lonely piano ballad ("Christ"). [No. 86, p.56]

It doesn't feel resolved by the unexpectedly bone-chilling ending, beckoning another listen. [No. 104, p.59]

The album has more in common with the genre-bending and expectation-shattering records of Shelby Lynne and Sturgill Simpson. [No. 143, p.52]

The whole thing is executed with a sense of starry-eyed bliss. [No. 119, p.61]

Wait For Love is a beautiful consideration of what comes next. [No. 150, p.55]

It's beautiful. [No. 139, p.55]

The Scene Between is another breathless, time-collapsing rush of dayglo, retro, lo-fi indie spunk, cutting back on the hip-hop inflections, schoolyard chants and cut-and-paste sample collage to focus squarely on melody. [No. 119, p.55]

This is a lovely, bittersweet and nuanced album. [No. 95, p.59]

Honeyblood has plenty of possibilities, and a ton of potential. But it's also pretty darn potent already. [No. 111, p.55]

Slow Summits is full of carefully arranged autumnal tunes: thoughtful, intimate, unaffected and wistfully romantic. It's secret music worth sharing.[No.99, p.56]

Playing to previous strengths, the band's third LP shuffles the decks, throwing six-string spiderwebs into spacey, bass-textured atmospheres. [No. 98, p.55]

He conjures females with concrete blood and soldiers in coffins over the priciest anthemic ballast his new major label can buy. [No. 93, p.55]

Though No Coast possesses its vivifying moments. It's pretty clear not all the organs made it back after the post-Frame And Canvas autopsy. [No. 111, p.52]

The alterations and differences may be slighter and more comparable to alt-music's lexicon, but that's bound to happen after a decade and a half. Still, the redefinition continues, and so does the compelling art. [No. 108, p.51]

Yet another Maritime record full of amiable, breezy numbers, every note and octave in place. The soul and panache of yore, however, are sadly MIA. [No. 125, p.59]

Inhabit[s] some weird middle ground between The Teaches of Peaches and Prince's 1999. [#58, p.98]

An exciting blend. [#59, p.103]

“Teaching Little Fingers To Play” is a bit hokey and clichéd. But on “If I Lost You,” the vibe connects massively: Serene loops and swift beats recall vintage Portishead, while Manson’s lyrical meditation on insecurity is stark, vulnerable and remarkably honest. [No. 132, p.53]

Vocally, Gordon is reborn, baptized in fire. [No. 102, p.53]

Gem goes by in 30 short punk-rock minutes, but the songs easily feel like beautiful, spacey epics. [No. 93, p.59]