A ground-breaking debut, an original game-changer, a true, flawless, 24-carat triumph. [No. 94, p.60]

Essentially, it's the super-cool but super-classy Christmas record all hipsters hope they'll find under their tree this year. [No. 94, p.61]

Master producer J. Robbins deserves some credit for the band's audibly broadened horizons. [No. 94, p.60]

It's a clever set, no doubt, and ably built. But for the Soft moon's work to sound weightier, Vasquez may need to push his limits more aggressively. [No. 94, p.59]

GRRR! is a total cash grab. [No. 94, p.59]

There's an ever-so-slight improvement upon what has come to be expected of GBV and related releases of the last 10-12 years. [No. 94, p.58]

On the whole, this is the fuzz-popping, party-starting, pan-galactic prescription you forgot to remember you were waiting for. [No. 94, p.58]

Improbably enough, the resultant record could last you winterlong. [No. 94, p.58]

Much of Synthesized sounds like a rather bland concentrate of whatever musical style Holkenborg has chosen to upgrade. [No.94, p.56]

The whole record is all skittering drums never finding their place, and shivering synths that drift in search of a landing pad. [No. 94, p.58]

A set of soul instrumentals that wouldn't sound out of place on a late-'60s/early-'70s blaxploitation soundtrack. [No. 94, p.57]

It's an interesting experience and definitely an entertaining listen, even if you'll have no clue what you're listening to half the time. [No. 94, p.57]

The potential showed on Explore is evidence that GRMLN still has more to say. [No.94, p.55]

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

Too often the tracks meander aimlessly, never building enough momentum to culminate into any kind of climax. [No. 94, p.54]

It's easily Emerald's least utilitarian album yet. [No. 94, p.53]

The arresting gorgeous title tune here destroys everything else, of course. But the rest have a loose, jammy feel that wouldn't have been tolerable in any phase of the DP's career other than the pop one. [No. 94, p.53]

It's a success throughout. [No. 94, p.53]

It's a treasure trove of listening pleasure. [No. 94, p.51]

Thanks in part to producer Henning Furst, she succeeds in generating a summer feel-good vibe so potent, it'll feel all the better come winter. [No.92, p.59]

Even when he's pouring on the lushness, the producer keeps Fay's gentle, weathered voice and arresting lyrics front and center. [No.91, p.54]

The real draws here are the stunning fresh takes on some of the finest works to be found in the Antony & The Johnsons catalog. [No.90, p.52]

There's some filler in the form of ambient doodling, but JT's pop sensibilities peek through frequently enough that it's a fair trade. [No.88, p.55]

If you're looking to get good and lost, this record's your ticket. [No. 93, p.52]

When the melodies are too thin to support their own emotional weight, all the string quartets in the world can't rescue them, and I find myself missing that old pulsing bass, those swirling drums and the sheer fabulousness that made the original versions so liberating. [No. 93, p.61]

A backhanded compliment, sure, but really--things could have been so much worse. [No. 93, p.61]

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]

Fans of either Glass or the remixers won't be too disappointed, but they won't be blown away, either. [No. 93, p.60]

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

At its worst (most of it), it's layered synth sounds with beats and vocals smacking of a manufactured sexiness, all designed to hide the gaping void where memorable songwriting should be. [No. 93, p.59]

The band has ripped elements from early L.A. hardcore, '90s powerviolence and screamo, and it wields this arsenal of influences to deliver big, sharp hooks. [No. 93, p.59]

This sidecar is neither evolution nor revolution, though its eight tracks contain a fair share of intrigue and insight into Bird's feverish 2011, as well as a contemporary rearrangement so sweet it should comer rimmed in sugar. [No. 93, p.58]

The band has simply folded its past into a bigger, richer whole. [No. 93, p.58]

Opening slog, "Heaven Is A Gated Community" plods hopelessly beneath its titular destination, setting the pace for a record-long limp. [No. 93, p.57]

Familiar moves all, by two musicians with whom familiarity breeds contentment.[No. 93, p.57]

Merritt is skilled; she just needs to accept that and then actually travel alone into the music. [No. 93, p.57]

It's like 90215-era Yes meeting up with Air and fellow auto enthusiasts Trans Am for a jammola in the trunk of, yes, an indestructible talking car. [No. 93, p.57]

At it's best, the record finds her swapping the heavy-handed concepts that've largely driven her work to date for the irrefutable impact of raw lyricism. [No. 93, p.56]

They too often edge into Meat Loaf/Jim Steinman territory, where every detail becomes a cause for operatic exaggeration and any clunky line or cliche sounds ridiculous. [No. 93, p.56]

The pair rips through a hard-rockin' 11-song set without messing much beyond the four-minute mark of any track. [No. 93, p.56]

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]

The odd, sublime nod to the blues is a pleasant shock in what registers as a 45-track hour-long lark--the latest in a long, winding series of digressions from the auteur's core competency. [No. 93, p.55]

We still find this trio a little yawn-worthy. [No. 93, p.55]

On Banks, he takes a decent pass at pop. [No. 93, p.54]

Espinoza and Murray return from a four-year hiatus in fine form. [No. 93, p.54]

Surprisingly, Dylan has never been more deliberate or so overtly savage. [No. 93, p.54]

He sparkles on his own. [No. 93, p.53]

It's pretty, non-threatening, and your mom might enjoy it, though don't let that be a criticism. [No. 93, p.53]

It's a powerhouse collection. [No. 93, p.53]

It's as raucous and vital as their first three. [No. 93, p.52]

The tunes sound lustrous but Amos, the singer and writer, sounds richer. [No. 93, p.53]

It is, in a way, a dad-rock opus, the songs imbued with the residue of a man pondering not just the intricacies of family but the greater implications of existence that come with it. [No. 93, p.51]

Accelerator is the most focused album Royal Trux ever made. [No.92, p.57]

There's aren't a whole lot of songs here that really stand out on their own.... But the members of Tam Impala possess such boundless energy and obvious, puppy-like enthusiasm that it would be downright churlish to dismiss them. [No. 92, p.81]

Much of the LP will be familiar to anyone who caught them on the road last year, but songs that curled into smoky haze onstage come into sharp focus here. [No.92 p.61]

Good-natured, utterly accessible dance pop with meta-awareness of its own shallowness and disposability. [No.92 p.58]

When it's not pounding out overly mechanical drum patterns, the band is crowding the better moments with unnecessary noise. A friendly suggestion for Sea Wolf LP number four: solo acoustic. [No.92 p.58]

[Runner] is something more akin to Eliot Smith, but airier, and with more synth. [No.92 p.58]

Bishop's well-established fascination with Eastern music and mysticism proves a ready foil for Chasny's expansive, psychedelic Americana. [No.92 p.57]

Every move this unit makes feels intrinsically and unaccountably right in all sorts of inexplicable ways. [No.92 p.57]

Sometimes the pace renders parts of the LP a slow-bore, but there's still enough effective moody dynamics to giver 'er a spin. [No.92 p.56]

Better than ever. [No.92 p.55]

Townshend-ian windmills are all over... but it's greatest when Lucas makes his politics explicit on this record on the stomping "woo-ooh" hooked "They Saved Reagan's Brain" or breaks musical script for the intense metal-with-horns of "Here Comes Ol' Laptop." [No.92 p.55]

Unfortunately all this hi-watt talent [guest vocalists] can't cover up Iha's weak vocals, which pass from winsome to wan early on and never recover. [No.92 p.54]

A sameness of style makes things feel a little redundant, but taken in discreet portions, these tunes are unimpeachable. [No.92 p.55]

A wonderful rumination on late nights, leaving home and self-medicating. [No.92 p.54]

Bettye LaVette is able to tap into the deep, sanctified stream of black-church music to come up with performances that shine with hope, even as she deals with life's more difficult situations. [No.92, p.55]

Here Dee Dee even strips the roaring guitar off a lazily tuneful stopgap that's not quite as revelatory as High. [No. 92, p.53]

For those curious what the San Fran-tastic Four has left in the tank, here's what: false starts, faint praise, fart noises, mischievous grins, horns of plenty, golden deadpanning.... [No. 92, p.53]

There is still pullback, and delicate, melodic music seeps in, sounding like (synthetic) waves crashing on a (glass) beach. [No. 92, p.52]

An organic expression of the beauty that can be found in the fragile, arbitrary nature of communication. [No. 92, p.52]

It's all very impressive (and pretty), but that doesn't necessarily mean it leaves much of an impression. [No. 992, p.52]

Babel is the more subtle and accomplished album. [No. 92, p.56]

The sound is more lush than usual and has clearly matured, but it does come across a lot like indie new age music. [No. 92, p.55]

Languid and sometimes lagging, [a] sensual 47-minute set. [No. 92, p.52]

Sugaring Season isn't a breakthrough, but it's a consolidation of Orton's strengths. [#92, p.58]

The 10-song Heavy Mood is eclectic enough to say that the band has matured. Almost. [No. 92, p.60]

The album's first half explores the same musical territories as Nocturne--the chiming euphony of a hundred things happening at once, the guileless melodic patterns that wander up the scale and back--but it does so in lifted fog. [No. 92, p.59]

Lightening returns to the tried-and-true formula that has worked so well for them. [No. 92, p.56]

An uneasy gamut of emotion imbues another exceptional Mountain Goats effort. [No. 92, p.51]

Crisper and cleaner than any previous Why? musing, Mumps Etc. is chamber hop for people who buy every remastered reissue of Pet Sounds. [No. 92, p.60]

Segall makes quite a cacophonous rock 'n' roll racket with infectious pop stompers like rousing, four-on-the-floor rocker "You're The Doctor" and the menacing, rolling riffage of "They Told Me To." Yet, the headroom in the mix makes so the oceans of pulverizing reverb don't swallow the hooks. [No. 92, p.59]

Not since the Men dropped Leave Home last summer has a young band made an album of pure, hard-edged rock this good or entertainingly lacerating. [No. 92, p.56]

His conspicuous over-reliance on the same, tired lyrical themes does the record in, highlighting just how short on variety the LP is. [No. 92, p.55]

Jackson sounds as vital as ever in front of her live band, and has crafted a definitive album in a storied career. [#92, p.54]

Nothing about Sunday Run Me Over should stop fans from flocking to this. [No. 92, p.53]

It sounds like a fun, energetic performance but it downplays his sophisticated charms. [#91, p.56]

The music is starting to shift into a sort of Hipster Triple-A agreeability that robs it somewhat of the flavor that made the Raveonvettes so distinct, but suggests a maturity taking hold. [No.91 p.60]

The songs [on The Bloom and the Blight] have a folk/blues foundation, but they're delivered with a grungy punk energy. [No.91 p.60]

For Kill My Blues, Tucker has made the kind of music she did when first inspired to pick up the guitar: riot rock with restless, pent-up frustration that buzzes with nerve. [No.91 p.60]

Many cover choices are deft... though others like the Best Coast's bouncy take on Nicks' "Rhiannon" and Karen Elson's on-the-nose "Gold Dust Woman" are less revelatory. [No.91 p.61]

It would be nice if they [her lyrics] cut through the music a bit more clearly; its richly textured blend of strings and electronica is attractive, but would stick better if it balanced its drift with a bit more assertion. [No.91 p.59]

This minor genius from Gothenburg hurdles over [the heartbreak record] as effortlessly and charmingly as his livelier material. [No.91 p.58]

Putrifiers II finds a compelling bridge between the two poles [the breezy, lo-fi records Dwyer makes on his own and the heavier, more propulsive ones he makes with the full band] - ironically by being a remarkably wide-ranging effort. [No.91 p.59]

The trio still churns as mixing hot butter with bourbon and gargling gasoline [No.91 p.59]

Though not everything in the limper, bloatier back half hits the mark, they're mostly aiming in the right direction. [No.91 p.59]

The flouncing, bouncy "Winner" is just the most hateful of the bunch, with insipid lyrics, overly bright production and a vocal line so pale it's opaque. "Hold On" and "Give It A Go" come damn near close to that level of dread. Luckily, though, those are the album's sole missteps. [No.91 p.58]

Orbserver is the latest chapter in that legend's [Lee Perry's] ever-lengthening history, and it works ok in that sense. But it's barely an Orb album. [No.91 p.58]