Crazy Itch Radio is catchy overload. [#73, p.86]

It's not a pretty album, but it will evoke reaction on either side of the coin. [No. 108, p.59]

The group has managed to retain a sense of innocence, freshness and pure joy in the act of creation. [No. 100, p.59]

Other than the crowd noise, you’d have a tough time distinguishing the two albums. This is a good thing, as applying studio sheen to the Black Lips’ primitive mix of acid-damaged psychedelia and beer-fueled garage rock would be akin to putting lipstick on an orangutan.

It's a mesmerizing and haunting labyrinth filled with morbid storytelling, hurdling tempos and rhythms that would perfectly soundtrack a meaningful coastal or cross-country road trip. [No. 149, p.61]

A keeper. [No. 106, p.58]

There isn't a wasted moment in The High Country's 26 minutes, proving that brevity is the soul of pop/rock, as well as wit. [No. 122, p.61]

This newly minted prissiness... gives the twinkly keyboard and tangled guitar of "Oh Fine" and the mock-pomp circumstance of "Was It A Crime" a starry-eyed sensuality. [#64, p.92]

This is an album squarely in the spirit of the band's underrated mid-period venture Carnival Of Light, a classic-rock record with none of the baggage that phrase might imply. [No. 143, p.56]

What's missing ... is a sense of perspective, or humor, or anything to leaven Buckingham's monochromatic intensity. [No. 81, p.54]

These quiet, stripped-down songs are so narcotically enticing that when an occasional burst of moderate-volume guitar noise pops up unexpectedly, the effect is excruciating, like wires burning in the brain. [#52, p.102]

Louris' vision is still pretty much stuck in 1992. [#58, p.94]

Wratten makes the kind of albums most of us would record if the defection of a muse and lover still haunted us years later--and if we could write unabashedly pretty songs. [#52, p.109]

A glittery and effervescent package. [p.55]

It takes a sure-footed venture into morose country territory on the album's back half before Wot feels like a departure. [No. 104, p.55]

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]

It's not only the supremely crafted song structures that give this album its classic feel but also the trickery-free production and Russo's slightly grayed tenor. [#64, p.107]

You get something that's very lovely and poetic and melancholy and vulnerable and unspeakably beautiful. [No. 100, p.54]

His gravelly croon is still sombre, but now it carries a glimmer of light in the darkness. [No. 113, p.53]

The songs on WWSFTC all hint at loss, limitation and aging, with Spektor's poetic sensibility and passionate singing giving the LP a wrenching sense of vulnerability. [No.88 p.59]

Jumping The Tracks is a most welcome return to the glorious gloom the group has cultivated from the very start. [No. 107, p.56]

Perhacs' light touch contrasts with the often heavy-handed lyrics. [No. 108, p.59]

Hawthorne's songwriting, crisply appointed arrangements and effortlessly gratifying croon feel more casually confident than ever, making This Door a third straight slam dunk. [No. 101, p.55]

No matter your tastes, there's something to put you on edge. [No. 117, p.61]

Make no mistake, Blame It On Gravity is a guitar-pop record at heart. Other than a few twangy flourishes here and there, bassist Murry Hammond appears to be the one keeping the country faith, delivering one of his best performances on “Color Of A Lonely Heart Is Blue.”

This loosening of the reins, ironically, has yielded her most intimate and cohesive album. [#67, p.92]

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]

There have been many very good Jon Langford albums; this outlier is one of the best. [No, 147, p.54]

The emotional mood of At Best Cuckold never breaks away from the spell of his comfortable lethargy. [No. 114, p.53]

It's world-class vibe-out music, equally well-suited to deep headphones listeners and SkyMall soundtracks alike. [No. 125, p.61]

After delivering a classic, Superdrag has returned with something just shy of that, but considering the quality here, no one has any right to spew complaints. [#55, p.91]

Given the confines of such a childlike context, these songs' emotional range is remarkably thoughtful. [#54, p.86]

E shunts between naked self-examination and arch character studies. [#59, p.91]

Throughout the album, Wedren knows when to go from maximalist to minimalist. And his multi-octave vocal range still delivers accessible melodies. [No. 81, p. 59]

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

[A] consummate artistic triumph. [No. 125, p.56]

There's nothing here that doesn't feel like a weaker version of what he's already accomplished as a Stroke. Or as a solo artists for that matter. [No. 104, p.57]

For nine tracks in just 40 minutes, these are lighter than air and spry enough for your feet. [No. 101, p.60]

Repentance is a lot of fun.

The most enjoyable weird record of its career. [No. 101, p.52]

With the help of producer Jim James, Basia Bulat brings a rich, melodramatic sheen to her confessional tales of woe. [No. 128, p.53]

Heartworms is a slow-burning grower that rewards repeat listens but requires some commitment to love. [No. 142, p.58]

There are interesting little moments along the way that might lead to subtle adjustments in course. [#61, p.98]

It's awesome we can hear Merchant's truly lovely vocals and deft songwriting once again. I just wish there were more banjos. [No. 109, p.57]

This Invasion manages to be not only a perversely unique look at the Doors' cabaret rock but also makes for a catchier Coral. [#69, p.91]

Static conveys some stylistic growing pains for the young band, but it's a captivating successor to one of the best debuts in recent years. [No. 103, p.52]

With little overlap between his back-to-back acoustic performances recorded last November, we're provided a sterling overview of Adams' impressive catalogue. [No.121, p.53]

Lightning Bolt is only more competent than Foo Fighters, Vedder and Co.'s rival for the planet's straightest rock band. [No. 105, p.57]

Like much of Francis' most compelling work, the album is a mediation on a muse. [Fall 2007, p.96]

This compelling album is dominated by a spirit of grace and hope. [#81, p. 53]

After the mid-morning tide, recedes, the quartet repairs to its combination autobody shop/barbeque hotspot for beer-battered everything as the Wipers, Dick Dale, Burning Brides and crankshafts spin in the background. [No. 102, p.59]

It all makes for what might be Dr. Dog's career-defining work. [No. 103, p.54]

If the stoner rock of the Atomic Bitchwax and Nebula crashed, with care and caution, into Swervedriver and the Doors, you'd have West. [#81, p. 60]

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

[It] only adds to the glory of his catalog. [No. 101, p.53]

Some [of the songs] are funny, some are sad, and the best are somewhere in between. [#88, p.54]

By its very generic nature, Seadrum/House Of Sun sounds more like background music than anything the Boredoms have ever recorded. [#68, p.87]

Even the twosome's weakest album has undeniable substance in its slow burn. Don't call the Yes Age just yet. [No. 102, p.58]

Though Station only gets fully cranked twice (the Battles-esque title track, the explosive 'Youngblood'), Turncrantz’s surefooted playing will keep your interest from flagging.

The melodies and arrangements take center stage, and they're consistently stunning. [Winter 2008, p.97]

One of Molina's strongest, most interesting records yet. [#73, p.96]

The sum of these elements could achieve greatness if not for one simple-yet-major falw: Beach House manages a memorable sound but not memorable songs. [#74, p.91]

Underscored throughout is how thoroughly Amidon embodies all of his material, regardless of is origins, and how much his art lies not simply in the songs themselves but in the distinctive, impressionistic atmospherics. [No. 143, p.53]

This is about as '80s nostalgic as you can get without voting for Margaret Thatcher and hoovering up a pile of Peruvian flake. [No. 121, p.61]

Helter Seltzer offers a master class in grandiose indie-pop and how to maximize the potential of the simplest of sounds. [No. 133, p.58]

Dog is Black's safest record in years.... As such, however, the album is a bore. Rollicking American rock and pedal-stell ballads don't suit Black, and the resulting arrangements are both unsurprising and uninspired. [#48, p.78]

A skilled lyricist and a great, emotive voice. [No.86, p.55]

Some of the most progressive tracks of its 20-year career. [#71, p.93]

Even more than on its two earlier LPs, Rhyton knows where it's going. Each piece zeros in on a particular mood. [No. 116, p.59]

Fantasy would be far more appetizing as a photo-negative of itself, with a dearth of feedback and studio obfuscation and Ambrogio's poetry as front-and-center spoken word. [No. 105, p.57]

Karlsson and Winnberg's focus on gentle, warm sonic tones and catchy hooks should reassure fans of tracks like "Animal" and "Burial" that everything is under control. [No. 85, p.57]

The Helio Sequence has pared down its sound and vision without losing a molecule of its well-defined identity. [No. 121, p.52]

WWPJ returns to the moody and energetic sound of its debut with In The Pit of the Stomache, a 10-song set that bristles with raw post-punk power while pulsing with pop subtlety. [#81, p. 59]

Casts [their] this-is-not-a-love-song songs in an ultraviolet, goth-shoegazer glow that stretches [their] glistening guitar ripples to Mogwai-like proportions. [#71, p.100]

Lion is Murphy's most enraged, engaged and engaging album. [No. 110, p.57]

There's nothing wrong with punching the clock when the results ate so dependably swoony. [No. 111, p.53]

Third World Pyramid, like its recent predecessors, is yet another gorgeous, quasi-psychedelic slice of the band's kaleidoscope-eyes popcraft. [No. 138, p.53]

An eight-song album that flounders too much in mid-tempo purgatory. [No. 107, p.55]

Jenkins continues his adroitness at transforming disparate juxtapositions of R2-D2 blips and bloops, deep bass drops into sonic sculptures that are futuristically dense and engagingly hip-shaking. [No. 120, p.61]

This half-hour slab of very high-energy punk would be cathartic if its root darkness weren't so persistently unsettling. [No. 98, p.60]

Bitter Honey hits like a series of heart punches, and the quality of the writing is such that it doesn't get old even after multiple back-to-back spins. [#71, p.87]

The effect is rather like Post-Super ae Boredoms, which is a great sound to achieve, but they only nail it sporadically. [No. 106, p.55]

Fairly golden and never uninteresting. [#73, p.110]

Velocifero is a mere knob's turn toward the excellence the band still seems to be working toward. [Summer 2008, p.107]

Songs that actually shoot for happy tend to slide into saccharine. [#69, p.96]

The whole album rocks. [#53, p.74]

Bug's poetry remains the stuff of nightmares, but the band's splayed-nerve shtick is wearing thin. [No. 101, p.59]

The Chems remain committed to their singular vision, still plying those swooning synths, continuing to breathe new life from the echoes. [No. 123, p.55]

A great, if subtle, step forward. [No. 131, p.55]

Full of ideas as well as joyful energy. [#68, p.86]

Consider the jarring Highway Songs a retrenchment in the wake of its creator's publicly nightmarish 2015: the album as spirit quest, as bridge. [No. 137, p.59]

A mixed bag. [#71, p.102]

With Hitch, the Joy Formidable has expanded its sonic palette and subsequently zeroed in on its ultimate sound. [No. 130, p.57]

[The final track Love Is Love] has the sprightly energy that's missing on most of the record. [No. 143, p.61]

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

["Are We Arc" is] a mid-album highlight to an otherwise mostly forgettable sophomore effort. [No. 107, p.59]

His most emotionally expansive record. [#59, p.101]

It's as if SDRE was trying to make every album it thought Rush should have cut after Moving Pictures - simultaneously dark, textural, riff-based and cliche-free, yet filled with the sort of sweeping gestures and lofty arrangements you usually find in vintage prog.