It’s a step forward for sure, though at times it reinforces the cloying feeling that the need to complicate rather than simplify makes for overwrought music. But you can’t blame a band for being thoughtful or for playing like something is at stake.

The one-man band does pretty well for himself in finding a place for his songs between sonic textures. [#51, p.117]

The riffs jump out with their junk out, wave wildly in your face, then leave you with the bill. Yet what's always been generally true of North Carolina's finest denim demons is that they're not afraid to show off their intellect. [No. 99, p.60]

It's less an emphatic, assertive statement than a patchwork scrapbook of disparate moods and tunes that, taken as a whole, feels not unpleasantly unfinished, somewhat hazy and dreamlike and understatedly charismatic. [No. 146, p.59]

His songwriting keeps growing hookier and more ingratiating. [#81, p. 59]

The LP is an unpredictable and often euphoric collection with plenty to, well, love. [Fall 2007, p.90]

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]

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

Though the sax draws you in, you'll stay for the trashy energy. [No.87 p.56]

Arthur goes at it more heartily than ever on autobiographical treatises like "King Of Cleveland," with a full-blooded band of renowneds and a funk that matches his usual finessed frenzy. [No. 100, p.52]

The album holds up better than most dustbin acquisitions reissue labels make, but it's not without its limitations - namely, in the way it mixes and matches aesthetics. [No. 81, p. 59]

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]

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]

Arthur is still writing seamlessly melodic, slightly psychedelic tunes, often thickened with atmospheric reverb or distant electronics. [#73, p.84]

While it's a challenging listen, it's rarely jarring, making it oddly satisfying for both active and passive consumption. [No. 97, p.52]

These songs are every bit as spiritually urgent as those on What We Lose In The Fire We Gain In The Flood, but the motivation is as political as it is personal. [#87, p.57]

The five tracks never end far from where they begin, but they're also forever shifting. [No. 103, p.53]

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]

Finds Wilco switching moods, tones, influences and instruments enough to suggest a band on a pub crawl in search of its winterteeth. [#64, p.112]

Royksopp's shift to the fun side is exactly what its music needed. [#68, p.110]

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

The uniformly dark, driving song cycle has no real high or low points--just 11 consistently thrilling guitar and drum loops led around in circular crescendos by Windett's wire-taut tenor. [#73, p.84]

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]

Though it isn't as catchy or streamlined as Lifestyle, one of Italian Platinum's many strengths is the continued ability of bassist Tim Midgett and guitarist Andy Cohen to pen lyrics that are downcast yet inspirational, witty yet insightful, sometimes all at once. [#55, p.86]

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]

Is White's nonchalant spectrum dabbling [found throughout the album] as interesting as the myriad variables of his own quirky sound? Eh, not quite. [No.88 p.60]

It's very Art Of Noise circa 1991. [#73, p.104]

A record that still manages to seamlessly blend doom, ambient, noise and post-rock. [No. 135, p.61]

"Invisible" offers spacy prog; "Waiting" could be a sitcom theme song, and "Living in Song" and "Mexico City Christmas" are slinky, murky and devo-ish. There are also rapid-fire, traditional indie rockers and happy summer jams. [No. 103, p.55]

All in all, the best return to original form a stadium band can risk these days. [No. 103, p.57]

It's jauntier, if still jaundiced, and contains some of Gainsbourg's best compositions. [No. 138, p.57]

If Seaworthy is more restrained than Macha, it's just as colorful. [#83, p.89]

All four of these tracks succeed in holding the listener's attention throughout. [No. 122, p.57]

When they fall into slow, sullen standards like minimalist closer "I Cry Alone," it's magnificently evil. [#59, p.86]

Between Waves might be the least Relapse of all Relapse titles, but that's what genuine eclecticism looks like. [No. 135, p.53]

The cosmic expanses of "I Love You Too, Death" and "Astro-Mancy" are particularly engrossing, but this record boasts more than enough quality head trips to keep you in it pull 'til the next go-round. [No. 103, p.57]

The Hartnolls sound more relaxed and at ease than they did on their last album. [#51, p.105]

With All The Times We Had, they've nailed the harmony-drenched, foot-tapping folk/rock of the Seattle sound. [No. 96, p.55]

Like any record geeks, they deftly reshape their heritage into their own original catalog. [No. 135, p.53]

With its plumb-pretty songs, Mouthfuls will be part of the Smithsonian's year 3000 exhibit on white people. [#59, p.95]

It’s a simple collection of typically melody-rich songs for piano, bass and drums (Jackson is backed by JJB alums Graham Maby and Dave Houghton) that occasionally swings (“The Uptown Train”) and sometimes lurches like the good old days (“King Pleasure Time”).

While RZA has never sounded so alive, Banks has never sounded so, well, dead. This hot/cold, menace-and-moody pattern--it's what most of Anything But Words' song structures are all about. [No. 135, p.51]

More than country cousins to the Black Keys, these Allstars are the real deal. [No. 103, p.58]

Earle doesn't try to reinvent the blues, but he wears them well. [No. 117, p.53]

It may not be what you expect, but it's got the same Dwyer DNA that's always made he band compelling. [No. 138, p.61]

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

For the most part, he succeeds. [No. 97, p.60]

It doesn't add a lot to our understanding of Revival. ... Still, it's cool to discover the unreleased songs, including Johnny Cash "One Piece At A Time" homage "Dry Town" and to be reminded of how great Revival is. [No. 138, p.61]

For much of Happiness, Bays slurs his way through the best music Hot Hot Heat has ever made.

A vibrant, dubbed-out dance album that rises above the wobble-obsessed rabble. [No.86, p.57]

The record is full of texture, and while it maybe isn't essential listening, it's a nice addition to both catalogs. [No. 109, p.55]

Bras finds the Knoxville, Tenn., trio scaling back the noise in favor of tuneful, even sweet performances. [No. 103, p.60]

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

The Sadies can still sound like the best rock 'n' roll band in the world, but here. for all their brilliance, they miss that steadying hand. [No. 103, p.60]

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.

The band's twee-ish melodies are still firmly in place, and the album has its softer acoustic moments - but the big slabs of rock all over In The Belly Of The Brazen Bull help give it a fantastic heft. [No.87 p.56]

Sounding like mid-period R.E.M. isn't the noblest of ambitions, but it somehow seems to work. [#69, p.98]

The pummeling drums and gnarly guitar may sound hardcore on first listen, but they're augmented by bright pop touches that make the bitter sentiments expressed in the lyrics easy to swallow. [No. 103, p.61]

The album is so unassuming and unhurried that it's easy to dismiss. Just hang in there and play it again. [#74, p.97]

Unforgettable choruses and custom Yorn finger-strum pattern are abundant. [No. 130, p.60]

The 62-year old Springsteen sounds every bit the angry, empathetic and impassioned social commentator he was on post-Y2K rockers like The Rising and Magic. [No.86, p.57]

Black Pudding is like any other Lanegan record, just with better chops. [No. 98, p.56]

Pajo comes as close to capturing his mercurial talent and shifting identiy as we're ever likely to hear. [#68, p.106]

Meatier than the handful of singles and EPs that have boosted the Tanlines name to date. [No. 86, p.58]

[Town and Country] have the compositional savvy and play with the precision to make such passages hypnotic rather than pretentious. [#54, p.110]

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]

The band is beyond tight, and not only does singer Bruck Tesfaye possess the requisite mellifluous diction, he has an impassioned delivery that reaches effortlessly across language barriers to collar anyone ready for a good time and haul them willingly onto the dance floor. [No.90, p.58]

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

Seductively strange. [#73, p.98]

There are moments when all this earnestness turns sickly and Burns gets too serious about his gifts... but the eclectic moments of bass, banjo and French vocals... manage to jerk things back into focus. [#71, p.88]

“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]

Ambitious, risky and occasionally rambling, this is a song cycle best absorbed in a start-to-finish listen. [#73, p.93]

Top Of The Pops highlights everything that originally captured us, and makes a convincing argument as to why the band's following full-lengths are worth the money, too. [No. 98, p.52]

While the song remains beautifully, remarkably, the same, it's getting harder to like. [#55, p.72]

A sweet deja vu, it's 1991 over again. [#68, p.111]

Mixes equal parts Teenage Fanclub and mid-period Wilco. [#74, p.91]

Midnight might confuse (and lose) fans who have somehow missed the memo that Potter is creatively restless, but it's a boldly rhythmic step in a wild new direction. [No. 123, p.56]

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]

Though Parc Avenue is undeniably epic, Plants And Animals take a casual approach to their sound, stuffing the songs with structural shifts rather than browbeating us with grandiose statements.

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

The energy is unreal, but it also seems to be Dope Body's raison d'etre. [No. 114, p.55]

If there is no respite from volume, there are variations in pacing. [No. 117, p.59]

You've got an odd, lovingly produced hybrid of old Nashville and new Americana, with a batch og forgettable songs surrounding a few that deserve a place in the canon. [No. 107, p.52]

Boasting strength, durability and psychic stability on comeback Bloodsports, Suede shows its true dramatic worth on pensive, atmospheric exhibitions. [No. 98, p.57]

While k2o might be a little more abstract than its predecessor, the tones and textures are more fleshed out this time around. [No. 102, p.57]

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

Pelo pumps up the beat and subtly shifts the band's sound from the lounge to the club. [#48, p.75]

When the record works, it's unarguably charming. [#86, p.54]

On its own terms, Void Beats Invocation Trex is a Cavern worth exploring. [No. 128, p.53]

The Quins bring pathos and depth to sleek Katy Perry/Lady Gaga-esque electropop, true, but reaching for the golden ring too often dilutes the inventiveness and creative abandon that once made a new T&S record such an exhilarating proposition. [No. 132, p.59]

It would seem the sun has risen over Dead Meadow and the flowers are finally in bloom. [#67, p.90]

The longer cuts here have some great ones. It's just the kind the Juan MacLean crafts seem to work best with plenty of room to wriggle and stretch. [No. 113, p.57]

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

Love it or hate it, in her hands or someone else's, Ono's music does what fine art has always done: It dares you to feel. [No. 128, p.54]

The S4 seems very confident in getting away from itself and making music not burdened by influence, but propelled by it. [#58, p.106]

All Around Us is moody, pretty and spooky-cool. [No. 123, p.59]

The fourth LP from this gritty Toronto five-piece offers a few genuine gems sprinkled among many more tracks borne out of blue-collar blood, sweat and tears.

It's a sandbox of a record, less interested in establishing a specific musical identity than a general sense of (renewed) creative potential. [No. 132, p.61]