With shimmering synths and deep, delicious grooves, Sinkane delivers a future-funk feast of global proportions. [No. 113, 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]

What holds it all together—besides the thematic unity--are Pollock’s vocals, which are clear, unaffected and emotive throughout. [No. 128, 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]

Though it won't be every listener's groove, fans of baroque pop's lush overreach will find a lot to enjoy. [No. 128, p.59]

There's nothing here that radically reinvents the delicate beauty of Drake's timeless compositions. [No. 98, p.61]

Tyler has crafted eight instrumentals that augment his lilting fingerpicking with stately keyboards and brisk beats. Aside from a few minutes of white-line numbness, it’s a salutary combination. [No. 132, p.61]

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

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

He's back again, doing what he's always done--speak his shattered mind while some band choogles in the background. Mostly they supply adequately sweaty R&B and P-Funk-meets-AC/DC riffing. [No. 132, p.61]

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]

Numsuwankijkul recruited a new group of players for Over There That Way, and the decision pays off handsomely; this is a much more introspective, vulnerable album that benefits from a lighter touch. [No. 132, p.55]

So low-key that you'd be more likely to slip on it than stumble over it. [#59, p.96]

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

This album sounds nothing like the stuff that got you into Slow Club in the first place. Approach tipsy and with caution. [No. 111, p.61]

Spades is a grower, as they say, only revealing its charms to patient listeners over repeated listens. [No. 143, p.51]

The result is the most dynamic LP of Russian Circles' career. [No. 134, p.61]

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]

The only misteps are when Oakley Hall drifts into more straight-forward terrain. [Fall 2007, p.106]

Whether juxtaposed with string sections, dark electronics or thumping beats, Moyet's deeply sonorous voice is still the dramatic center. [No. 143, p.59]

The major distinction this time around is the eerily cheery delivery. [#64, p.110]

By no means a radical album; challenging as it may be, it's a natural extension of earlier work rather than a sudden departure from it. [#51, p.105]

The album's defiantly pop-punky first half touches on distance-challenged romance, self-care fails, siblinghood and her love/hate for the city of Perth--all with the characteristic witty, everygal charm. [No. 148, p.59]

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

There's always a surplus of good humor to carry us past the rough patches. [#75, p.98]

Frame's always been an old soul, and the heartfelt Seven Dials is a welcoming return. [No. 113, p.55]

Another gem, and, not unexpectedly, one of his darkest collections. [No. 114, p.59]

He's most successful when stripping down his lyrical ideas and melodic underpinnings to their simplest expressions, in a live-in-the-studio trio format. [No. 150, p.55]

Despite lyrics contending with crippling anxiety, suicide and relationship strife, what ultimately emerges in a celebration of the defiant act of loving and living fully in the face of a world gone mad. [No. 143, p.59]

An endearing solo effort with a higher percentage of hits to misses than 2003's My Room Is A Mess. [#75, p.96]

The album also contains enough experimentation and cleverness to stand on its own in !!!'s decidedly confusing and overpopulated sub-genre. [No. 143, p.53]

Even if some listeners might ding Lo Tom for playing it a little safe, there's really not a wrong note on the record. [No. 145, p.57]

If Factory Floor emobodied a dynamic tension between paralysis and movement, claustrophobia and cathartic release, this outing functions similarly but tips the scales slightly toward the former categories. [No. 134, p.57]

Any party mix could benefit from the crisp beats, blasts and riffs here, and just because Stereo Total's music is jubilant doesn't mean it's vapid. [#67, p.111]

Fans will find nothing to object to. [#67, p.102]

More often than not throughout the careening Bitter Rivals, there's clarity where there was disturbance, melody where there was once dissonance, and more nuanced vocal hooks and ditzy sonic flips than appeared on Sleigh Bells' first two records combined. [No. 104, p.51]

Young makes these old, old songs vital. [No.88 p. 51]

Works For Tomorrow maybe doesn't sound quite as fiery as 1988's Prairie School Freakout, 1989's Beet or, even, 2011's Riot Now! But it gets awfully close. [No. 123, p.57]

It's all beautiful and entrancing, but what's missing is a sense of discovery. [No. 101, p.52]

Non-converts will probably find it all a little too overtly stylized, but there's no questioning the singer's focus and dedication, and it's a worthy addition to the Rowland legend. [No. 104, p.54]

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]

If it isn't the most interesting Pink Mountaintops album on its own merits, it's still leagues more engaging than most of those. [No. 109, p.59]

If it's been a minute since you've spent time with BSS, Hug Of Thunder could be a revelation. Otherwise, you'll just have to settle for it being a very good album. [No. 145, p.53]

There's not a lot of post-punk, no-wave or noise to be found here, but more so a very topical sound for the right now. [No. 122, p.53]

Wilson is brilliant and creative yet hindered by his own expansive eclecticism and purple prose. [No. 150, p.61]

On Somersault, Beach Fossils continue to expand their sound, and the band gets better as it ventures further from home. [No. 143, p.53]

Rigorously minimalist like a rock in the road is--a lump, emotionalessly excavated from nature's chaos. [No 134, p.55]

At 30 years of age, it's only better than it was... It gets zero help from unnecessary remixes and wee heft from an era-appropriate Madison Square Garden concert recording. [No. 143, 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]

Hagerty’s Howling Hex, which plows the radically different but equally worked-over field of nerd-rock whimsy on Earth Junk, starts promisingly, with a spooky clutter of hooting keyboards and echo-soaked vocals.

Original Distance isn't, but it's a great hang.

The Brazilian foundation is here but so are glimmers of his signature unhinged, skronky electric-guitar work. [No. 142, p.57]

It's Melted Toys' hooks and songwriting that act as an anchor. [No. 111, p.57]

Even when Black Lips operate more on the obnoxious side of the coin--"We Know" grinds to intolerable, screeching halts in an attempt to prove themselves both edgy and improved--the fuzzy, surf swing of tracks such as "Occidental Front" prove the band can be powerfully charming. [No. 143, p.55]

The rhythm section kept the sleazy blues and gutter grunge on track and moving forward with bass locked into a pocket provided by some seriously pounding battery while still allowing for a loose feel that gives you the sense you're peaking in on a cathartic discharge of energy. [No. 143, p.61]

Miller is a clever, concrete writer, and The Traveler is full of melodies that lock into place with a sense of inevitability. [No. 121, p.58]

Stay Gold is First Aid Kit's most lush and shimmering work to date. [No. 111, p.55]

The album is the reliable mix of shorter, inverted blues-rock dirges and extended workouts one has to come to expect from this well-oiled machine. [No. 141, p.53]

It refracts light in multiple, appealing ways. [No. 121, p.61]

The whole of Dr. Dee is bucolic yet slightly nervy with Albarn's chatty croon acting as yet another gentle breeze wafting through the Arcadian affair. It's not the Damon-pop solo you hoped for. [No.88 p.52]

Boo Human is far from cohesive, but the playing is sharp, sympathetic and strong enough to create poetry out of everyday desperation.

The succinct 10 songs on Brood X are all upbeat workouts. [No. 141, p.53]

With two exceptions, he avoids the obvious hits, choosing to shine a light on Haggard's often downhearted love songs with arrangements that avoid country-music conventions. [No. 143, p.55]

Tillman wisely scales back the orchestration and flourishes to their bare minimum in order to put his voice and lyrics at the forefront. [No. 141, p.54]

The album features covers of songs they love, with folky, stripped-down arrangements that feature Amanda's smoky alto and Jack's rich, bass voice. [No. 134, p.59]

This secret society's sonic output is nothing short of sheer musical buggery, a hip-hop twilight realm where Dr. Octagon performs transplant surgery on Mellow Gold with the cast of Scooby Doo in the gallery. [#50, p.89]

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

If there's a complaint to be leveled, it's that the off threesome might have smoothed out its differences a little too much. But it mostly works. [No. 101, p.57]

Felt delivers in established structural ways while giving the songs frequent jolts to the system--either overall or in precision-chosen moments. [No. 150, p.55]

The sounds of the time are eclectic DIY, and often impressive. [No. 124, p.55]

It's never going to set the charts alight, but Weller obsessives should take it to heart. [No. 141, p.61]

These existential sonic sketches are minimalist in nature but come together as an electroacoustic whole far greater than its composite parts. [No. 143, p.61]

It's bright and lovely stuff, but I miss the darkness. [No. 121, p.61]

Gibbons' craft is making her desperate drama believable and compelling.... [But] the lack of memorable tunes is Gibbons' worst affliction. [#61, p.96]

Wonky finds the head-lamped pair still hitting those marks [being innovative within the confines of electronic music], even if it isn't quite as revelatory now. [No. 86, p.56]

An inventive, truly out-of-time pop record that never registers as nostalgic. [No. 121, p.61]

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

[A] promising set of laptop balladry, ambient Brian Eno classicism and even an attempt at shifty electro-funk. [#73, p.85]

They sound much heavier and quite unburdened by commercial notions. [No. 145, p.61]

The results are mixed. [No. 111, p.53]

Hearing these songs all in a row, most sharing the same basic beat and harmonic structure, can make the title feel uncomfortably prophetic. [No. 95, p.60]

Tastefully rendered and thoughtfully executed, American Dreamer invites you into its loose embrace while still maintaining a certain emotional distance. [No. 135, p.59]

Imelda May's fourth album works best when she drops the bad-bad-girl stereotypes, but takes a few songs for her to hit her stride. [No. 112, p.59]

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]

Like many arch songwriters, the band tends to drop images and melodies from its favorite tunes into its work, phrases that add little sparks of frission to the Brothers' already strong melodic structure. [No. 110, p.54]

Like a modern-day Nina Simone, Cherry slips from light and soulful to insistent and forceful on this wild hybrid of an album. [No.88, p.53]

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

Considering the improvisational skill, malleability and performing traditions of the sprawling group, this is just another solid recording on a long, strange evolutionary trip. [No. 101, p.60]

It's all very appealing and completely listenable, if sometimes overreliant on mid-tempo rhythms with occasional surges in passion and pacing. [#82, p.56]

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]

The Game Of Monogamy, was a real stinker, full of ham-fisted lyrics shoved into half-thought melodies. Adult film isn't nearly as inelegant as its predecessor. [No 105, p.55]

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

The music works well on its own merits, though it's sometimes tough to know how ironically we're supposed to hear the Yawpers' penchant for the standard furniture of hardscrabble Americana. [No. 126, p.61]

A showcase of clean, unadulterated guitar talent. [No. 105, p.59]

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]

Red Fang soon settles into a comfortable cruising speed, with a devotion to mid-tempo exceeded only by Slayer's commitment to thrash. [No. 136, p.61]

Tape Loops comes off more like a utilitarian exercise in minimalism than a proper solo album from one of the most celebrated producers of the past 20 years. [No. 126, p.58]

Wainwright shows that his pop legs, while shaky, haven't lost their footing. [No.87 p.60]