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

Plaid's sweet spot is halfway between cross-eared sonic doodling and IDM convention, the midpoint where you can hear both ends. [No. 133, p.59]

The incense hangs thick and hazy, dancing wispily through guitar pickups, keyboards keys and effects processor motherboards. [No. 118, p.55]

Offers both considerable beauty and ugliness. [#82, p. 62]

Sadly, the first full album of new Swervedriver music since 1997's 99th Dream is 10 loud and thick attempts to recapture the catchiness, energy and all-important mood of timeless classics and exactly that same number fall short of the magic. [No. 118, p.55]

What stands out most on the Americana-saturated Miracle Temple is the way the band shuffles and tweaks country music and gospel/folk elements, yet still sounds very traditional, for better or worse. [No. 96, p.53]

Jimmy Eat World has become a purveyor of modern rock that just so happens to have a noisier background that jerks like me won't let it live down. This permits recognition of well-penned, upbeat numbers like Appreciation" and "How'd You Have Me." [No. 100, p.55]

Sounding awfully familiar much of the time, Silver Age may not be Mould's best work - and it's certainly not his most original. But it's got a weathered shine. [No.91 p.57]

His new sound is interesting and may find its own fans, but it's such a strong departure from his last album that it will likely leave his current admirers scratching their heads. [No. 96, p.59]

It's pretty weird. Not necessarily any weirder than your average Lambchop record, although it is, for the most part, considerably less gorgeous. [No. 124, p.57]

The Wilderness maintains the group's signature sound but imbues its widescreen soundscapes with a newfound patience. [No. 130, p.57]

Even when the beat's bopping and the synths are grooving, we're still singing along to songs about jerks throwing themselves a pity party. But hey, it's still a party. [No. 124, p.61]

While there's plenty to like here, and more to admire, he's never made a record quite so challenging to love. [No. 146, p.54]

Golden Age mines that elusive ground between the way things were and the way they're remembered, set to hypnotic acoustic and electronic instrumentation. [No.99, p.55]

Moderat's pop ambitions are clear. And mostly fulfilled. [No. 130, p.59]

So well-versed are Jacuzzi Boys in hooky guitar pop that their boisterous personalities occasionally get lost in the mix. [No. 137, p.55]

This fourth full-length goes somewhere stranger: the 1980s. [No. 115, p.61]

Trullie sings in a lovely alto; it's a shame to see her voice wasted on something so overwrought [opening song, "Rules we Obey]... and boring ["Madeline"]. By the time the enchanting harmonized refrain kicks in, you're probably long gone. [No. 85, p.60]

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]

As ever, SSLYBY thrives most on its unyielding pleasantness. [No. 102, p.60]

These eight songs get their Thurston Moore on, with all the razor guitar noise his real band forbids and no east e of ideas. [No. 97, p.55]

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

A pleasant bedroom-style record that sometimes sounds more like rough sketches than fully formed ideas. [No.99, p.58]

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]

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]

The music is as icy and snow-covered as from whence it came. [No. 95, p.53]

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

A super-catchy mix of stadium-rock bombast and punk simplicity. [No.90, p.57]

The result is the soundtrack to a mid-day timeslot at any of the massive festivals popping up in every corner of the country where the band's celebrity still won't be draw enough to redirect most attendees' focus. [No. 125, p.55]

Fro all the hooks and hummable moments, none of them stick around after the song is over. [No.89, 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]

The band seems aware that it's on well-trod ground throughout Honky Tonk, though that doesn't seem to affect Son Volt one bit. [No. 97, p.59]

Disjointed, yes, but Early Birds is a fascinating document all the same. [No.89, p.57]

The lyrics are often stupid as hell. ... What's novel about Pacific Daydream is that its giant, overcompressed choruses really do burrow their way into your skull. [No. 148, p.51]

Negativity is well worth a shot, but there may be times you'll end up sleeping it off. [No. 102, p.55]

Michael "Fitz" Fitzpatrick still knows his way around a catchy hook, though, and there are more than a few memorable ones here. [No. 98, p.55]

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

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 band's linear approach might have you pining for an injection of dynamic flourishes, as the songwriting often consists of settling on a single tempo and rhythm and bouncing between two riffs for the duration. [No. 146, p.53]

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

Good Graces falls just a tad flat. [No. 102, p.59]

It's yet another solid Lanegan album, although it lacks the harrowing edge of 2004's Bubblegum or the lascivious humor of his collaboration with Isobel Campbell. [No. 114, p.59]

It's a loosely coherent mood piece that, despite (mostly) maintaining a murky, somnambulant vibe, nevertheless leapfrogs around an impressive scrapheap of refurbished ideas. [No. 122, p.55]

This fourth outing puts to bed both Tonight's frantic lonerism as well as any notion of a second night out with Alex Kapranos' equal-opportunity, Jacqueline-and-Michael seducer. [No. 102, p.56]

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

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]

It's all beautifully crafted, though very sad. [No. 122, p.53]

Lovers Know is an unexpected turn that is saved by the passion of the performer behind it. [No. 123, p.61]

Most squarely accessible record to date, and easily the most pop album to come from an alumnus of Sacred Bones. [No. 114, p.61]

The pacing is only slightly faster than a brontosaurus in a tar pit, each track riding on a spine of thick lumbering guitar. [No. 104, p.54]

Overly busy.... They're best when they act just like Ratatat. [No. 123, p.58]

Tense and dramatic from the get-go, Seraph hardly changes tack over its next 11 songs. [No. 123, p.61]

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

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]

Like everything these two touch, the results are hardly astonishing, but they're just as pleasant as you please. [No. 104, p.56]

Despite faithfulness to the originals, this is unsurprisingly polished compared to the source material. [No. 112, p.61]

The results echo any number of indelibly British daydreamers, from Syd Barrett-era Pink Floyd and XTC at its wispiest on down to Saint Etienne and the Clientele: rife with memory and magic, as fragrant and saturated as a sticky, sleepless summer night. [No. 145, p.61]

It merits a mild sigh, but no great surprise, that ... [here is] the Magnetic Fields' first out-and-out novelty record. Fortunately, there are some decent jokes. [No. 85, p.54]

The Olms offers ample reassurance that Yorn is one hell of a craftsman, even when he's striving for a less-is-more-aesthetic--though the jury's still out on whether he's an artist best left to his own devices. [No. 100, p.54]

Rhine Gold doesn't sound like it's trying to create another emo anthem, which gives its tracks a genuine, unaffected quality. [#86, p.53]

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]

Wise Ol' Man is about 70 percent filler, with two new songs, three remixes and alternative takes from the last album, and the two new songs done again as mostly instrumental versions, But the new songs are great, especially the title track. [No. 128, p.55]

Anything In Return us ultimately a chill listen, but not a necessarily memorable one. [No. 95, p.59]

Trouble In Paradise proves her more than capable of putting together a solid pop album on her own. [No. 112, p.57]

The album's most obvious failing is the way in which the vocals are presented and mixed. [No. 101, p.55]

It's bright and shiny and perky.... But it also risks being faceless--it's Tegan and Sara's least personable, most superficial record. [No. 95, p.60]

Sometimes the gambles pay off... and sometimes they don't. [#74, p.108]

Sharp and well-recorded, but although Rebennack's distinctive voice is featured front and center, there's a sacrifice of his artistry. [#86, p.53]

May's singing is the unifying thread, a balmy, melancholy-drenched tenor that brings a touch of sunshine to every word uttered. [No. 102, p.58]

It mostly drives down that most scenic of romantic-pop roads, honking and waving at fellow motorists Death Cab For Cutie. [#64, p.104]

Asleep and a Forgetting is [mellifluous], only crankier and somehow more personal than anything previous, soaked in the moody nuances of laughter and forgetting, memory and momentary lapses of such. [No. 85, p.55]

Their dizzy, easygoing drone-pop has been replaced with faceless consistency, a sonic chutzpah that cries out "modern rock." This in itself doesn't mean Take Back... is a flop -- far from it. [#49, p.71]

There's an easy likeability to Great Lake Swimmer's latest release. [Yet] many songs don't hold up on repeated listens. [#86, p.54]

I don't feel moved by Lee's progress toward enlightenment. [No. 121, p.56]

A better-than-average Sonic Youth album. [#64, p.106]

Twenty years later then, Glory remains, for better or worse, a totemic symbol of a n overinflated, overexcited era that now seems long, long gone and scarcely conceivable. [No. 114, p.51]

An enticing record emerges, boasting intricate instrumental latticework with the smoldering focus of slow jams. [No. 108, p.57]

It's frustrating, because behind the superficial surfaces, these songs can thrill. [No. 150, p.52]

It's hard to imagine reaching for No Pier Pressure when you could choose from all those great(and even not-so-great) Beach Boys albums from 40 or 50 years ago. [No. 119, p.60]

Their stinging, smart wordplay is dependably knotted and sneered, and even though it's difficult to separate their cadences, the collective passion present is undeniable. [No. 108, p.59]

Kindred is fun, but best in small, sugary doses. [No. 120, p.59]

[Dave Davies is] mostly restrained here, content to strum as he and Russ sing together. [No. 142, p.54]

Standout moments exist but the apparent slap across the face of preparedness results in meandering transitions, misplaced sax bleating that's part downtown jazz, part "Careless Whisper," and the feeling that there was a fair amount of sleepwalking through the process. [No. 119, p.55]

The album fares best when Evelyn lets his sampler do the talking. [#56, p.101]

Many of the songs meander, and the constant back-to-the-'60s vibe loses its charm. [#55, p.94]

There's some buzzing and belling on "Puzzle," some crimped cracking that doubles as new wave, but for the most part, it's California dreaming at its dumbest.

Unfortunately, on the rest of War Stories, Lavelle plays it safe by sticking close to poppy electro-dance tunes.

Fully realized tracks such as "Affection" and the peppy "I'm A Vampire" are so fetching that they eclipse the rest of Eternal Youth, which is padded with brief, blippy non-songs and is often top-heavy with (literal) bells and whistles. [#56, p.93]

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

May piles up cresting false falsettos, disco pulses and Beach Boys wall-of-sound swells and, with the exceptionally sappy "Tell Her," offers a serviceable "So Happy Together" homage. [No.88 p.57]

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

If only [L'Altra] would wipe away the polish, stop being yet another tender pop band and let its melodies be springboards for exploration instead of straightjackets. [#54, p.94]

Their command of sonic mood is commendable, but without something more to grab hold of, Annabel Dream Reader is just a relentless gut-punch. [No. 112, p.61]

This is an honest and harmless record that isn't trying to be anything but the summer 2017 soundtrack for middle-aged males operating, patronizing or loitering within tattoo/piercing emporiums everywhere. [No. 144, p.59]

Listening to Coyne retreat behind the faux-Power Rangers horror-movie shtick he's created here is puzzling and ultimately disappointing. [#55, p.73]

Detrola, while still unpredictable, manages a certain unity. [#71, p.99]

It's an established formula: Regression to the mean is inevitable. That said, there are plenty of familiar pleasures for those who investigate. [No. 131, p.56]

Their new album A Thousand Thoughts, featuring mostly unreleased tracks of music from 14 countries, does suggest that in this expanded universe Kronos have come to resemble sentimental tourists rather then intrepid explorers. [May 2014, p.65]