Shallow and superficial. [#56, p.101]

Though not without the psychedelics that informed the Verve's early records, Ashcroft spends most of Alone elaborating on the same elegance he initially allowed to die with the Verve's 1998 disbanding. [#46, p.67]

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

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

A stellar first attempt at a concept album... [a] ghoulish delight. [No. 85, p.59]

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]

It boasts Wembley-sized sound and a few huge singles that aspire to confuse Stockholm for a UK colony. [No. 96, p.59]

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

Lasting impressions: Unlike sophomore clunker Room On Fire, you'll still be listening to First Impressions in two years and probably digging it even more. [#71, p.113]

Seems a transitional work connecting As Above to the future. [#56, p.78]

The 13-song set gurgles and gloops with the surreal intensity of a Morricone score revisted by a Bollywood auteur/mixmaster. [#54, p.91]

Near-brilliant... smoldering slabs of sonic complexity... [#46, p.86]

Cheap Trick sticks to its strengths. [No. 144, p.56]

The blend of old and new Ra Ra Riot feels more organic and less forced. [No. 128, p.61]

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]

This somnambulant slice of dreamy, low-key synth rock is a logical follow-up to Weekends. [No.99, p.58]

Dramatic tension exists throughout, but in ways Explosions fans aren't used to hearing from the band. [No. 102, p.54]

Overall, Going Way Out is much like Heavy Trash’s self-titled 2005 debut, as the duo continues to find ample inspiration from the past.

Brightblack Morning Light has always been a druggie band; this time, however, the drug of choice is Dramamine.

Mouseman is essentially another 17 tracks for completists hankering to mine the singer's ceaseless compendium of songs in search of new nuggets. [#85, p.58]

The misfires pale in comparison to the stomp and swagger of the record's best songs. [#58, p.91]

A tremendous leap forward. [#55, p.77]

All but gone is the glitzy, retro-leaning synthpop maximalism that dominated her first record, replaced here by a remarkably expansive sonic palette and a newfound poise that hardly falters from start to finish. [No. 98, p.57]

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

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]

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

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

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

The group's self-titled debut smoothly splits the difference between the glassy, grime-inflected production that Nguzunguzu typically trades in and a whole host of contemporary club sounds from around the world. [No. 118, p.57]

There's something about the sixth full-length from this Icelandic experimental electronic outfit that feels like exciting new territory--and something about it that feels like home. [No. 102, p.58]

More than ever, Magic Potion hears the duo transitioning from blues to blues-based. [#73, p.87]

"It's not sad, but it's not OK," sings Emil Svanangen on Hall Music, neatly delineating the album's emotional landscape, a narrow isthmus of calm stretching into a sea of sorrow. [#81, p. 57]

A surprisingly deep album that fleshes out the vaguely krautish electronica the band only touched on in previous efforts. [No.88 p.59]

Occupied With the Unspoken plays as a chopped and staggered descendant of Fripp & Eno's Evening star, whose beauty is buried beneath a thicket of alien noises and reverb. [#89, p.54]

What it's missing is haunting songs--calamity songs, the kind of songs that used to proliferate on Decemberists albums like soot-smudged Victorian orphans. [No. 150, p.49]

While some songs drag, others are absolutely enchanting. [No. 95, p.55]

Worship makes solid use of driving pop and new-wave inspirations straight out of the sort of black-lit club that doesn't open until 2 a.m. and practically serves absinthe on tap. [No.89, p.58]

Often, there's a subtle, troubled uncercurrent that pulls the cheer back when it threatens to turn saccharine. [#52, p.103]

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]

Well worth a listen. [No. 108, p.61]

Ease My Mind has some sharper edges and fewer lush arrangements than the last Shout Out Louds album, 2013's equally excellent Optica, but the changes are slight. [No. 146, p.61]

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]

The more he pushes these various personas, the less sense we expect him to make and the more rewarding he becomes. [Fall 2007, p.90]

Especially in today's digital context, the album feels torn between big-P pop a la La Roux or happy-mode Goldfrapp (or, at least, Annie circa 2004) and the darker, broodier likes of Ladytron.[#81, p. 55]

The hooks fail to sink in, and Kinski is occasionally too clever for its own good. [#68, p.100]

Although the harmonies and pickin-skills are still top-notch, Carry Me Back falls short in songwriting. [No.90, p.59]

This is a fresh, auspicious strike into new territory. [No. 114, p.61]

He [Emil Svanangen] has a high, expressive tenor that often slips into a keening falsetto that fights to be heard over the sound of the dark, frequently overwhelming synthesizer symphonies that fill the background. [No. 147, p.55]

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]

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

N.E.W. proves that Death is still ahead of the curve. [No. 120, p.53]

The result is Animal Collective at its tightest, most coherent and poppiest, even as the band draws on '60s psych/pop, rudimentary techno and three-chord punk to build on its ever-evolving sound. [No. 128, p.53]

They focus more on freeform jams than commercial song structure. Then, as now, it makes for indulgent and difficult listening. But, if the path of wisdom lies in such excesses, then the Larsons are certainly well on their way. [#81, p. 59]

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

Completists will be sated - as they invariably are - by this fun, beat-happy collection. As for the less fanatical fans, caveat emptor: This is a return to the primitive.[No. 85, p.60]

A neat, consistently solid 34-minute record unconcerned with peaking or hits. [No.99, p.61]

There is a surprising amount of vitriol pent up--ever so politely--in these songs, and when that vitriol squeaks out into the universe, it is very genteel, very well-mannered vitriol. [No. 125, p.53]

Unpatterns is indeed mostly patterns, in fact - moody, bloopy instrumentals that don't really fit into one subgenre box because they barely muster the strength to be defined by a category. [No.87 p.59]

What Is This Heart? certainly isn't done any favors by Krell's stock, dejection-by-the-numbers lyricism and the baring of his overextended falsetto against the array of muted synths, strings and drum machines that crop up from song to song, as the album cycles through every tired adult-contemporary R&B trope in the book. [No. 111, p.55]

He cranks up the palm-muted and Edge-delayed guitars for an eight-song chaser, that, again, miraculously never fades into stasis. [No. 108, p.61]

Guitarist John Hill... generates enough raw power to mask the shortcomings of any old lead vocalist. Fortunately for this Denver foursome, it has one of the most exciting singers around today. [#68, p.91]

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

You may smirk, but you're more likely to sing along to Some Things Never Stay The Same than to crack up at its extra-layering and gratuitous cymbal flourishes. [No. 105, p.55]

The Rezillos have lost little in terms of sweaty, cranky boogie-rock fervor that they and the Cramps helped put on the map. [No. 118, p.61]

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]

Flesh is musical, but also minimal, a soothing pink noise that won't put you to sleep or interfere with your daydreams. [No. 116, p.59]

With each layer adding something to the stew when time on their own endeavors allowed, Nevermen is a successful and forward-thinking act of sonic maximalism. [No. 128, p.52]

Do It! is accessible enough to appeal to both curious indie-pop fans and avant musos without an obscurantist chip in their shoulders. [Summer 2008, p.98]

Sure, anyone who has ever listened to 14 minutes of classic-rock radio has heard a good chunk of this ... but the energy remains undeniable and infectious. [No.88 p.56]

All Rise flitters about like an overly melodramatic actor: it might be pretty, but it offers little more than monotony. [#67, p.97]

Despite certain songs dragging on longer than need be, Night combines classical and flighty pop quite masterfully. [#82, p.53]

When everything's working, the band is a force. Which doesn't happen enough on this oddly-timed eponymous release. [No. 85, p.53]

Colder achieves a startling freshness on its second full-length that few post-punk bands can even hope to approach. [#70, p.89]

'War Cry," the album's longest track at more than 11 minutes, sums up the band's problem with its blend of barely audible vocals and meandering guitar solos that go from metallic shredding to simple repeated clusters of notes without building much tension or release. [No. 109, p.59]

He's perfectly adequate as a singer and melody writer, but he doesn't have the indelible personality of a Morrissey or Isaac Brock. [No. 96, p.56]

Forcefield achieves a sound, which--despite the title--is all allure, no repellant. [No. 108, p.61]

Freedom ultimately finds cohesion in Refused's continuing mission to punish your ears, move your feet and rage against the Man. [No. 122, p.58]

Just when the Los Angeles-based trio's fourth album threatens to dissolve into another sleeping-beauty effort you might enjoy as a nightcap, something happens... [#48, p.74]

Days Of Abandon stands up as both a continuation and a reintroduction for this ambitious band. [No. 109, p.59]

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]

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]

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

This Machine Kills Artists is definitely lengthier than need be, but if this album has an intended accomplishment, it's further illustrating the expanding range of Osborne's songwriting abilities. [No. 110, p.59]

[A] consistently nourishing collection. [No. 108, p.53]

As with all impressive novelty albums, it's hard to imagine getting to a sixth play of these nonetheless flawless interpretations, and even those would mostly be for friends and neighbors. [No. 95, p.54]

The lyrics are overwrought, and the music is dark but lacking the edge that would make the songs compelling. ... Thankfully they bracket the album with "Love You To The Sky" and "Just A Little Love," up-tempo gems that prove they haven't lost their magic touch. [No. 142, p55]

Sounds like lovelorn, half-baked philosophy for the Mariah Carey set.... Lucky for Justine Frischmann and her reconstituted Elastica, rock 'n' roll doesn't require lyrical profundity, just great beats, riffs, and attitude. All are here in spades... [#47, p.90]

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]

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]

While the beats set SpaceGhostPurrp apart, his microphone skills are lacking; his flow, always sleepily riding behind the bass, doesn't fluctuate... But his apocalyptic perspective is refreshing. [No.88 p.59]

The trio continues mixing and mismatching, with both elements of Skulls' sound [Black Keys' rock and Radiohead's honey-eyed longing] feeling even more pronounced. [No. 85, p. 52]

While the abundance of previously unreleased rarities make this must-have fare for any self-respecting Pumpkins fan, Aeroplane does little but highlight how far past his prime Corgan is. [No. 102, p.60]

The songs work as robust individuals, as well as in the dynamic context of the album's sequencing; up-tempo rockers connect with sparse 'n' sullen twangers. [No.91, p.53]

Like Bazan's best work, Blanco is simultaneously uplifting and melancholic, hopelessly hopeful and beautifully dented. [No. 133, p.55]

A surprisingly mature effort. [#71, p.112]

The new one is faster, hookier, cleaner. [No. 95, p.52]

Shapiro's singing is as wispy and wafer-thin as ever, her limp, lovelorn lamentations just as piteously plaintive. Your call whether that's charming or cloying, but it's not exactly the most versatile approach. [No. 96, p.59]

On Lost At Last, Vol. 1, he trusted in the spontaneous nature of creation, letting the songs dictate the direction the arrangements take. Eighteen players joined him in the studio, but they remain in the background, mixed down to add subtle, almost invisible nuance to these bleak songs of heartache and dejection. [No. 149, p.59]