Pop uses the strengths and weaknesses of his many guests to differing--and sometimes distracting--effect. [#61, p.88]

While it is technically flawless and masterfully executed, it makes for awkward listening. [#74, p.102]

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

Lyrics ... come off as exceedingly everyday - as well as vital.

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]

Among the filler that drags down the LP's second half, fulfills contractual obligations and pushes the Gwar story forward. [No. 149, p.57]

The album kicks off with an accomplished, but by-the-numbers nod to T. Rex/'70s glam, then proceeds to genre-jump through the filter of neo-alt-country/Americana in a well-done, but regrettably innocuous fashion. [No. 128, p.53]

Ultimately, neither the album's ample, artful ambience nor its pasted-on continuous sequencing can help it transcend the ho-hum resignation of its title. [No. 149, p.59]

Dracula gurgles with slower, more experimental moments at times, but the brief drags are balanced out by funky hip-swingers and modern nuggets. [#82, p.59]

Gab's good-natured hustle is commendable. [#85, p.55]

Its performances over the past year have generated much anticipation for DIIV's debut full-length, but Oshin doesn't connect the same way. [No.89, p.53]

Their grandiose mini-operas and stadium-size choruses can thrill. But to hear the relentless string of outsized anthems in a row is exhausting. [No. 105, p.55]

The album's got its share of earnest torchers, but the upbeat "Salt Of The Earth" is the standout--spooky, yearning, bluesy, almost trip-hoppy and a little bit weird. [No. 106, p.54]

Music, while a pleasant listen, is nowhere near the heartfelt art Eitzel normally blesses us with. [#54, p.86]

Much of the material is mid-tempo and occasionally bland, but in its best moments... Kill Them With Kindness soars. [#60, p.105]

After a few tracks, you may find yourself seeking relief with your favorite method of self-obliteration. [No. 105, p.56]

[It sounds] little more than controlled and reserved stabs at Lower East Side new/no-wave of early talking Heads, Social Climbers and Blondie driven by some uppity Britpop rhythms. [#86, p.54]

The results are gorgeous, but frustratingly circumspect: twitchy, mournful, would-be futuristic dark pop that's almost comforting in its claustrophobia. [No.99, p.55]

The mixed results are troubling. [#55, p.86]

Friends lose themselves when they try too hard to sound like the Ting Tings, Cults or the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, which they do too often here. [No.89 p.54]

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]

The Private World Of Paradise does have a somewhat rustic, indie-rock feel, though augmented with a greater wealth of instrumentation. [No. 107, p.61]

There's still plenty to get excited about here.... But the stinkers here--like would-be Bowling For Soup b-side "Karaoke, TN" and "Coat Check Girl"--nearly soil the whole thing. [No. 118, p.57]

You have to admire the survivalist nature at hand here and the ability to craft an album that doesn't smack of inorganic hashtag laziness like those of many contemporaries. [No. 145, p.59]

Mostly, the remix collection works in this vein, mutating the originals by further accentuating the brooding atmosphere and driving the beat harder. [No. 94, p.61]

Decidedly pleasant. [No.87 p.60]

The multicultural mix and match works best on “Oh, Mojave.”... However, the Ruby Suns are less appealing when they land closer to home.

It's difficult to accept him as an angry rocker. He's so great as a lovelorn crooner - heard here on "Seek It," one of the album's few moments of tenderness - that it's hard not to be nostalgic for the old Hawley. [No.91, p.55]

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]

Every song on debut Alight Of Night seems to be falling apart, mostly because vocalist Brad Hargett’s melodies are off the map.

Much of Cistern feels deliberately nebulous, washed-out and distended. [No. 133, p.55]

You wonder if he's forgotten how to have, you know, fun. Approach with caution. [No.87 p.61]

The duo's intoxicating sense of endless sonic possibility remains, but the many lovely moments rarely amount to memorable songs, and several shout-outs to its still-enchanting debut fells like cruel teases. [No. 112, p.57]

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]

The Notwist’s last album, 2003’s "Neon Golden," was irresistibly catchy and irretrievably downbeat. Both of those qualities are muted on The Devil, You + Me, the German combo’s long-in-the-making follow-up.

As it's continued to grow, Ida has begun to sound almost ordinary. [#67, p.98]

The superficial snarl and by-the-numbers rawk in the middle on tracks like "Haste The Taste" and "Teenage Disease" never find equal footing with the album's inspired bookends. [No. 96, p.53]

The combination here of light electronic production, show-stopping African vocals, Mumford harmonies and heart-on-your-sleeve pop is hard not to love. [No. 133, p.59]

Pretty and pleasant without ever being especially compelling. [#67, p.100]

The instrumentals, which mix grainy field recordings with more forthright electronic melodies, assert a strong presence, but not enough to rescue Hymnal from a state of irresolute inbetween-ness. [No. 96, p.58]

When this band surprises... it provides moments indie rock could use more of. [#70, p.102]

Love From London could use more of those surprising or insightfully startling juxtapositions that define his best labors. [No. 96, p.58]

Williams pits his angst-y tendencies against grunge's proven, angst-coddling backdrop. [#82, p. 62]

Their fourth full-length has the band members grabbing snippets of musical influence from all over the Pitchfork-approved map. [No. 96, p.54]

For all its attempts at hipster currency, Evil Heat reveals the needle-shaped creative hole where the drugs used to be. [#57, p.102]

As tasteful as it all is, you still wonder what Vetiver is bringing to this material other than reverence. [Summer 2008, p.109]

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]

The synths are crisp and warm, and the beats are motivational in that '80's coming-of-age soundtrack way. [No. 85, p.57]

At points, Life Is Full Of Possibilities certainly sounds as if Tamborello realizes what distinguishes the good from the great. [#53, p.72]

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]

While Femi's flame doesn't burn quite as strong as his dad's, the Kuti family still holds the belt as reigning champs of Afrobeat. [No. 100, p.55]

You can only imagine the verbal bonbons Gallagher has in store for Oxford’s Foals, whose bristling, high-energy dance shtick borrows heavily from better U.K. bands--and whose members were gracing magazine covers months before the release of this underwhelming debut.

The single-minded pursuit of a sound that was fresh about the time that Melkbelly's members started kindergarten makes for an album that's competently executed but easy to forget. [No. 147, p.55]

It's still, ultimately, a novelty rather than something that's likely to become part of your life. [No. 115, p.55]

The endless Anglophilia gets boring, especially when Pulp, Blur and the Auteurs have all done it better. [#61, p.86]

While all this sounds real pretty and is a pitch-perfect soundtrack for your hip cosmopolitan engagements, You Forgot doesn't have enough stick-to-your-gut songs to sustain a long-term, repeated-listening relationship. [#60, p.93]

Their second album only partially makes good on their promise, delivering a lovely package that lacks the emotional punch of last year's terrific self-titled debut. [#55, p.70]

The pop tunes are as good as any that Folds has written.... The "Concerto" tries too hard to be Gershwin or Richard Rogers, but lacks the flow of "Rhapsody In Blue" or the drama of "Slaughter On 10th Avenue." [No. 124, p.57]

Most of the songs deal with romance in its more dysfunctional guises, but Feist's comforting vocals keep things from getting too forlorn. [#81, p. 54]

There's enough here to keep diehard Coral heads satisfied, but a little more of the band's mercurial waywardness would've been welcome. [No. 130, p.55]

He slouches in with "Sisters" and begins his album-long teetering on the brink of affectation, sounding like a teenager with restratint. [#59, p.89]

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]

An occasionally rewarding but often confusing listen. [#64, p.108]

The production effects on the voice and guitar give the LP an eerie feel that complements Cunningham's tales of quiet masochism. [No. 139, p.55]

It's not an overall disaster, it's certainly never dull, and there's plenty to keep the loyalists happy. [No. 100, p.58]

It's a set of slow, deliberate vamps that oh-so-gradually gather tension; they smolder, but ... rarely burst into flame. [No. 85, p.59]

With guitar ace Marc Ribot and pedal-steel master Eric Heywood along for the ride, she continues exploring the intersection of hope and heartache. [No. 139, p.57]

The Gradual Progression manages to keep a curious balance between high-concept art and Fox's own fiercely independent spirit and virtuosic talent. [No. 146, p.55]

The pulse of their motorik grooves feel more mechanical than menacing, and the decision to put '80s-vintage synthetic drums and pomp-rock synths up high in the mix distracts from evil intent. [No. 139, p.59]

Smith is least persuasive on the latter [unexpectedly aggressive, blues-based power ballads] - her delicate voices sounds strident when fronting heavy electric guitars, and those scattered tracks break the spell that her more restrained songs cast easily. [No.89, p.59]

Some songs here make more sense than others, and the musicianship, while spirited, isn't quite accomplished. [#61, p.92]

Mansion Songs isn't a great LP, but there's a damn good EP buried in here. [No. 117, p.55]

The Style Council-style blue-eyed soul and precise power pop of the debut now have some company that doesn't work, like the '70s Nashville countrypolitan exercise of the title track. [No. 100, p.51]

It's a smooth-sounding work you can easily imagine serving as the soundtrack at your favorite hip urban restaurant or retail establishment. [No. 139, p.61]

Multi-instrumental wizards Kattner and Thorburn trade off on guitar and keyboards, with Plummer supplying the rhythmic anchor, to produce a spectral sound that complements their instrumental digressions and vocal anomalies. [No. 147, p.57]

An emphasis on instrumentals is intriguing, but they're the pleasantries you'd fear. All are pretty in a disconnected, band-that-hasn't-released-new-music-in-13-years way. [No. 147, p.58]

The album's numerous ballads meander at times, but Stories Don't End is an overall solid effort. [No. 97, p.54]

There's something undeniably mechanical about Room On Fire. [#61, p.107]

Evokes an industrial Enya soundtrack that would play on Frodo's laptop. [#67, p.112]

The perfect soundtrack for winter 1996.... It's icy, robotic and just a little bit behind the Curve. [#58, p.88]

Predictable. [#57, p.105]

Fans and obsessive will love this, but it may not qualify as a return journey for the rest of us. [No. 147, p.55]

The Facts of Life is a more polished affair, casting vocalist Sarah Nixey's wispy hush into a pool of plucked strings and orchestral flourish -- duly poisoned by some blippy Air trippiness. [#49, p.68]

There's a brighter sheen to the new Shins ... [yet] too often feels like Mercer's straining and striving when he used to be quirky and charming. [No. 85, p.51]

After making three great albums in a row, for Marshall to turn in a merely decent one seems like a letdown. [#71, p.88]

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]

Though not everything in the limper, bloatier back half hits the mark, they're mostly aiming in the right direction. [No.91 p.59]

The sound is more lush than usual and has clearly matured, but it does come across a lot like indie new age music. [No. 92, p.55]

Structurally stripped-down and bulked up by Randall Dunn's satisfyingly solid production, too many of these songs fall short of memorability. [No. 97, p.56]

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

Mentor Tormentor may be Earlmart's best album. But it still falls short of greatness, hamstrung by songwriting and production moves that have clearly become the band's comfort zone. [Fall 2007, p.93]

The songwriting is flat-footed, with few moments that break from the homogeneous stupor. [No.87 p.54]

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]

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]

The Ghost in the Daylight is a thing of great beauty... [yet] sounds dull - perfect, of course, with every note in the right place, but perfectly predictable too, with 10 songs that blend into one long, brooding whole. [No.87 p.55]

None of the tracks approaches the frenetic monstrosity of the Public Enemy song they're named after. But "Strength In Numbers" and "Who Owns Who" are some of the most ripping music anyone involved had made in years, and they're not all repeating themselves. [No. 146, p.59]

It's an overstuffed, uneven album, one that's not disappointing as much as it is disorienting. [#67, p.111]

As 1991 albums go, Out Of time in its own way is an era-defining as Nevermind, Loveless or Spiderland. [No. 137, p.58]