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

The band's largely understated interpretation of punk offers a fresh and relatable perspective, mostly free of melodrama or righteous indignation. [No. 97, p.61]

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]

There's never a sense that the singer convinces himself he's got anything beyond the rote punk/blues motions to draw from. [#67, p.112]

A dull collection of dreary drone-rock songs. [#69, p.111]

Eventually, Walk It Off reveals Tapes ‘N Tapes’ debut, 2006’s The Loon, to be both leaner and meaner.

He sandbags every song with gigantic, syrupy string arrangements that make John Williams sound like John Cage. [#58, p.82]

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

Van Dyk can only do one style, and by the time the album is two=thirds over, you're already ready for him to mix out. [#86, p.59]

The whole record is all skittering drums never finding their place, and shivering synths that drift in search of a landing pad. [No. 94, p.58]

We still find this trio a little yawn-worthy. [No. 93, p.55]

Hideously tedious sounds of the "definitive" Primus lineup drowning in a soupy melange of chocolate and cutesy pretense gone way, way wrong. [No. 114, p.61]

The nine songs blur together over the 36 minutes, and they offer few surprises once you enter their heavy-handed world. [No. 138, p.58]

Secrets Are Sinister’s unflagging energy keeps it from sounding tragic, as if with a few more tries, its narrators and subjects might be able to bridge the gap between them.

Here guitarist Dante Schwebel cedes more space [than on past albums] to Abraham Villanueva's dense beds of keys, bringing a fuller, more textured sound that makes a big hooks even bigger. [No.89 p.55]

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]

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]

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]

Orbserver is the latest chapter in that legend's [Lee Perry's] ever-lengthening history, and it works ok in that sense. But it's barely an Orb album. [No.91 p.58]

Savor Luke Lalonde's chirpy blurts on "Needle" and "Ocean's Deep;" they're soon replaced by increasingly ironed-out dance pop that goes through unfortunate puberty over 12 tracks, from good to bad to worse. [No. 97, p.53]

Oh, big breathy bombast, they name is Sense Field. [#60, p.113]

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

An ambitious album... but it's undercut by Fink's inconsistent readings. [#69, p.96]

The Monsanto Years is another head-scratcher of an album. [No. 122, p.61]

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

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

Not as intentionally abrasive as its predecessor, 2013's Testimonium Songs, even if the new record also opts for clangor and heard edges over tuneful song structures. Still, if He's Got is noisy, it's not unmelodic. [No. 159, p.58]

Despite valiant efforts at punking up "O Come, O Come Emmanuel" and "White Christmas," this is starting to sound like a bad joke. [No. 105, p.52]

For the most part, we're just not feeling Everything. [#82, p. 60]

The potential showed on Explore is evidence that GRMLN still has more to say. [No.94, p.55]

[The album presents a] well-formed, poppy and updated take on their post-punk and new-wave heroes. [No. 85, p. 56]

As a group, they're missing the sheer fuck-it-all unpredictability of the original band.... For the first half of Golden Lies, everything clicks with long-remembered power; but after half an hour, Curt and Co. start groping for new ideas and wind up repeating themselves, falling into formula instead of rewriting it. [#47, p.106]

Everything with this band is bigger and more over-over-overdubbed than [Ruess' former band] the Format, which makes fun. about 10 times more annoying. [No. 85, p.54]

On [A Joyful Noise] the fire of youth has been replaced by a sexy confidence that oozes cool. [No.88 p.54]

Producer Greg Kurstin ensures a familiarly sparkly synth-pop sheen throughout. [No. 110, p.52]

The truth is, even Angels & Airwaves do this sort of epic-emo thing with more verve, if not more Verve. [#73, p.96]

Shook Me offers little that doesn't sound like any one of those bands [Vampire Weekend, the Kooks, and fun.] sanded down to their blandest core. [No. 97, p.58]

Its best moments stand among its members' better experiments, though the rest will likely be replaced after another decade-long ice age. [Summer 2008, p.106]

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

Take the fake phone call and run, don't elephant walk, away. [No. 98, p.56]

It's not everyone's glass of absinthe, but Adventures will find a happy reception among listeners who want an occasional hallucination to go with their usual woozy drunkenness. [#75, p.94]

Wow, is Beyond Good And Evil bad. Thudding, empty albums about nothing, held together with some of the worst guitar solos since late-'80s Lou Reed. [#51, p.90]

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

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

Sonically, it's all pretty enough, but the songs rely too much on goofy valentines and cliches. [No. 104, p.55]

Play[s] like a remember-the-'90s rundown. [#58, p.98]

"Does this make this more or less weird than what I've come to expect from JOA?" the answer is yes. [No. 101, p.56]

Jamaica Plain feels fittingly tentative and exploratory. [No. 105, p.58]

Even when you can't quite tell whether you want to laugh with or at Morrissey's heavy-handed proclamations, they're provocative, and that's worth a lot. [No. 149, p.51]

Even at 42 minutes, it's hard to take iin at one sitting. But it recalls ambinet Eno and Nurse With Wound's Spiral Insana by effectively blending abrasive elements with moody atmosphere. [#56, p.101]

It's hard to get too hot and bothered. [No.88 p.55]

"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]

Even though bombast spawned the band's biggest hit, it sinks a lot of this record's second half. [No. 85, p.53]

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]

There are plenty of vocal effects and a seductive use of harmonies, but they're seldom more than pleasant. [No. 111, p.61]

Turgid at best. [#57, p.102]

Great production flourishes dominate, with horns and steady percussion rising out of the mix to provide the listener with an enveloping atmosphere. [No.87, p.53]

Hefner is new at this, so things get clumsy. But it's endearing, because [Darren] Hayman's melodies and the idiosyncratic worldview he espouses are still irresistible. [#53, p.79]

The rather unimaginative song selection is enlivened by inventive medleys, stylistic reinterpretations, and playfully arranged instrumentals. [No.89 p.55]

Phillip Ekstrom's vocals echo the tortured moan of Robert Smith with a trace of Ian McCulloch's attitude, but he never manages to find his own voice. Except for the implied reggae pulse on "Blues," neither does the band. [No. 96, p.56]

THe duo has undeniable songstress skills, but it delivers its flawless melodies with the enthusiasm of a sewing circle. [#71, p.113]

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

This album isn’t a total disaster, but it’s difficult to imagine most people wanting to listen to Anywhere I Lay My Head more than once.

Admittedly, it's hard not to respect Patton's creative adventurousness, but sweet Jesus, the gulf between admiration and enjoyment of one of his projects has never been so wide. [No.89, p.57]

[Frontman Jesse] Elliott seems more preoccupied with packing prosaic lyrics with regional references than encouraging the participatory response these large-band arrangements often beg for. [#88, p.60]

Joker unwittingly set the bar high for his debut full-length. Unsurprisingly, it falls short. [#82, p.56]

The way-cute, we're-just-messing-around-with-our-computer feel of Out Of The loop is missed, but The Tight Connection gives a crisper picture of the duo at work. [#55, p.80]

[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]

Picks up where [their debut] left off. [#69, p.108]

If you're not already a fan, this won't convert you. But if its obtuse kraut-rockabilly's your particular addiction, this will be pure manna, pilgrim-uh. [No. 116, p.57]

Like a good deal of Hendrix’s posthumous material, whether you dig this or not depends largely upon your expectations. [No. 129, p.54]

The rest of Pleiades isn't so memorable [as "further"], but it's never less than pleasant and frequently pleasurable. [#82, p.53]

It's the sort of record today's 15-year-olds are going to feel embarrassed about owning five or six years from now. [No. 108, p.56]

On a very small and exclusive CD rack, you'd file I snugly between the recent albums by Air and Cornelius. [#53, p.72]

What lends Bee its buzz--beyond the purring keyboards, the plump wah-wahs and sexy whistles--is its subtle edits: dreary snowdrifts in synthetic time that cautiously subvert the electro-charge like a savage nipple twist on the pale body of the vestal virgin that is Llama pop. [#48, p.93]

It's unlistenable dreck. [No. 126, p.55]

If Morning Glory was Oasis' Rumours, then Be Here is its messy, glorious Tusk. [No. 136, p.59]

Stale, vapid and generally awful. [No. 105, p.55]

While in his mind, Momus might indeed be a giant, to those of us growing weary of his increasingly tedious shtick, he just might be a weenie. [#50, p.99]

Recalls the blow-out blues of Beggars Banquet, a record not so much made for reveling as it is for the next-day hangover. [#69, p.95]

The album's most human aspect is its contradictory nature, an ultimate lack of emotion that make the exhilarating Homework and the sentimental Discovery so accessible. [#67, p.90]

How in god's name did Damon Gough fall so far? [#74, p.90]

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]

Every move this unit makes feels intrinsically and unaccountably right in all sorts of inexplicable ways. [No.92 p.57]

Overall, this still feels very much on the level Placebo was at with 1999 single "Every You Every Me," minus more artfully constructed, impressive instrumental compositions and lyricism. [No. 102, p.59]

It's difficult to imagine even a hardcore completist wanting to hear Chilton's interminable orgasmic noises on the title track, long stretches of drunken studio banter or yet another two versions of Third's "Jesus Christ." [No. 144, p.53]

The album's back half tones it down a bit, though the overarching tropical themes get a bit extreme. [No. 122, p.55]

Unlike a deadmau5 or Skrillex, Van Dyk can only do his one style, and by the time the album is two-thirds over, you're already ready for him to mix out. [#86, p.59]

All of [the tracks are] meaty, beaty, big and bouncy. [No. 132, p.53]

It's fine that none of this is the least bit subtle. Memorable, or anything other than baseline catchy, is another thing entirely. [#81, p. 56]

On the whole, this is the fuzz-popping, party-starting, pan-galactic prescription you forgot to remember you were waiting for. [No. 94, p.58]

The songs on Sucker aren't the greatest tunes Brock has ever committed to tape... [#51, p.103]

[The album is] somewhere between his recent acid house work as Speed Dealer Moms and his dramatic collaborations with Omar Rodriguez-Lopez and Wu-Tang acolytes Black Knights--and pretty much everything he's done to date. [No. 110, p.55]

The guitar-free I Guess Sometimes offers evidence that some of the most compelling "rock" music today doesn't come from conventional rock musicians at all. [#48, p.100]

Unfortunately all this hi-watt talent [guest vocalists] can't cover up Iha's weak vocals, which pass from winsome to wan early on and never recover. [No.92 p.54]

After all these years, the band still possesses no originality or musical inventiveness that could distinguish it from the pack. [No. 93, p.58]

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]

The Dave Sitek-produced Planta keeps things light and easy. [No. 100, p.53]