Though only mildly collaborative, II us just as thrilling as many of Segall's finest works. [No. 126, p.57]

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

The songs are as dense and atmospheric as we've come to expect. [No. 126, p.55]

I Am A Problem still explores texture and discomfort like Wolf Eyes always has, but now have riffs. [No. 126, p.60]

It's towering tuneful stuff. [No. 126, p.54]

Income inequality and class warfare, intolerance and love--arguably the heaviest subject of all--are dealt with firmly and frankly, couched in Phillipps' timeless, jangly melodies. [No. 126, p.52]

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]

It's Great manages to create a cohesive set that engages the listener at each turn. [No. 126, p.55]

His [James Alex's] lyrics aren't particularly strong. [No. 126, p.53]

Isaak's 12th record is simply a solid, predictable Isaak album. [No. 126, p.59]

If it all sounds a bit vintage, at age 61, he's earned the right. [No. 126, p.61]

lude tUnE-yArDs’ Merril Garbus, who supplies an urgent, rhythmic vocal from on the spooky and stellar “Little Queen Of New Orleans.” Low Cut Connie teases these flourishes throughout Hi Honey, making for an album that’s both retro-minded and forward-thinking.

Yet another Maritime record full of amiable, breezy numbers, every note and octave in place. The soul and panache of yore, however, are sadly MIA. [No. 125, p.59]

Holdin' The Bag pleases the punks and suppresses the alt-country garage rockers alike. [No. 125, p.61]

In guitar lines that are jittery with pop portent, hosting a sharp-witted party for nonbelivers everywhere. [No. 125, p.61]

A welcome addition to its expansive discography. [No. 125, p.59]

The Icarus Line has created a masterful artistic achievement that can scarcely be listen to. The musical sweep is epic, highly orchestrated. [No. 125, p.57]

[A] consummate artistic triumph. [No. 125, p.56]

Everybody's A Good Dog is crisp, shimmering and bombastic. [No. 125, p.55]

A notably more polished and considered affair than his erstwhile Sentridoh offerings, though it captures a comparable sense of intimacy and immediacy. [No. 125, p.54]

It's neither better nor worse than any other Clientele album, but it's an excellent primer. The real treat for fans, though, come sin the deluxe edition which includes a 10-track "lost album" from 1994, The Sound Of Young Basingstoke. [No. 125, p.53]]

Sure, it's steeped in familiarity, but it's also fun in the sun. [No. 125, p.60]

It's heady.... Wand delivers dynamic, lysergic rock 'n' roll. [No. 125, p.61]

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]

Engaging and alluring as this fresh coat of cool on an easily recognizable sonic vehicle maybe, Better Nature nonetheless remains an album destined to placate--not trip out--fans. [No. 125, p.61]

Rub still happily rubs listeners the wrong-right way with crass, curt tunes. [No. 125, p.61]

Exhausting Fire is the fourth--and best installment of what will hopefully one day be recognized as the finest thing going in the forward-thinking heavy underground. [No. 125, p.59]

A brilliant pastiche of styles. [No. 125, p.57]

A staggering masterpiece. [No. 125, p.55]

Every Open Eye takes an "if it ain't broke" approach, following in the same sonic vein as Bones--sometimes outright repeating Bones--but not really building on it. [No. 125, p.58]

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]

Cliched lyrics and predictable musicality make every song here sound the same. [No. 125, p.53]

As If offers something close to perfection, as far as !!! goes. [No. 125, p.52]

A degree of delicacy colors album number eight. [No. 125, p.55]

A fascinating peek into Mercer's attic of influential detritus. [No. 125, p.59]

It's world-class vibe-out music, equally well-suited to deep headphones listeners and SkyMall soundtracks alike. [No. 125, p.61]

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

The Dear Hunter might be better served by working in rein in its vast pretensions. [No. 124, p.53]

Some of these songs are potent, for-real rock songs. [No. 124, p.61]

Even a listener deeply familiar with these records--no, especially that listener--will enjoy a high reward for the outlay. [No. 124, p.60]

As comebacks go, it's perfect. [No. 124, p.61]

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]

Not everything kills, but when the band's "psychedelic rock and blue-eyed soul" finds its groove, it's still a breathless wonder to behold. [No. 124, p.61]

Their [Doherty and Barat's] boyish charms are punctuated by sneers and jeers, leaving the listener clueless as to who ends where the other begins. That sort of daft mystery makes Anthems--and the Libertines in general--worth its weight in dope and gold. [No. 124, p.58]

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 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]

While there's no lack of drama on Locket, it's a missing the bombast of yore--which is to say that if you hated Frog Eyes before, you might dig this one. [No. 124, p.57]

For anyone who would like to experience all of Hansard's estimable gifts in a single listening session, he has thoughtfully provided a compendium of his patented brilliance on Didn't He Ramble. [No. 124, p.56]

Further proof that Fidlar's headliner-destroying stint as the Pixies' opening act was no fluke. [No. 124, p.55]

Paper Gods is an exercise in shamelessly rehashing every tired, vaguely transgressive cliche that's defined Duran Duran's 30-plus-year career. [No. 124, p.55]

Feedback is the duct tape that holds it all together. There might be a little dirt on it, but it's still good. [No. 124, p.55]

The band clicks perfectly, as if it had been playing these songs forever, and the album brings out another side of Auerbach, with different guitar textures and a different falsetto channeling his blues-rock instincts in a different direction. [No. 124, p.53]

Here, the raw emotion in Grace's voice isn't diluted or smoothed out; her rage and vibrancy are front and center, and not just in song. [No. 124, p.53]

No No No plays less like a travelogue than simply what it is: a really good--if brief--Beirut album. [No. 124, p.52]

Depression Chery has four masterful set pieces, staggered to hit as odd-numbered tracks, each deepening the pervasive sense of rediscovered romance. [No. 124, p.51]

On A Raw Youth, Le Butcherettes find the perfect balance of oddball ideas and actual hooks, creating a heavy, sweaty avant-rock hybrid that's as catchy as it is bewitching. [No. 124, p.59]

Songs To Play sounds musically assured, but it's that double-edged sense of humor that proves that Forster is truly back. [No. 124, p.54]

While not as immediate a confection as past releases Ad Infinitum is Telekinesis' Golden Record. [No. 124, p.61]

The Memphis ambassadors display strength after songwriting strength. [No. 124, p.59]

These songs benefit from Gundersen’s past, yet leave hope (some of it, at least) and genteelness behind in a cloud of ambient smoke. Good. [No. 123, p.59]

The real pleasure is the instigation to sit through and hear JPSE go through the good, the bad and the near misses of a career that took the band from a light-hearted party outfit with an ingratiating delicate side in Christchurch, New Zealand, to game, but stressed-out grunts trying to flog big, catchy hooks that should have caught on with the Yo La Tengo and My Bloody Valentine crowds (yet never did). [No. 122, p.56]

The Sword continually updates ridiculously classic rock tropes in the most wonderful ways. [No. 123, p.60]

She dives into world music on this album, with interesting results. [No. 123, p.61]

The sound here is languid and lo-fi, even when it's rocking. [No. 123, p.61]

Its palette remains expansive. [No. 123, p.61]

The Membranes take on heady stuff. [No. 123, p.61]

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

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

Drums dance around the downbeat while acoustic guitars push the piece forward, proving these two can do subtlety, too. [No. 123, p.57]

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 terrifying... yet also weirdly gorgeous and enlivening. [No. 123, p.57]

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

The Chems remain committed to their singular vision, still plying those swooning synths, continuing to breathe new life from the echoes. [No. 123, p.55]

Cheap nostalgia and cynicism be damned. They still sound--on this evidence at least--utterly majestic.

This is a sterling document well worth revisiting. [No. 123, p.59]

Too much of Everybody's Coming Down limps along on wounded extremities, with quirky cleverness displaced in favor of sloppy indie-rock tropes that answer the eternal question about what Ween would sound like minus a sense of adventure. [No. 123, p.59]

All Around Us is moody, pretty and spooky-cool. [No. 123, p.59]

Midnight might confuse (and lose) fans who have somehow missed the memo that Potter is creatively restless, but it's a boldly rhythmic step in a wild new direction. [No. 123, p.56]

What elevates Meridian above the throngs of similar abstract, mod-synth ambient records are the same sensibilities that carried albums like Dreamless Sleep, even if the tools are different this time around. Tracks that, for the most part, sound formless--never careless. [No. 121, p.53]

The long held notion of Stone and Co. as purveyors of funky pop (or poppy funk) touched by harmonic roar of choral vocals and the lyricism of sociopolitical consciousness is all here. [No. 122, p.61]

You can feel Bridwell's effort, while Beam's casual understatement is entrancing. [No. 122, p.51]

All four of these tracks succeed in holding the listener's attention throughout. [No. 122, p.57]

The stylistic range is surprisingly broad and definitely campy. [No. 122, p.61]

EZTV's debut is unassuming, and impressively so. [No. 122, p.55]

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]

This is a soul singer's album all the way.... And it's a happy throwback in other ways, too. [No. 122, p.57]

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]

The genre's sonic touchstones are still mostly intact here, but More Faithful is full of unexpected turns. [No. 122, p.59]

The Orb's relentless, yet somehow unaggressive dance beats have a timeless quality that endures beyond any specific electronic trends, and its muse remains undamaged by time and space. [No. 122, p.59]

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

Put them all together and you've got a drink that goes down hard, with a potent bittersweetness distilled by a master. [No. 122, p.60]

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

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]

The relationship songs are distressingly generic; she backpedals on her "edgy" (for country) envelope-pushing; and she sings about what's she's not. [No. 122, p.57]

Even as it completely eschews Mohawke's maximalist, hyperkinetic style of old for a newfound soft side, Lantern registers as a limp, populist gesture for how ham-fistedly it attempts to reconcile the two. [No. 122, p.57]

This laudable open-mindedness [to try anything] may have finally backfired. [No. 122, p.55]

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