Skelethon finds the stealth-drawling rapper swallowing his wise-as-his-namesake words, then spitting out more quixotic phrasing and racing, racy syllables than Busta Rhymes might if he was on a hot martini of Red Bull, moonshine and methamphetamine. [No.89, p.52]

Bassist Dunn and drummer Stanier lay down weird sprightly grooves, while guitarist Denison arranges their melodies into something hard and densely poppy with arch-but-upbeat harmonics pulled from Pet Sounds. [No. 95, p.61]

Both sound retrospective but bound together, that introspection sounds loving and lovely. [No. 130, p.53]

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

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]

Segall's hooks work well in this loud, loose-limbed environment. [No. 103, p.55]

These are brooding songs of love and loss and life, music for gown-ups in the best possible way, music for people who've lived. [No. 126, p.57]

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]

While Grizzy Bear often comes off as some backwoods cousin of the Elephant 6 collective, the band sports as much texture as Boards Of Canada. [#73, p.93]

He's still evolving, and though the double CD Psychedelic Pill is far from nostalgic, he's spending a helluva lot of time looking back. [No. 94, p.61]

The slowly picked guitar, the detailed songwriting, the harmonica and the intriguing, plain-spoken lyrics are all here. [#64, p.96]

The Kings of Leon sound like Molly Hatchet locking horns with the Gun Club. [#60, p.105]

A sweet deja vu, it's 1991 over again. [#68, p.111]

These songs are every bit as spiritually urgent as those on What We Lose In The Fire We Gain In The Flood, but the motivation is as political as it is personal. [#87, p.57]

Alternatively gentle and jangly, The House At Sea is a delight. [No. 95, p.52]

Her playing, while technically impressive, may not have quite Stetson's jaw-dropping virtuosity, but her pieces have a highly comparable mesmeric, minimalist intensity. [No. 101, p.58]

Heartbreak Pass is dusty, gritty and dry in all the right ways. [No. 120, p.55]

A typical triumph of both will and skill. [No. 132, p.61]

"Praise Ye The Lord" opens the album on a dramatic note, with Previte's cymbal work adding power to the ardent lyric. [No. 142, p.53]

The more significant development is one of subtle, writerly progression. [No. 142, p.53]

There's craft galore on display here. [No. 139, p.52]

Both [At Saint Thomas the Apostle Harlem and All The Way] elicit a simultaneous sense of terror and wonder as to what demons are flowing through her bloodstream and how she's managed to harness them for the power of artistic good. [No. 141, p.57]

An instant power-pop classic. [#67, p.84]

He comes into his own on Plateau Vision. [#86, p.55]

The crisp production of Strange Geometry does give the group's more sedate inclinations a mild kick in the pants. [#70, p.89]

For the first time, they’ve refined that obsession into something listeners can sink their teeth into.

A set of soul instrumentals that wouldn't sound out of place on a late-'60s/early-'70s blaxploitation soundtrack. [No. 94, p.57]

Kinsella's mastery of pop melodicism in the service of heartbreakingly beautiful and unvarnished sentiment is again on full and perfect display. [No. 134, p.59]

Shape Shift With Me has catchy anthems, heavy rock songs and speed rants; it's yet another excellent, and complicated, Against Me! album. [No. 135, p.52]

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]

A comfortable but nonetheless adventurous next step for this secretly brilliant band. [No. 131, p.61]

Bettye LaVette is able to tap into the deep, sanctified stream of black-church music to come up with performances that shine with hope, even as she deals with life's more difficult situations. [No.92, p.55]

Seductively strange. [#73, p.98]

A suite-like meditation that is emotionally expressive and impressively nuanced.[No. 86, p.55]

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

It's all gorgeous arrangements, soul-wrenching songwriting and heartbreaking stories, inhabiting a space that's both rock and country, indie and folk, without pandering to the lowest common denominator. [No. 96, p.59]

Goldfrapp is the rare dance art-pop band that bleeds artistic integrity without looking back to the '80s for inspiration. [#71, p.98]

The Wasted Years finds Fish polishing his legacy with work resembling what Syd Barrett might've sounded like if his voice was closer to cross-tops than sugar cubes. Revisiting these years is the sound of some of our undergraduate degrees. [No. 148, p.57]

The pair rips through a hard-rockin' 11-song set without messing much beyond the four-minute mark of any track. [No. 93, p.56]

Kinski has probably never rocked this hard. [No. 121, p.57]

Any doubts that the Old 97's could sustain this creative resurgence are summarily dismissed with Graveyard Whistling. [No. 141, p.60]

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

A set of first-person songs that are ultimately no less earnest or affecting than those on the aforementioned break-up record, albeit more given to colorful insider jargon and particularly inventive physical violence. [No. 119, p.54]

Orc is a continuation of the careening energy and creativity that has defined the most recent handful of Oh Sees' record, making it one of the most beastly in the bunch. [No. 146, p.59]

There's much more to this band and album than the throwback aesthetic. [Fall 2007, p.98]

Even in its most somber moments, Birds is all catchy, all the time. [#69, p.108]

The first great album of '99. [March 1999]

Sounds like the soundtrack for a post-apocalyptic street carnival. [#71, p.105]

Impossibly, Rosenberg's artistry still feels mysterious, unknowable, capable of surprise. [No. 147, p.57]

This soggy, after-hours feel also permeates Is A Woman, although the ensemble sound has been pared to the bone. [#53, p.83]

There's a refreshing sense of directness in the sound of the music, which, for all its abundant, unabashed prettiness and orchestral elegance, maintains a stripped-down, unaffectedly human scope. [No. 96, p.59]

The good news is that there's a new burst of energy on the rave-ups. [No. 111, p.59]

The duo [Marc Almond and producer Chris Braide] unspools deliciously theatrical (eerily dark) piano etudes and grand, minor-key mini-epics that are the musical equivalent of an Oscar Wilde work. [No. 118, p.53]

Splinter offers a hammering continuum of some of Gary Numan's most stunning synth rhythms to date. [No. 103, p.59]

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

These songs are raw and muscular. [No. 131, p.61]

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

Led by mercurial crooner Stuart Staples, the current lineup’s grand balladry is more stately and slow-boiled than ever.

There Is No Love In Fluorescent Light is not quite as perfect top-to-bottom as 2003's Heart, nor as high energy as 2014's No One Is Lost, but it's still very good. [No. 147, p.59]

Forever Sounds’ strength is in its emphasis on the sound of the band, echoing its increasingly confi dent, assured live show. [No. 129, p.57]

He's created a burbling paint pot of a record, one teeming with ideas, styles and reference points as diverse as Double Nickels On The Dime, but wholly recognizable as Tweedy-esque. [No. 113, p.60]

The band is beyond tight, and not only does singer Bruck Tesfaye possess the requisite mellifluous diction, he has an impassioned delivery that reaches effortlessly across language barriers to collar anyone ready for a good time and haul them willingly onto the dance floor. [No.90, p.58]

As mood music for a particularly rainy series of months, it's a perfectly bummed-out comedown. [No. 138, p.60]

Schott's new material retains some of the music-box delicacy of yore, and her breathy singing is as slender as a reed. [No. 119, p.53]

It's as good a collection as Saint Etienne has ever released. [#71, p.111]

Conatus hits like a miniature hurricane in a box. [#81, p. 60]

Predictable. [#57, p.105]

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]

In Our Heads sees them take their craft to its most dizzying heights yet. [No.89, p.54]

It's all beautiful and entrancing, but what's missing is a sense of discovery. [No. 101, p.52]

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

He's broadened his palette, finding the muscle to push against his lightness, the long, legato breaths to anchor his 30-second notes, and the heart to say all the things he can't say on his own. [No. 106, p.57]

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]

Goofy and awkward, yet mature and sincere, this album showcases a band making magic from the mudpies of millennial angst. [No. 143, p.55]

It doesn't add a lot to our understanding of Revival. ... Still, it's cool to discover the unreleased songs, including Johnny Cash "One Piece At A Time" homage "Dry Town" and to be reminded of how great Revival is. [No. 138, p.61]

The Marriage Of True Minds is pure late-model Matmos: perverse, urbane, crowded, hilarious, and efficient. [No. 95, p.55]

It's all, as you've come to expect from the duo, pretty enough and daydream-inspiring on its own. [No. 120, p.53]

The broadest, strangest and coolest sonic canvas that Deerhoof has ever framed. [No. 146, p.52]

Although Powell's new land Of Talk is considerably more contemplative and understated, Life After Youth is an evocative and powerful step forward. [No. 142, p.57]

A flawless display. By turning former earache classics like "If You Want Blood" and "Love At First Feel" into beautiful acoustic ballads, much of The Moon sounds like his previous hits... [#49, p.86]

Musically and lyrically, she shares more with Barbara Manning and John Darnielle, able to tell affecting late-night confessionals with sharp attention to detail and very little drama. [No. 97, p.61]

More than country cousins to the Black Keys, these Allstars are the real deal. [No. 103, p.58]

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

Overall, Electric is another consistent yet unsurprising recent Thompson album. [No. 95, p.59]

Assured and assertive, Night Time, My Time plays like the darker, dirtier counterpart to fellow category-co-founders Haim. [No. 105, p.54]

Heaven Adores You accomplishes its purpose: It reminds us of the evolution of a favorite artist and gives us the gift of new music, even if what it does best is send us back to the original albums to say yes to them all over again. [No. 129, p.51]

Yes, this album is a turophile's dream, but only the most black-hearted cynic could resist joining the party. [No. 141, p.61]

Like his labelmates in Alabama Shakes, Booker takes inspiration from the past to make huge artistic leaps forward. [No. 143, p.55]

The music's effortless grace contradicts the experiences f temporal and cultural unease that Elkington sings about in ways that'll keep the listener guessing and the record spinning. [No. 144, p.55]

What Phases lacks in structural coherence it makes up for in the stirring depth of the individual performances. These are worthy outliers. [No. 149, p.61]

With Ultraviolet, Kylesa has retreated to a place of darkness and alienation. [No.99, p.57]

Bishop's well-established fascination with Eastern music and mysticism proves a ready foil for Chasny's expansive, psychedelic Americana. [No.92 p.57]

The melodies are arranged with a cinematic sweep that elevates small moments of self-doubt and heartache into something bigger and more universal. [No. 108, p.53]

The Quins bring pathos and depth to sleek Katy Perry/Lady Gaga-esque electropop, true, but reaching for the golden ring too often dilutes the inventiveness and creative abandon that once made a new T&S record such an exhilarating proposition. [No. 132, p.59]

There is much to admire in the trademark plaintiveness and honesty on his seventh album. [No. 96, p.59]

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]

The Antibalas crew is in peak form, plating circles around any other second-wave Afrobeat outfit in town. [#90, 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]