At it's best, Barragan sounds like typically inventive musicians sleepily phoning it in. [No. 113, p.54]

His gravelly croon is still sombre, but now it carries a glimmer of light in the darkness. [No. 113, p.53]

Ryan Adams (the album) carries all the classic hallmarks of Ryan Adams (the musician), tightly condensed into an essential collection of polished Americana. [No. 113, p.52]

Crush Songs trades intensity for wistful longing. [No. 113, p.51]

The anthemic, fist-pumping nature of the originals has been reimagined in a brooding acoustic darkness more reminiscent of Bruce Springsteen's then-previous work, Nebraska. [No. 113, p.81]

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]

The album has plenty of massive organ sounds and driving rhythms. [No. 112, p.53]

For those [who have cottoned to Mascis' nasal falsetto and six-string wizardly], this is another lovely acoustic outing from a beloved artists. For the rest, move along, there's nothing to see here. [No. 112, p.59]

She brings the art school to the dance floor in non-corny ways. [No. 112, p.57]

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]

It's a beautiful behemoth. [No. 112, p.56]

Junto is a jolt, a juggernaut, an absolute joyride. [No. 112, p.53]

Few of Creed's peers pursue songs and sounds this blazingly epic and weirdly experimental. [No. 112, p.53]

Throughout, minimally invasive production from Vladislav Delay creates a fuller sense of emptiness, resulting in one big, glorious downer. [No. 112, p.61]

Every song here is perfect, glimmering pop gem--and the lyrics are often brilliant--but they're played with a measured precision and lack of dynamic range that makes it hard to differentiate one from the other as the LP unfolds. [No. 112, p.52]

What's interesting to note is, with instrumentation technology improvement, Evelyn appears content to capture analogue warmth. [No. 111, p.57]

It's Melted Toys' hooks and songwriting that act as an anchor. [No. 111, p.57]

Imelda May's fourth album works best when she drops the bad-bad-girl stereotypes, but takes a few songs for her to hit her stride. [No. 112, p.59]

Since it's art, the more you listen, the more you'll find here. [No. 112, p.55]

Conversations ain't perfect, but Woman's Hour is probably the best bet to save this esteemed subgenre, which may have peaked just a few sentences ago. [No. 112, p.61]

The zigzagging, liquid bass is the most surprising thing on a record you expect no surprises from. [No. 112, p.61]

Their first album in five years captures the comfortable joy of falling back into sync with old pals. [No. 112, p.61]

Luluc has indie credentials to spare, but all that really matters is that this music is impossibly delicate and deeply beautiful. [No. 112, p.59]

Trouble In Paradise proves her more than capable of putting together a solid pop album on her own. [No. 112, p.57]

Classical/new-age strains mash against underlying funk beats with this record's favorite motif being sophisticated Europop twisted around throbbing rhythms sourced from sound sample slices, giving it a feel that falls somewhere between Mike Patton's Lovage, Peeping Tom and the pseudo-highbrow commercials that Chanel and Lindor use to hawk fragrance and milk chocolate. [No. 112, p.55]

The good (and bad) news for people who love bad (and good) news: Both groups will be delighted and appalled by this record. [No. 112, p.51]

This may be the bleak and heavy masterpiece that BIH has been hovering around for the past decade. [No. 112, p.53]

Hardly reserved for advanced listeners, End Times Undone is effortlessly familiar and fresh. [No. 112, p.57]

This is prime indie rock with all the frills excised, but all the feels intact. [No. 112, p.58]

Bossy's reformation seems based in penning the dullest platitudes imaginable. [No. 112, p.59]

This is 46 tracks of certifiably bonkers brilliance. [No. 111, p.55]

Where Black Up provided catchy hooks to draw you in deeper, Lese Majesty is nowhere near as fun or--despite pushing the aural envelope--interesting. [No. 111, p.61]

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

It's a weirdness that works. [No. 111, p.53]

[A] gorgeous concert recording. [No. 111, p.54]

The fact that two 19-year-old players--drummer Evan Laffer and guitarist Matt Pulos--generate this crushing wall of sound makes it even more impressive. [No. 111, p.55]

Stay Gold is First Aid Kit's most lush and shimmering work to date. [No. 111, p.55]

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]

Nelson and co-composer Buddy Cannon work magic on cocky self-assurance mixed with self-deprecation and the glory of womanhood in a manner befitting this wordsmith's living-legend status. [No. 101, p.56]

A more suitable representation of the band's dynamic capabilities. [No. 111, p.57]

There are seeds of talent in Phox, but this album doesn't let the band flourish. [No. 111, p.59]

White's aesthetic, as always, is grounded in the immediate and the visceral, and Lazaretto rocks. [No. 111, p.60]

An uneven record, though one that may ultimately prove a warm-up for a more interesting one. [No. 111, p.61]

In plain but very powerful terms, it's one of the smartest albums ever released. [No. 111, p.61]

Taylor is meditative in both sound and thought, using slow, simple arrangements in the service of a tender melancholy that grows more palpable as Await Barbarians floats along. [No. 111, p.61]

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

A tasteful restraint envelops the album, continuing the musical maturation of both its performer and producer. [No. 111, p.61]

Most of these 10 songs in 40 minutes are lovely, peaking on one of her sexiest tunes, crunchy wedding toast "Love U 4ever." [No. 111, p.51]

This album sounds nothing like the stuff that got you into Slow Club in the first place. Approach tipsy and with caution. [No. 111, p.61]

Take it all in, and you'll be carried away. [No. 111, p.59]

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

Honeyblood has plenty of possibilities, and a ton of potential. But it's also pretty darn potent already. [No. 111, p.55]

There's nothing wrong with punching the clock when the results ate so dependably swoony. [No. 111, p.53]

Though No Coast possesses its vivifying moments. It's pretty clear not all the organs made it back after the post-Frame And Canvas autopsy. [No. 111, p.52]

Their new album A Thousand Thoughts, featuring mostly unreleased tracks of music from 14 countries, does suggest that in this expanded universe Kronos have come to resemble sentimental tourists rather then intrepid explorers. [May 2014, p.65]

Circulatory System is once again a soft pharmaceutical machine on Mosaics. [No. 110, p.53]

The comforting melodies offset Toth's poetic wordplay, shining a light on lyrics that are alternately comforting and disturbing. [No. 110, p.61]

Lion is Murphy's most enraged, engaged and engaging album. [No. 110, p.57]

[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]

Amos delivers another set of stirring songs tempered and emboldened by years of experience. [No. 110, p.53]

Turn Blue is a soft pack of post-coital smokes, and Marlboro Lights 100's at that. [No. 110, p.51]

Sorry earned White Lung an audience; on Deep Fantasy, the band commands it. [No. 110, p.61]

Much of Smoke Fairies is the sound of a band embracing fatter orchestration and fuller arrangements on virtually every cut. [No. 110, p.61]

A must-have addition to already almost perfect catalog. [No. 110, p.55]

Rod and Gab's fifth album is bereft of personality. [No. 110, p.59]

Yes, some of these are very stupid songs.... And like Doolittle, there are great songs here. [No. 110, p.58]

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

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]

These songs are all stripped-down gems by a great performer who's unselfconsciously brave--and moving from strength to strength. [No. 110, p.55]

The melodies are strong, but they have a moody, hopeless character that perfectly fits these tales of missed connections and love gone terribly wrong. [No. 110, p.57]

The record sounds big, but not too fussed-over. [No. 110, p.56]

El Camino Real will tickle most--if not all--longtime Camper Van Beethoven fans, and might even attract a few new ones. [No. 110, p.53]

Like many arch songwriters, the band tends to drop images and melodies from its favorite tunes into its work, phrases that add little sparks of frission to the Brothers' already strong melodic structure. [No. 110, p.54]

Her fourth and most accomplished album to date maps a course to know-not-where in the most emotionally direct, imaginative way possible. [No. 110, p.60]

It gets waylaid by a few meandering ballads and overly repetitive choruses, but Hynde's still one of rock'n'roll's great singers. [No. 110, p.57]

It's a serious-minded, dramatic record, dressed up with strings, marimba and reverb-soaked guitars. [No. 109, p.60]

This remains the Gallagher brothers' finest hour, and one of the great debuts of the last 20 years. [No. 109, p.57]

Buffalo Killers have conceived an evocative soundtrack comprising equal parts of rush, peak, contemplation and glow. [No. 109, p.52]

Modern Creation is big, buzzy guitar pop that is as timeless as it is timely. [No. 108, p.60]

In Conflict is his masterpiece--if not the best album of 2014, certainly the most profound. [No. 109, p.59]

The group maintains the signature controlled-chaos staples of its sound--big, dirty riffs underpinned by John Dwyer's trademark ghoulish vocal melodies--while broadening its already hyper-musical palate. [No. 109, p.55]

With Rented World, the Menzingers aren't doing anything new; they're simply coasting from where Impossible Past left them. [No. 109, p.57]

A comeback triumph that exchanges the desiccated roboticism of its predecessor for the vital, maniac, seductively imperfect epic exuberance. [No. 109, p.55]

Diploid probably has some ace songs, but you'll need an industrial belt sander to uncover them. [No. 109, p.55]

Watt's voice may not be quite as preternaturally stunning as that of his partner, Tracey Thorn, but it's eloquent and expressive, and fits beautifully with these 10 unflinching, autumnal ruminations, character sketches, pastoral travelogues and reflections on loss. [No. 109, p.61]

It's his best work to date. [No. 109, p.61]

That's Harakiri never loses its human touch. [No. 109, p.61]

If it isn't the most interesting Pink Mountaintops album on its own merits, it's still leagues more engaging than most of those. [No. 109, p.59]

Albarn aficionados will, of course, lap it up, but for the rest of us, think of it more along the lines of a faintly beguiling curio in an otherwise fascinating career. [No. 109, p.52]

Wye Oak just turned in one of the year's most satisfying and seductive records. [No. 109, p.51]

'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]

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

It's freeing and inspiring and a wondrous odyssey of class-consciousness. [No. 109, p.58]

It's awesome we can hear Merchant's truly lovely vocals and deft songwriting once again. I just wish there were more banjos. [No. 109, p.57]

There is something effortlessly contagious and opulent about her melodies and cozy rhythmic kink. [No. 109, p.57]

The Horrors seem to have found themselves yet another niche writing the sorts of delectable psychedelic pop jams that are destined to see them crowd festival stages for decades to come. [No. 109, p.57]

For possibly the first time ever, it's hard to tell if he's trying too hard or not trying hard enough. [No. 109, p.56]

The record is full of texture, and while it maybe isn't essential listening, it's a nice addition to both catalogs. [No. 109, p.55]