Their playful mutability keeps them from being genre exercises and makes I Had A Dream a delight. [No. 137, p.57]

Hopkins drifts too often into listless ambiance for anything here to actually set in. Even so, Immunity manages--more than any if his work to date--to accent Hopkins' greatest asset as a producer: his remarkable attention to detail. [No.99, p.57]

It's far and away Fernow's most affecting recorded work to date. [No. 120, p.59]

Its most accomplished album. [#60, p.97]

All at-once nauseating, delectable and habit-forming. [No.90, p.55]

Another profoundly pastoral and ethereal folk record. [No. 114, p.53]

Fade is a gripping down-tempo treatise on the finer and coarser points of hunkering down. [No. 95, p.61]

The songs on Citizen Of Glass feel more solid and lyrically grounded in the known world. [No. 138, p.59]

It's all such lovely, elegantly refined stuff that it's easy to sink under the spell of its warm, somnolent glow. [No. 142, p.61]

Smashing. [No. 159, p.57]

What's striking is how her voice, which once epitomized the prototypical fair young maiden, remains just as compellingly austere. [No. 138, p.55]

Easily the most vibrant they've ever sounded. [No. 137, p.59]

This new one sounds happily like a distillation of the best of Slowdive. The effects--and the effects pedals--are still dreamy. [No. 143, p.61]

On the band's latest, they continue the move toward the tighter concision found on 2009's King Of Jeans, but unlike Pissed Jeans' previous efforts, there isn't a seven-minute dirge on Honeys. [No. 95, p.51]

On Dilate, Bardo Pond does the trick by adding a bit of restraint and space to its familiar blend of Iommi-grade riffing, volume-induced overtones and Isobel SOllenberger's inimitably blasted moan. [#49, p.69]

With its plumb-pretty songs, Mouthfuls will be part of the Smithsonian's year 3000 exhibit on white people. [#59, p.95]

Ward's far-ranging sound transcends the room.... If only his lyrics were as fresh. [#58, p.106]

Serves as an excellent introduction to the power and eclecticism of this veteran Balkan brass band. [No. 89, p.52]

There's no flashiness here, but a slow-burning passion makes this record smoke. [No.99, p.56]

A set of wistful, stirring anthems. [No. 141, p.61]

It's sharply focused--and sonically beautiful--but also abstract, with an open-ended feeling to the swooping voices and lyrical ambiguities. [No. 145, p.51]

Part prog, part punk and part reefer haze. [#60, p.106]

Non-converts will probably find it all a little too overtly stylized, but there's no questioning the singer's focus and dedication, and it's a worthy addition to the Rowland legend. [No. 104, p.54]

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]

Harcourt holds nothing back, transcends theatrics and reaches the top. [No. 135, p.59]

This is the first time since 2003 that Elverum fully succeeds in casting a meditative spell strong enough to suck everyone listing into its singular IRL riptide. [No. 117, p.57]

Overgrown is a fuller, more heated album than its predecessor, denser and more tender. [No. 98, p.52]

Mutilator continues Thee Oh Sees' unprecedented, mind-melting hot streak. [No. 121, p.61]