His guitar solos are more electrified than usual, and they sound like burning juke-joint riffs... a true American original. [No. 82, p. 53]

More than enough to make this probably the finest dance-party record this summer will have to offer. [No. 121, p.55]

Tyler has crafted eight instrumentals that augment his lilting fingerpicking with stately keyboards and brisk beats. Aside from a few minutes of white-line numbness, it’s a salutary combination. [No. 132, p.61]

Blonde Redhead's early sound, however, can be tough grasp as an "artistic" aesthetic sometimes derails the excellent juggling of downtown noise and heads-down rock of the band's more focused moments. [No. 136, p.53]

It's every bit as special as it sounds. [No. 149, p.57]

It’s a step forward for sure, though at times it reinforces the cloying feeling that the need to complicate rather than simplify makes for overwrought music. But you can’t blame a band for being thoughtful or for playing like something is at stake.

The title track suggests maybe they've found a perfect merging of the '70s and the heavies, as it shifts from funky shuffle to skulking stomp. The rest is still King Crimson than King Diamond, but that's not a bad thing. [No. 136, p.61]

Snaith lets his wanderlust steer, and the album is better for it. [#68, p.91]

Most of the songs deal with romance in its more dysfunctional guises, but Feist's comforting vocals keep things from getting too forlorn. [#81, p. 54]

In the face of today's painfully formulaic R&B/hip hop, they come off as the most soulful act on the planet. [#51, p.123]

It's a Wonderful Life raises the bar already set high by fellow post-modern woodsmen types like Grandaddy and Mercury Rev. [#51, p.116]

Casts Yoshimi as a manic priestess espousing the various virtues of the universal religion of rhythm. [#69, p.105]

Twenty years later then, Glory remains, for better or worse, a totemic symbol of a n overinflated, overexcited era that now seems long, long gone and scarcely conceivable. [No. 114, p.51]

There isn't a moment when Arthur Lee is anything less than Arthur Lee: brilliant, unpredictable and relentless in his drive to reinvent himself. [No. 116, p.59]

Come to it for the moody abstractions and impressionistic scene-setting. [No.112, p.60]

Just like one's real family, Arthur's Family will lift you up, tear you down, make you face your despair and allow you a glimmer of hope. [No. 133, p.52]

Sounding like a cross between Explosions In The Sky and Blade Runner’s director cut, No Man’s Sky may be the backing track to an untenable make-believe world, but it’s also an example of the vast and powerful reach of well-placed series of notes. [No. 133, p.61]

Another low-key masterpiece wrapped in spooky twanging guitars, heartbroken harmonies, droning tempos and lyrics that often don't rhyme, delivered in Brett Sparks' deadpan, rumbling baritone. [No. 136, p.57]

Her soprano voice has held up pretty well, and her love for the natural and spirit world has only grown. But the production on I'm A Harmony by Wilco's Pat Sansone and composter Julia Holter combines '70s soft rock and '80s adult contemporary into a mix so vaporous it'll evaporate if you open the window. [No. 148, p.59]

Downright pretty. [No.88 p.57]

The best moments are soft and strange. "The Corner" is a fabulous piece of folk understatement and emotional ambiguity, while the brilliant "Freefall" showcases Branan's willingness to stretch his voice to odd, ugly places in the service of transcendence. [No.88 p.53]

What's missing most will probably not be missed at all: Berman's tendency to sound slack, sluggish and a bit lackluster. [#69, p.109]

Get lost with them. [No. 102, p.54]

Overwhelmingly desolate. [#69, p.112]

Album number two pulls back from that musical and writerly intimacy [found on the debut] - if only slightly - trading a degree of specificity for a degree of universality, and adding just the faintest touch of gloss. [No. 85, p.57]

It can proudly stand alongside anything else the band has done. [No. 120, p.52]

There's enough here to keep diehard Coral heads satisfied, but a little more of the band's mercurial waywardness would've been welcome. [No. 130, p.55]

Hold On Now, Youngster... overflows with irony, pumping out bright indie-pop songs with titles such as “... And We Exhale And Roll Our Eyes In Unison” and “This Is How You Spell ‘HAHAHA, We Destroyed The Hopes And Dreams Of A Generation Of Faux-Romantics.’”