Magnificent Fiend follows up the band’s self-titled 2006 debut in powerful style, fashioning a blend of hard blues, herb-smoke-encrusted rock, country-tinged folk and swinging, blue-eyed soul.

Hard, clear and carefully ornamented, their harmonies feel as ancient as the hills and as immediate as the wind hitting your face. [No. 143, p.57]

Hawthorne's songwriting, crisply appointed arrangements and effortlessly gratifying croon feel more casually confident than ever, making This Door a third straight slam dunk. [No. 101, p.55]

The formula is familiar... but the results can be stranger than recent 'Lab fare. [#71, p.91]

Carried To Dust is definitely Calexico’s best-sounding record: Each voice and instrument has its place, wheeling around Convertino’s graceful drumming like dancers going around the maypole.

This album finds Patton in his glory. [No. 120, p.55]

This is hardcore at its best. [No. 101, p.56]

Each of the tracks--icy, foggy. eerily paced, speedy or unusually slow--move with sinister intention.... Still, the set meanders to include lesser, black-lit essayers of the form such as Dr. Phibes & The House Of Wax Equations. [No. 128, p.58]

Nothing here is throwaway. [No.88, p.53]

They plunge once more into a spontaneously generated maelstrom of corroded noise and spasmodic rock action, letting the music flow like lava oozing destructively through the streets of your town. [No. 134, p.55]

Below The Pink Pony is a fat-free delight, this season's surprise. [No. 114, p.55]

I Can Feel You Creep Into My Private Life is merely very good. [No. 150, p.55]

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

Musically, it's another melodic goldmine and their most vigorous, least fussy work in ages. [No. 150, p.57]

A spotlessly produced, classic alt-rock album that recalls Garbage's golden age. [No.88 p.58]

Freedom's Goblin has hooks and strong songwriting, and the quality is more consistent than Segall's norm. [No. 150, p.55]

I Can't Imagine might be her strongest release this side of I Am Shelby Lynne. [No. 120, p.57]

It might not get the party started, but it'll sure as hell get the freshly converted pilgrims ambling. [No. 101, p.61]

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

Damaged excels in what Lambchop does best, which is to gather up a dozen-plus musicians and get them to play as little as possible. [#73, p.98]

Serves notice that Molina has discovered some heavy machinery and isn't afraid to use it. [#58, p.106]

The Helio Sequence has pared down its sound and vision without losing a molecule of its well-defined identity. [No. 121, p.52]

It's not as fun as [1999's Play], but the broad outlines comes from a similar Play-book, with Moby talk/sung vocals amid coos and hums of female singers. ... It's an inviting album but it's bleak. [No. 150, p.56]

They create fresh sonic collages that reference past epochs rather than erect shrines to exalt them. [No. 101, p.57]

Full of ripping guitar work and hooks galore. [#74, p.95]

Continues to mine the same sparkling vein of crushed-velvet pop/punk Spoon has perfected as its stock in trade. [#49, p.91]

It feels like the jazz/hip-hop album we've been waiting for. [No. 101, p.59]

The songs all deal with weighty subjects, but the music, a s pleasing hybrid of blues, rock, classical and gospel impulses shines the comforting light of faith onto every time. [No. 120, p.54]