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]