Eno brings interesting and complex rhythmic counterpoints to his 3-a.m. atmospherics.... It all sounds so very sleepy in the end, and quite numbing, in a most uncomfortable way. [#51, p.92]

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

It's terrifying... yet also weirdly gorgeous and enlivening. [No. 123, p.57]

The succinct 10 songs on Brood X are all upbeat workouts. [No. 141, p.53]

Tennis dances easily into the present with an album that pines for more for modern connection than campy reinventions of someone else's love. [No. 113, p.61]

3rd is somewhat overstuffed at 18 songs.... But it's still an ideal soundtrack for the dead of winter, when you're pining for pitchers and catcher to report, or when your team's out of the race by the dog days of August. [No. 108, p.54]

There's a feeling of (relative) calm, with bouts of refined clarity to accompany the album's sage rage outbursts. [No. 109, p.52]

Sadly, "Everything Is Wrong" announces another second-half fade, the back side congealing into the same zombie histrionics that sank Interpol. [No. 113, p.57]

This is an album with a lot of rich, rewarding darkness in its grooves. [No. 113, p.57]

The Brazilian foundation is here but so are glimmers of his signature unhinged, skronky electric-guitar work. [No. 142, p.57]

An exuberant, ebullient revelation, awash in the cascading guitar work of Alec O'Hanley and Rankin's sunshiney, slapback-treated vocals, for a full power-pop effect that falls somewhere between vintage Tourists and recent Camera Obscura. [No. 146, p.53]

For the most part, the band has deftly added its own experiences and experience to original template of its debut, and comes out gleaming in the other end. [No. 101, p.61]

It's not an overall disaster, it's certainly never dull, and there's plenty to keep the loyalists happy. [No. 100, p.58]

Offers both considerable beauty and ugliness. [#82, p. 62]

Fatigue ensues from the relentless stream of common-man clichés, delivered in the most vocally bombastic way possible. Which makes the carefree 'Casanova, Baby!' such a pleasure; the Gaslight Anthem finally stops playing to the stadium, resulting in a positively joyous, catchy rock ’n’ roll song.

[Mike Polizze's] an understated master of the rock 'n' roll hook.... With big and booming Superfuzz Bigmuff-style production cleaning up the band's Drag City debut, that distinction becoming clearer. [No. 96, p.58]

The only misteps are when Oakley Hall drifts into more straight-forward terrain. [Fall 2007, p.106]

While it's a deeply cathartic break-up record, it's both personal and political. [No. 108, p.57]

For the most part, Excuses plays like a companion piece to 1998's Out Of Tune--chock full of the lethargic pedal steel and Topanga Canyon-rock cornerstones that make [Neil] Halstead's songs so powerful. However... Excuses leaves room for more delicate moments and patient ballads... [#47, p.108]

Angels just rocks. [Winter 2008, p.108]

It's best record. [No. 141, p.61]

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

This minor genius from Gothenburg hurdles over [the heartbreak record] as effortlessly and charmingly as his livelier material. [No.91 p.58]

When they open up and truly let go, they achieve states of near euphoria and joyous magnificence. [No. 150, p.56]

Although they rarely stray far from their now-familiarly icy aesthetic on Shrines, the decidedly captivating manner with which Purity ring navigates said aesthetic makes for one of the most exciting debuts in recent memory. [No.89, p.59]

A concept where every title is a different animal should've wielded funnier, more songful results. [No.98, p.55]

While it lacks the singular impact of their still flawless debut, it's still an object of languorous beauty, rather like the band itself. [No. 105, p.57]

A fascinating peek into Mercer's attic of influential detritus. [No. 125, p.59]