Crow's sense of humor still peeks through an otherwise melancholy baker's dozen of tracks. [#82, p. 54]

By the time MacLean gets around to a spoken-word revisit to an old haunt, "The Museum Of Fog," you're happily along for the surreal ride. [No. 146, p.55]

Syro is surprisingly listenable without drawing much attention to itself. [No. 115, p.52]

Thematically, vocalist Michael Berdan mines the issues, burdens and neuroses for lyrical content that spans an overdriven line between unsettling experience and triumphant discharge. [No. 139, p.61]

The new Apocalypse is leaner and funkier than the more jazzy and sprawling Golden Age Of Apocalypse. [No. 100, p.59]

Another fine Vanderslice record with all he things we've come to expect. [No. 100, p.61]

Not as intentionally abrasive as its predecessor, 2013's Testimonium Songs, even if the new record also opts for clangor and heard edges over tuneful song structures. Still, if He's Got is noisy, it's not unmelodic. [No. 159, p.58]

The anthemic, fist-pumping nature of the originals has been reimagined in a brooding acoustic darkness more reminiscent of Bruce Springsteen's then-previous work, Nebraska. [No. 113, p.81]

LP2 is certainly worthy of standing next to a genre classic. [No. 137, p.53]

Though it reveals apparent influences ranging from Eyeless in Gaza to Simple Minds, the Baltimore trio's third album finds the band updating rather than simply recreating. [#82, p. 55]

It's hard to listen, and that makes Dear Mark the kind of pointedly painful pop that forces me [to] rush out, buy 11 albums that came before it and never get around to opening the packages. [No. 100, p.56]

It's world-class vibe-out music, equally well-suited to deep headphones listeners and SkyMall soundtracks alike. [No. 125, p.61]

With Ultraviolet, Kylesa has retreated to a place of darkness and alienation. [No.99, p.57]

The trio still churns as mixing hot butter with bourbon and gargling gasoline [No.91 p.59]

Putrifiers II finds a compelling bridge between the two poles [the breezy, lo-fi records Dwyer makes on his own and the heavier, more propulsive ones he makes with the full band] - ironically by being a remarkably wide-ranging effort. [No.91 p.59]

Aside from getting off on the wrong foot and then later making an awkward exit, the bulk of Illusion is a bristling. [No. 97, p.57]

In other spots, there’s a creeping air of spookiness tempered by an almost cartoonish playfulness that sounds like either a masked killer or a wily coyote is sneaking up behind you. Praise be to those albums that can aurally evoke emotion and vivid imagery. [No. 130, p.59]

His voice sometimes veers into brief, impressionistic Lou Reed talking or Mary Gautier twang, but mostly it's seductive. [No.85, p.61]

Some of the Milk Carton Kids' best work to date. [No. 97, p.56]

This is Fol Chen's sharpest full-length yet, gaining cohesion from the often mechanically warped vocal presence of new frontwoman Sinosa Loa. [No. 97, p.55]

Worth a listen, for Ween fans and armchair guitar heroes alike. [No. 137, p.61]

The songs [on The Bloom and the Blight] have a folk/blues foundation, but they're delivered with a grungy punk energy. [No.91 p.60]

Mala is his finest attempt at not killing momentum by diving down a rabbit hole. [No. 97, p.52]

Abandon is a baseline, with Chardiet demonstrating a solid understanding of the fundamentals. [No.99, p.59]

Even My Woman's back half, which features Olsen's two longest, most challenging songs to date in "Sister" and "Woman"--though neither come anywhere near "White Fire" levels of morose--succeeds largely due to Olsen's remarkable ability to make her loneliness sound like so much more than just that. [No. 135, p.61]

A notably more polished and considered affair than his erstwhile Sentridoh offerings, though it captures a comparable sense of intimacy and immediacy. [No. 125, p.54]

Segall's hooks work well in this loud, loose-limbed environment. [No. 103, p.55]

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