Watt's voice may not be quite as preternaturally stunning as that of his partner, Tracey Thorn, but it's eloquent and expressive, and fits beautifully with these 10 unflinching, autumnal ruminations, character sketches, pastoral travelogues and reflections on loss. [No. 109, p.61]

They play rustic country/rock that constantly struggles to keep upright as it stands on the poly-genre curveballs that the musicians toss Schneider's way. [No. 134, p.59]

I Hate Music weds the North Carolina indie legends' eternal penchant for grind-it-out power punk with the pensiveness and introspection that colored their late-'90s/early-aughts output. [No. 101, p.56]

Eight is the sound of a band in flux, and that churn makes for some of Radar Brothers' most intriguing, compelling work yet. [No. 95, p.57]

Worship makes solid use of driving pop and new-wave inspirations straight out of the sort of black-lit club that doesn't open until 2 a.m. and practically serves absinthe on tap. [No.89, p.58]

There's aren't a whole lot of songs here that really stand out on their own.... But the members of Tam Impala possess such boundless energy and obvious, puppy-like enthusiasm that it would be downright churlish to dismiss them. [No. 92, p.81]

Occasionally, Tremain struggles to find a home amid the Collis' calm chaos, though his restrained and sustained bass lines are a non-cluttering foil demonstrating the importance of song dynamics, which isn't always a priority with math rockers. [No. 134, p.61]

Better than ever. [No.92 p.55]

[An] effortless fourth album, which is every bit as blissfully pretty and/or unremittingly milquetoast as what came before. [No. 141, p.61]

What's interesting to note is, with instrumentation technology improvement, Evelyn appears content to capture analogue warmth. [No. 111, p.57]

Another routinely enchanting, brilliantly exceptional, standard-issue stunner from Hoboken, N.J.'s finest. [No. 150, p.62]

Autumn is as solid an effort as any in its catalog. [No. 135, p.

Where Black Up provided catchy hooks to draw you in deeper, Lese Majesty is nowhere near as fun or--despite pushing the aural envelope--interesting. [No. 111, p.61]

A cohesive and satisfying whole. [No. 114, p.59]

Calder never strains, never belts it out; she finds her sweet spot and reveals in all album long. [No. 119, p.53]

An album that is cinematic in scope and has a harmonic narrative as complex as your favorite TV show. [No. 121, p.55]

Emperor is solid, dexterously played hard rock from a band that used to crush listener skulls. [No. 141, p.59]

A bit more expansive and widescreen, a bit more fleshed out and muscular, but essentially a companion piece to their debut. [No. 120, p.55]

For now, an engaging debut. [No. 95, p.60]

Wennerstom's voice marvelously leapfrogs between piercing highs and baritone lows, and bassist Jesse Ebaugh carries "Late in the Night" like a subdued, sober and shirted Mel Schacher, though Arrow's languid pace may turn off those who like their rock a bit more rocking. [No. 85, p.55]

Heartbreak Pass is dusty, gritty and dry in all the right ways. [No. 120, p.55]

As if to remind us that they're still the weird Crocodiles, Endless Flowers's best song, the surging "My Surfing Lucifer," is preceded by a clumsy spoken-word piece (in German, of course) ... it's a sign that there's still room for Crocodiles to figure out what works and what doesn't. [No.88 p.53]

Midway through, it's already tiresome to hear the anthemic shouting and seemingly non-stop drum fills. It's a celebratory listen for sure, but one that could do with a breather that shows off this duo's skills. [No.88 p.58]

[On Spirits] Manhood yokes cosmic yearning to sublime tunecraft. [No.87, p.58]

A batch of 10 songs you really need to spend some time with to appreciate. [#59, p.97]

Not every track soars, but you have to admire the band's starry-eyed commitment to exploring the outer reaches of inner space. [No. 120, p.61]

Cho's gorgeous, ghostly piano playing takes center stage on pensive slow-burner "Open Air," and finale "Gypsum" starts as a playful piano/bass groove, pit-stops at a carnival and transforms into what is arguably the most gonzo saloon tune ever. [No.88, p.53]

Fade is a gripping down-tempo treatise on the finer and coarser points of hunkering down. [No. 95, p.61]