Tepid, predictable.... It's sleek and stylized, the spastic, jittery punk replaced by impassioned, searching guitar lines. [#60, p.110]

The album's first half explores the same musical territories as Nocturne--the chiming euphony of a hundred things happening at once, the guileless melodic patterns that wander up the scale and back--but it does so in lifted fog. [No. 92, p.59]

If the fanboys and motorheads are equally turned off by it in places, you get the sense the Puppets themselves--who sound happier and more comfortable here than they have in years--would be perversely pleased. [No. 98, p.58]

Buffalo Killers have conceived an evocative soundtrack comprising equal parts of rush, peak, contemplation and glow. [No. 109, p.52]

It's yet another excellent Oldham album. [No. 115, p.54]

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

We All Want The Sam Thing is the best of his three solo albums because it lets the music serves the stories. [No. 141, p.55]

Rouen is all long jams and breezy acoustics, the telltale signs of a band that feels it's time to sober up. [#70, p.110]

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]

Music to take drugs to. [No.87, p.52]

Though the sax draws you in, you'll stay for the trashy energy. [No.87 p.56]

Vol. 1's gorgeous "Sea Of Clouds," Dylanesque "Hope IS Big" and crystalline "Limp Right Back" quiver with quiet emotional power. [No. 146, p.51]

Largely thanks to more robust production and instrumentation than was afforded last year's Pajo, 1968 proves that it isn't so much what you say, but how sweet you can make it sound. [#73, p.103]

Tripper is a strummy, breezy delight. [#81, p. 55]

ProVISIONS tells a less reassuring truth than "’Sno Angel Like You," but one that’s just as true; you just never know.

If Seaworthy is more restrained than Macha, it's just as colorful. [#83, p.89]

One of 2002's candidates for record-of-the-year honors.... Too Late is a top-to-bottom masterwork. [#54, p.85]

Has enough regret, sadness and self-loathing to power a Trent Reznor comeback. [#61, p.96]

It's a denser, darker album than 2011's S/T II: The Cosmic Birth and Journey of Shinju TNT, spending more of its time gazing outward, intent on gleeful subversion and taking delight in making noise for the hell of it. [No. 98, p.52]

It's pure pop for grown-ups, filled with smarts, experience and a faith in the power of four-quarter time, played with the kind of chemistry that's only possible in musicians who've spent their whole lives together, rocking out as if nothing else matters. [No.88 p.55]

Crazy Itch Radio is catchy overload. [#73, p.86]

It's not a pretty album, but it will evoke reaction on either side of the coin. [No. 108, p.59]

The group has managed to retain a sense of innocence, freshness and pure joy in the act of creation. [No. 100, p.59]

Other than the crowd noise, you’d have a tough time distinguishing the two albums. This is a good thing, as applying studio sheen to the Black Lips’ primitive mix of acid-damaged psychedelia and beer-fueled garage rock would be akin to putting lipstick on an orangutan.

It's a mesmerizing and haunting labyrinth filled with morbid storytelling, hurdling tempos and rhythms that would perfectly soundtrack a meaningful coastal or cross-country road trip. [No. 149, p.61]

A keeper. [No. 106, p.58]

There isn't a wasted moment in The High Country's 26 minutes, proving that brevity is the soul of pop/rock, as well as wit. [No. 122, p.61]

This newly minted prissiness... gives the twinkly keyboard and tangled guitar of "Oh Fine" and the mock-pomp circumstance of "Was It A Crime" a starry-eyed sensuality. [#64, p.92]