These quiet, stripped-down songs are so narcotically enticing that when an occasional burst of moderate-volume guitar noise pops up unexpectedly, the effect is excruciating, like wires burning in the brain. [#52, p.102]

Louris' vision is still pretty much stuck in 1992. [#58, p.94]

Wratten makes the kind of albums most of us would record if the defection of a muse and lover still haunted us years later--and if we could write unabashedly pretty songs. [#52, p.109]

A glittery and effervescent package. [p.55]

It takes a sure-footed venture into morose country territory on the album's back half before Wot feels like a departure. [No. 104, p.55]

The music is starting to shift into a sort of Hipster Triple-A agreeability that robs it somewhat of the flavor that made the Raveonvettes so distinct, but suggests a maturity taking hold. [No.91 p.60]

It's not only the supremely crafted song structures that give this album its classic feel but also the trickery-free production and Russo's slightly grayed tenor. [#64, p.107]

You get something that's very lovely and poetic and melancholy and vulnerable and unspeakably beautiful. [No. 100, p.54]

His gravelly croon is still sombre, but now it carries a glimmer of light in the darkness. [No. 113, p.53]

The songs on WWSFTC all hint at loss, limitation and aging, with Spektor's poetic sensibility and passionate singing giving the LP a wrenching sense of vulnerability. [No.88 p.59]

Jumping The Tracks is a most welcome return to the glorious gloom the group has cultivated from the very start. [No. 107, p.56]

Perhacs' light touch contrasts with the often heavy-handed lyrics. [No. 108, p.59]

Hawthorne's songwriting, crisply appointed arrangements and effortlessly gratifying croon feel more casually confident than ever, making This Door a third straight slam dunk. [No. 101, p.55]

No matter your tastes, there's something to put you on edge. [No. 117, p.61]

Make no mistake, Blame It On Gravity is a guitar-pop record at heart. Other than a few twangy flourishes here and there, bassist Murry Hammond appears to be the one keeping the country faith, delivering one of his best performances on “Color Of A Lonely Heart Is Blue.”

This loosening of the reins, ironically, has yielded her most intimate and cohesive album. [#67, p.92]

There's an ever-so-slight improvement upon what has come to be expected of GBV and related releases of the last 10-12 years. [No. 94, p.58]

There have been many very good Jon Langford albums; this outlier is one of the best. [No, 147, p.54]

The emotional mood of At Best Cuckold never breaks away from the spell of his comfortable lethargy. [No. 114, p.53]

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

After delivering a classic, Superdrag has returned with something just shy of that, but considering the quality here, no one has any right to spew complaints. [#55, p.91]

Given the confines of such a childlike context, these songs' emotional range is remarkably thoughtful. [#54, p.86]

E shunts between naked self-examination and arch character studies. [#59, p.91]

Throughout the album, Wedren knows when to go from maximalist to minimalist. And his multi-octave vocal range still delivers accessible melodies. [No. 81, p. 59]

A sameness of style makes things feel a little redundant, but taken in discreet portions, these tunes are unimpeachable. [No.92 p.55]

[A] consummate artistic triumph. [No. 125, p.56]

There's nothing here that doesn't feel like a weaker version of what he's already accomplished as a Stroke. Or as a solo artists for that matter. [No. 104, p.57]

For nine tracks in just 40 minutes, these are lighter than air and spry enough for your feet. [No. 101, p.60]