It's never going to set the charts alight, but Weller obsessives should take it to heart. [No. 141, p.61]

These existential sonic sketches are minimalist in nature but come together as an electroacoustic whole far greater than its composite parts. [No. 143, p.61]

It's bright and lovely stuff, but I miss the darkness. [No. 121, p.61]

Gibbons' craft is making her desperate drama believable and compelling.... [But] the lack of memorable tunes is Gibbons' worst affliction. [#61, p.96]

Wonky finds the head-lamped pair still hitting those marks [being innovative within the confines of electronic music], even if it isn't quite as revelatory now. [No. 86, p.56]

An inventive, truly out-of-time pop record that never registers as nostalgic. [No. 121, p.61]

Bug's poetry remains the stuff of nightmares, but the band's splayed-nerve shtick is wearing thin. [No. 101, p.59]

[A] promising set of laptop balladry, ambient Brian Eno classicism and even an attempt at shifty electro-funk. [#73, p.85]

They sound much heavier and quite unburdened by commercial notions. [No. 145, p.61]

The results are mixed. [No. 111, p.53]

Hearing these songs all in a row, most sharing the same basic beat and harmonic structure, can make the title feel uncomfortably prophetic. [No. 95, p.60]

Tastefully rendered and thoughtfully executed, American Dreamer invites you into its loose embrace while still maintaining a certain emotional distance. [No. 135, p.59]

Imelda May's fourth album works best when she drops the bad-bad-girl stereotypes, but takes a few songs for her to hit her stride. [No. 112, p.59]

His conspicuous over-reliance on the same, tired lyrical themes does the record in, highlighting just how short on variety the LP is. [No. 92, p.55]

Like many arch songwriters, the band tends to drop images and melodies from its favorite tunes into its work, phrases that add little sparks of frission to the Brothers' already strong melodic structure. [No. 110, p.54]

Like a modern-day Nina Simone, Cherry slips from light and soulful to insistent and forceful on this wild hybrid of an album. [No.88, p.53]

The 10-song Heavy Mood is eclectic enough to say that the band has matured. Almost. [No. 92, p.60]

Considering the improvisational skill, malleability and performing traditions of the sprawling group, this is just another solid recording on a long, strange evolutionary trip. [No. 101, p.60]

It's all very appealing and completely listenable, if sometimes overreliant on mid-tempo rhythms with occasional surges in passion and pacing. [#82, p.56]

As mesmerizingly Zen as Korallreven's dreamy, glazed gaze is, it's hard not to long for the band to shake itself free of its googly-eyed trance, if only for a moment or two. [#82, p.57]

The Game Of Monogamy, was a real stinker, full of ham-fisted lyrics shoved into half-thought melodies. Adult film isn't nearly as inelegant as its predecessor. [No 105, p.55]

A set of soul instrumentals that wouldn't sound out of place on a late-'60s/early-'70s blaxploitation soundtrack. [No. 94, p.57]

The music works well on its own merits, though it's sometimes tough to know how ironically we're supposed to hear the Yawpers' penchant for the standard furniture of hardscrabble Americana. [No. 126, p.61]

A showcase of clean, unadulterated guitar talent. [No. 105, p.59]

It's a clever set, no doubt, and ably built. But for the Soft moon's work to sound weightier, Vasquez may need to push his limits more aggressively. [No. 94, p.59]

Red Fang soon settles into a comfortable cruising speed, with a devotion to mid-tempo exceeded only by Slayer's commitment to thrash. [No. 136, p.61]

Tape Loops comes off more like a utilitarian exercise in minimalism than a proper solo album from one of the most celebrated producers of the past 20 years. [No. 126, p.58]

Wainwright shows that his pop legs, while shaky, haven't lost their footing. [No.87 p.60]