Eno brings interesting and complex rhythmic counterpoints to his 3-a.m. atmospherics.... It all sounds so very sleepy in the end, and quite numbing, in a most uncomfortable way. [#51, p.92]

Isaak's 12th record is simply a solid, predictable Isaak album. [No. 126, p.59]

On "Kingfisher," the album's centerpiece, they prove when it's perfectly balanced with a subtle instrumental approach. [No. 138, p.61]

Much of this album comes surprisingly close to the woozy heights scaled by Barat's old gang--but not quite close enough because, if there are criticisms here, it's that there's too little light and shade. [No. 117, p.52]

The band's largely understated interpretation of punk offers a fresh and relatable perspective, mostly free of melodrama or righteous indignation. [No. 97, p.61]

For those inclined toward the indie end of things, there's plenty to like here, but there's also plenty that will inspire head-scratching or, worse yet, yawns. [#71, p.89]

Strained, anachronistic verses may test your patience, but given what Arbouretum has to say when no one's singing, there's still a lot to uncover. [#74, p.90]

For possibly the first time ever, it's hard to tell if he's trying too hard or not trying hard enough. [No. 109, p.56]

Just start at track six, where the getting gets good. [#58, p.97]

While Grizzy Bear often comes off as some backwoods cousin of the Elephant 6 collective, the band sports as much texture as Boards Of Canada. [#73, p.93]

Essentially, this is one for obsessive completists only. [No. 116, p.55]

Keep On Your Mean Side suffers from the same-samey quicksand tha bogs down the overhyped Yeah Yeah Yeahs. [#58, p.95]

The duo’s third LP won’t reconcile the two camps; in fact, Heart On may be the first EODM album to really make the detractors’ case. Chugging riffs and falsetto vocals abound on these 12 tracks, but instead of indulging whatever black magic that kept 2004’s "Peace Love Death Metal" and 2006’s "Death By Sexy" from devolving into jokey karaoke, Hughes and Homme decide to play it mostly straight.

There's no real depth allowed in the themes, of course, and it bears no small resemblance to most other post-LCD Soundsystem fare. But it's beyond pointless to fault another person's idea of goodtime music. [No. 98, p.52]

The problem is that the half-hour Squares is as unfocused and repetitive as a double album. [#59, p.108]

It's a bit mad, but what else would you expect from the Melvins, which in-and-of -itself is a shame. [No. 132, p.55]

Crush Songs trades intensity for wistful longing. [No. 113, p.51]

As usual, it's mostly successful as a mood piece. [No. 132, p.57]

Fatigue ensues from the relentless stream of common-man clichés, delivered in the most vocally bombastic way possible. Which makes the carefree 'Casanova, Baby!' such a pleasure; the Gaslight Anthem finally stops playing to the stadium, resulting in a positively joyous, catchy rock ’n’ roll song.

Haden can find that sweet, glacial pace that makes a song seem both inevitable and important. But his deliberate delivery of lines such as "Oh the Depression, it ruined us, it ruined us, it ruined us" can be distracting and turn songs into history lessons. [No. 132, p.59]

Yet another Maritime record full of amiable, breezy numbers, every note and octave in place. The soul and panache of yore, however, are sadly MIA. [No. 125, p.59]

There are great moments that grasp for--and sometimes reach--the bombastic ground between Radiohead's pop days and Sunny Day Real Estate's proggier side; then there are long stretches that fail to push any buttons at all. [#59, p.90]

There's precious little invention at work on Attack And Release, and the stench of authenticity hangs heavy. [Summer 2008, p.98]

Pleasant if unspectacular. [#74, p.96]

Though No Coast possesses its vivifying moments. It's pretty clear not all the organs made it back after the post-Frame And Canvas autopsy. [No. 111, p.52]

[Neko] Case misses Carrier, and it her. [No. 102, p.55]

These guys do so many things well--now if they could only find their weird again. [No. 95, p.52]

What it's missing is haunting songs--calamity songs, the kind of songs that used to proliferate on Decemberists albums like soot-smudged Victorian orphans. [No. 150, p.49]