Occasionally struggling to balance style with substance, Gardner nonetheless makes Hypnophobia much more than just an exercise in sonic adventurism. [No. 120, p.55]

It's all, as you've come to expect from the duo, pretty enough and daydream-inspiring on its own. [No. 120, p.53]

N.E.W. proves that Death is still ahead of the curve. [No. 120, p.53]

The songs all deal with weighty subjects, but the music, a s pleasing hybrid of blues, rock, classical and gospel impulses shines the comforting light of faith onto every time. [No. 120, p.54]

It can proudly stand alongside anything else the band has done. [No. 120, p.52]

It's far and away Fernow's most affecting recorded work to date. [No. 120, p.59]

More restrained and tasteful. [No. 120, p.61]

I Can't Imagine might be her strongest release this side of I Am Shelby Lynne. [No. 120, p.57]

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]

II is looser and fuzzier than its predecessor.... one of 2015's standout records. [No. 120, p.56]

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

This album finds Patton in his glory. [No. 120, p.55]

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]

A beautiful mess. [No. 120, p.51]

A full band plays behind Joyner's acoustic guitar and quiet vocals, but they employ the same restraint that marks his singing, making very quiet note resonate with low-key, understated emotion. [No. 119, p.57]

[A] lovingly curated set. [No. 119, p.57]

The whole thing is executed with a sense of starry-eyed bliss. [No. 119, p.61]

Ivy Tripp is the sound of promise realized. [No. 119, p.61]

Spencer lays down as much hog-calling jive as can fir on the tape. [No. 119, p.59]

The Scene Between is another breathless, time-collapsing rush of dayglo, retro, lo-fi indie spunk, cutting back on the hip-hop inflections, schoolyard chants and cut-and-paste sample collage to focus squarely on melody. [No. 119, p.55]

Standout moments exist but the apparent slap across the face of preparedness results in meandering transitions, misplaced sax bleating that's part downtown jazz, part "Careless Whisper," and the feeling that there was a fair amount of sleepwalking through the process. [No. 119, p.55]

Schott's new material retains some of the music-box delicacy of yore, and her breathy singing is as slender as a reed. [No. 119, p.53]

As a whole, The Complete Recordings quiets the lingering misconception that after the Pixies, Black's best work was behind him. [No. 119, p.52]

A set of first-person songs that are ultimately no less earnest or affecting than those on the aforementioned break-up record, albeit more given to colorful insider jargon and particularly inventive physical violence. [No. 119, p.54]

It's hard to imagine reaching for No Pier Pressure when you could choose from all those great(and even not-so-great) Beach Boys albums from 40 or 50 years ago. [No. 119, p.60]

The bona-fide masterpiece that Stevens' career has culminated in, and likely the one that will come to define his career. [No. 119, p.58]

Hunter applies her vampiest vocals yet, and it's a natural match. [No. 119, p.59]

Carousel One is Sexsmithery at its finest. [No. 119, p.59]