It's a beautiful behemoth. [No. 112, p.56]

Junto is a jolt, a juggernaut, an absolute joyride. [No. 112, p.53]

Few of Creed's peers pursue songs and sounds this blazingly epic and weirdly experimental. [No. 112, p.53]

Throughout, minimally invasive production from Vladislav Delay creates a fuller sense of emptiness, resulting in one big, glorious downer. [No. 112, p.61]

Every song here is perfect, glimmering pop gem--and the lyrics are often brilliant--but they're played with a measured precision and lack of dynamic range that makes it hard to differentiate one from the other as the LP unfolds. [No. 112, p.52]

What's interesting to note is, with instrumentation technology improvement, Evelyn appears content to capture analogue warmth. [No. 111, p.57]

It's Melted Toys' hooks and songwriting that act as an anchor. [No. 111, p.57]

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]

Since it's art, the more you listen, the more you'll find here. [No. 112, p.55]

Conversations ain't perfect, but Woman's Hour is probably the best bet to save this esteemed subgenre, which may have peaked just a few sentences ago. [No. 112, p.61]

The zigzagging, liquid bass is the most surprising thing on a record you expect no surprises from. [No. 112, p.61]

Their first album in five years captures the comfortable joy of falling back into sync with old pals. [No. 112, p.61]

Luluc has indie credentials to spare, but all that really matters is that this music is impossibly delicate and deeply beautiful. [No. 112, p.59]

Trouble In Paradise proves her more than capable of putting together a solid pop album on her own. [No. 112, p.57]

Classical/new-age strains mash against underlying funk beats with this record's favorite motif being sophisticated Europop twisted around throbbing rhythms sourced from sound sample slices, giving it a feel that falls somewhere between Mike Patton's Lovage, Peeping Tom and the pseudo-highbrow commercials that Chanel and Lindor use to hawk fragrance and milk chocolate. [No. 112, p.55]

The good (and bad) news for people who love bad (and good) news: Both groups will be delighted and appalled by this record. [No. 112, p.51]

This may be the bleak and heavy masterpiece that BIH has been hovering around for the past decade. [No. 112, p.53]

Hardly reserved for advanced listeners, End Times Undone is effortlessly familiar and fresh. [No. 112, p.57]

This is prime indie rock with all the frills excised, but all the feels intact. [No. 112, p.58]

Bossy's reformation seems based in penning the dullest platitudes imaginable. [No. 112, p.59]

This is 46 tracks of certifiably bonkers brilliance. [No. 111, p.55]

Where Black Up provided catchy hooks to draw you in deeper, Lese Majesty is nowhere near as fun or--despite pushing the aural envelope--interesting. [No. 111, p.61]

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

It's a weirdness that works. [No. 111, p.53]

[A] gorgeous concert recording. [No. 111, p.54]

The fact that two 19-year-old players--drummer Evan Laffer and guitarist Matt Pulos--generate this crushing wall of sound makes it even more impressive. [No. 111, p.55]

Stay Gold is First Aid Kit's most lush and shimmering work to date. [No. 111, p.55]

What Is This Heart? certainly isn't done any favors by Krell's stock, dejection-by-the-numbers lyricism and the baring of his overextended falsetto against the array of muted synths, strings and drum machines that crop up from song to song, as the album cycles through every tired adult-contemporary R&B trope in the book. [No. 111, p.55]