Lanegan's stamp here is reverent-yet-indelible--think Mark Kozelek channeling AC/DC--and the organic sonic approach is an especially intriguing left turn following the electro buzz 'n' thrum of last year's resplendent Blues Funeral. [No. 102, p.57]

This could have been Costello's urban album, or his funk album, or his black album--but instead, it's simply his new album. [No. 102, p.54]

Their scope isn't quite as broad as 2011's Apocalypse or as emotionally complex as 2009's Sometimes I Wish We Were An Eagle, but they are full of sharp observations and wit. [No. 102, p.54]

AM's wheel-spinning is a bit of a letdown, but a handful of tracks keep it from being a total throwaway. [No. 102, p.52]

beyond his original albums lies three newly cobbled CDs of magic realist pop and frisky showboating folk that are endlessly fascinating. [No. 101, p.54]

Higher!'s real value is in its depth: Stone needs four CDs to display his breadth, and this comp is full of funky fun. [No. 101, p.59]

These recordings are the sound of a man back in the game and ready to pounce. [No. 100, p.52]

The most enjoyable weird record of its career. [No. 101, p.52]

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]

Her playing, while technically impressive, may not have quite Stetson's jaw-dropping virtuosity, but her pieces have a highly comparable mesmeric, minimalist intensity. [No. 101, p.58]

Seven bonus cuts from the same project make it more than worth picking up even for those who've worn out the original. [No. 101, p.58]

Songs Cycled completes Parks' transformation from oddball torchbearer to full-on musical time capsule. [No. 101, p.59]

It feels like the jazz/hip-hop album we've been waiting for. [No. 101, p.59]

They create fresh sonic collages that reference past epochs rather than erect shrines to exalt them. [No. 101, p.57]

Those looking for Kaufman's brand of gleefully absurd fin will surely be disappointed, as these tapes are strictly for completist diehards. [No. 101, p.57]

The LP's slow-building peak moment is "Violins And Tambourines," which is also dramatic and affected, no matter what Jones may actually be singing about. [No. 101, p.60]

It might not get the party started, but it'll sure as hell get the freshly converted pilgrims ambling. [No. 101, p.61]

For the most part, the band has deftly added its own experiences and experience to original template of its debut, and comes out gleaming in the other end. [No. 101, p.61]

This is hardcore at its best. [No. 101, p.56]

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]

The songs are mostly concise, ranging from less than two minutes to more than seven, but their motorik propulsion and detailed, gradual builds add more subtle rewards beneath synth-pop immediacy. [No. 101, p.55]

The album's most obvious failing is the way in which the vocals are presented and mixed. [No. 101, p.55]

Slow Focus finds them instituting a newfound affinity for broken, off-kilter beats, alongside their now-signature knack for teasing irresistible melodies out of chaotic, discordant noise. [No. 101, p.54]

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

Pond manages to use just about every trick in the psych-rock playbook to create energetic, borderline-unstable earworms that bury themselves deep in your brain for days. [No. 101, p.59]

"Does this make this more or less weird than what I've come to expect from JOA?" the answer is yes. [No. 101, p.56]

If there's a complaint to be leveled, it's that the off threesome might have smoothed out its differences a little too much. But it mostly works. [No. 101, p.57]

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