Savor Luke Lalonde's chirpy blurts on "Needle" and "Ocean's Deep;" they're soon replaced by increasingly ironed-out dance pop that goes through unfortunate puberty over 12 tracks, from good to bad to worse. [No. 97, p.53]

It's a dark, repetitive, uncompromising record, full of challenges and threats. [No. 97, p.51]

This time out, he brings all his influences together into an LP that may be his most musically diverse offering yet. [No.96, p.56]

The quartet has reached puberty on its second album, which sees the band embracing awkward teen angst a la Winona Ryder's character in Beatlejuice. [No. 96, p.61]

Tyler's command of his instrument is commendable, but his ability to use it for a compelling, lyrical collection of instro cuts is even more so. [No. 96, p.60]

Over a full-length album, he's as annoying as ever. [No. 96, p.61]

A headphone-friendly, Latin-flavored, hypnotic concoction of deep grooves, tropical textures and warped blips and bleeps compressed into fractured layers. [No. 96, p.55]

Though at times exquisite, the slow-burn even instrumental keel is, ironically, the most jarring aspect of Push The Sky Away. [No. 96, p.52]

A poor pastiche of Aphex Twin, Spandau Ballet and Gary Numan. [No. 96, p.60]

His new sound is interesting and may find its own fans, but it's such a strong departure from his last album that it will likely leave his current admirers scratching their heads. [No. 96, p.59]

A rousing, energetic exploration of the Roy Orbison-influenced rock 'n' roll, classic country and Latin influences--that blows all the damn mall-folk clogging up our inbox out of the goddamn water. [No. 96, p.57]

It boasts Wembley-sized sound and a few huge singles that aspire to confuse Stockholm for a UK colony. [No. 96, p.59]

Shapiro's singing is as wispy and wafer-thin as ever, her limp, lovelorn lamentations just as piteously plaintive. Your call whether that's charming or cloying, but it's not exactly the most versatile approach. [No. 96, p.59]

What stands out most on the Americana-saturated Miracle Temple is the way the band shuffles and tweaks country music and gospel/folk elements, yet still sounds very traditional, for better or worse. [No. 96, p.53]

He's perfectly adequate as a singer and melody writer, but he doesn't have the indelible personality of a Morrissey or Isaac Brock. [No. 96, p.56]

The musicianship is smart and faultless, but also too subtle. [No. 96, p.54]

Anxiety is the rare electro-pop album that's wholly synthetic, but plays without a hint of icy artificiality. [No. 96, p.53]

True, nothing here ever astonishes, but coming from such a unique voice, the familiar bests most else. [No. 96, p.51]

Their fourth full-length has the band members grabbing snippets of musical influence from all over the Pitchfork-approved map. [No. 96, p.54]

They take genre conventions and flip them inside out. [No. 96, p.57]

There's a refreshing sense of directness in the sound of the music, which, for all its abundant, unabashed prettiness and orchestral elegance, maintains a stripped-down, unaffectedly human scope. [No. 96, p.59]

Phillip Ekstrom's vocals echo the tortured moan of Robert Smith with a trace of Ian McCulloch's attitude, but he never manages to find his own voice. Except for the implied reggae pulse on "Blues," neither does the band. [No. 96, p.56]

Love From London could use more of those surprising or insightfully startling juxtapositions that define his best labors. [No. 96, p.58]

Arnalds' voice is the centerpiece, as each of the 12 tracks lives or dies by her pipes. [No. 96, p.52]

Lady gets high marks for nostalgic soul--with all the trappings of horns and strings--but ultimately the album recalls everything that was great about '60s soul, past-tense. [No. 96, p.56]

There is much to admire in the trademark plaintiveness and honesty on his seventh album. [No. 96, p.59]

It's all gorgeous arrangements, soul-wrenching songwriting and heartbreaking stories, inhabiting a space that's both rock and country, indie and folk, without pandering to the lowest common denominator. [No. 96, p.59]

The instrumentals, which mix grainy field recordings with more forthright electronic melodies, assert a strong presence, but not enough to rescue Hymnal from a state of irresolute inbetween-ness. [No. 96, p.58]