Skelethon finds the stealth-drawling rapper swallowing his wise-as-his-namesake words, then spitting out more quixotic phrasing and racing, racy syllables than Busta Rhymes might if he was on a hot martini of Red Bull, moonshine and methamphetamine. [No.89, p.52]

Beguiling and brilliant. [No. 89 p.51]

Their winding leads, ghostly shimmers and stacked luminous sound clouds wheel around each other like elegant skywriting maneuvers. [#88, p.54]

Cho's gorgeous, ghostly piano playing takes center stage on pensive slow-burner "Open Air," and finale "Gypsum" starts as a playful piano/bass groove, pit-stops at a carnival and transforms into what is arguably the most gonzo saloon tune ever. [No.88, p.53]

[On Spirits] Manhood yokes cosmic yearning to sublime tunecraft. [No.87, p.58]

Nothing here is throwaway. [No.88, p.53]

Like a modern-day Nina Simone, Cherry slips from light and soulful to insistent and forceful on this wild hybrid of an album. [No.88, p.53]

That this LP is less summit than plateau says more about the level of past work than anything lacking from this one. [No.88 p.61]

That Vol.1 can capture that energy and enthusiasm of the [excellent] live show, the youthful vigor that prevents it from going into the realm of self-indulgent fogey prog pretty much guarantees we'll be following their career until they're old men. [No.88 p.60]

While no one track jumps out as a single, the entire album is something of a near cubist deconstruction of the band's sound. [No.88 p.60]

Is White's nonchalant spectrum dabbling [found throughout the album] as interesting as the myriad variables of his own quirky sound? Eh, not quite. [No.88 p.60]

The songs on WWSFTC all hint at loss, limitation and aging, with Spektor's poetic sensibility and passionate singing giving the LP a wrenching sense of vulnerability. [No.88 p.59]

While the beats set SpaceGhostPurrp apart, his microphone skills are lacking; his flow, always sleepily riding behind the bass, doesn't fluctuate... But his apocalyptic perspective is refreshing. [No.88 p.59]

A surprisingly deep album that fleshes out the vaguely krautish electronica the band only touched on in previous efforts. [No.88 p.59]

Two albums in, Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros sound just as phony as Ima Robot did. [No.88 p.59]

A spotlessly produced, classic alt-rock album that recalls Garbage's golden age. [No.88 p.58]

Midway through, it's already tiresome to hear the anthemic shouting and seemingly non-stop drum fills. It's a celebratory listen for sure, but one that could do with a breather that shows off this duo's skills. [No.88 p.58]

Though the quieter moments are choice tests in eerie tension, the Melvins work best in straight rock 'n'roll, especially on the album's highlight: an utterly badass cover of Wings' "Let Me Roll It." [No.88 p.57]

The music on Weekends is balanced between bright, up-tempo numbers and cheerless explorations of loneliness and heartache, but even on the dance tunes, the somber lyrics keep things from getting too exuberant.

A rich, mainly acoustic fabric. [#86, p.59]

These songs are every bit as spiritually urgent as those on What We Lose In The Fire We Gain In The Flood, but the motivation is as political as it is personal. [#87, p.57]

May piles up cresting false falsettos, disco pulses and Beach Boys wall-of-sound swells and, with the exceptionally sappy "Tell Her," offers a serviceable "So Happy Together" homage. [No.88 p.57]

Downright pretty. [No.88 p.57]

Most of Traps keeps the toes a-tapping with happily-sung, sad-bastard references to bygone lovers, running out of weed and coming of quarter-age. [No.88 p.57]

The title track ... and the unstoppably melodic "Billy Wire" are two of the catchiest tunes Pollard has ever penned. [No.88 p.56]

Exister may still press a heavy thumb on the melodic rock end of the scale... but enough Caution-era magic is recaptured for us to welcome these new transmissions from Radio Free Gainesville. [No.88 p.56]

Sure, anyone who has ever listened to 14 minutes of classic-rock radio has heard a good chunk of this ... but the energy remains undeniable and infectious. [No.88 p.56]

If you're a fan of heavy psychedelic bands, but wish they'd spend less time writing songs and more time blazing on the fretboard, this is your record. [No 88 p.56]