Its music holds a refreshingly naive (if ridiculous) charm. [Jun 2006, p.110]

The new, not-so-great English translations hurt more than help. [Jun 2006, p.102]

A "rumination on life and death," which suitably chimed with earth's current 'end times' vibe, from sorrow to rage, elevated by post-rock's most luminescent guitars. [Oct 2023, p.88]

Their obsession remains with sounds rather than songs, with every digitised boom, click, and ping picked out in arresting detail. [Dec 2013, p.103]

Production is dense, grainy and atmospheric, with Corby's layered vocals to the fore. [Apr 2016, p.94]

You know how it sounds: the same as ever. [Oct 2008, p.110]

Here Tyler not so much steps out of the shadows as over to a slightly less darkened corner on nine delicately plucked acoustic daydreams that also showcase his talent for arrangements. [Mar 2011, p.94]

The best moments involve stranger juddering textures, as on Flowers or Wishing Well. Beauty is always better with an edge. [Aug 2020, p.87]

There's a kernal of quality to Goodnight Unknown that renders Barlow's obsessive self-absorption palatable. [Nov 2009, p.102]

But despite the lack of surprise, Gold Rush is a fine, rollicking jig, and Sparrow's skeletal voice and uke combo feels like it's been pulled from the ground still caked in Prairie soil. [Feb 2010, p. 94]

There are glimpses of Curt's former shambling genius; I Quit and Pieces Of Me are both mournfully melodic, while Tarantula has the nimble bluegrass pickings of Up On The Sun-era Meats, but elsewhere rap-metal stupidity (Hercules) and over-polished rock plodding (Batwing) sour the beans.

[An] almost equal measure of intriguing and tiresome music. [Jun 2005, p.108]

Shave Devil's Playground of nine tracks and repackage it as an EP and it could conceivably be the comeback of the year. [Apr 2005, p.98]

Overall, the pickings are too thin for a band of their capabilities.

For all its country rockin' appeal, Monsoon lacks the emotional charge of its predecessor. [Feb 2004, p.98]

Half of Release feels like an old routine -- looming melancholy and not-quite-cheery disco by the pound. [Apr 2002, p.108]

A clumsily executed, ghoulishly self-regarding mess. [Mar 2006, p.94]

The Id simply turns up the levels on what made her debut so big, in the process overshadowing the background detail that made that album so special. [Oct 2001, p.128]

Often, Sinead's words are infected with the pernicious post-therapy psychobabble that blights the contemporary female singer/songwriter...

There's got to be something better, man. [July 2002, p.94]

Keeps an unsteady path between fine altered-state atmospherica and irritating cosmic twittering. [Feb 2004, p.100]

Given time, fans will warm to Peasant, but ultimately the inconsistency of it's songwriting is a tad disappointing.

These songs move so languidly they seem self-pitying. [July 2002, p.104]

In a nutshell, if you liked the previous stuff, you'll like this... it has as much right to a place in the world as Huey Lewis and the News ever did.

Though Black Jesus and Graves To Dig weld slow-burning hip-hop beats to politically astute lyrics, elsewhere the abundance of self-conscious singing and menopausal guitar noodling sees the album shuffle, uninterestingly, towards the middle of the road.

The best songs... sound as if singer Gary Lightbody spends a lot of time sitting in the dark pretending to be Lou Barlow. [Sep 2003, p.108]

You finish listening to 18 feeling as if you've heard a decaffeinated version of Play. [June 2002, p.98]

Gentle, reflective, angsty girl'n'guitar fodder that's often more worthy than interesting. [July 2000, p.104]