After the limp meandering of Afterglow, We Are Science is unquestionably a leap in the right direction.

Cash's renditions are often breathtaking in their simplicity, but rarely do they justify their presence among a dozen other similarly afflicted songs.

Machine disappoints on an almost unprecedented number of levels, and its unfortunate length is the least of its problems.

That's just the thing with Badly Drawn Boy-- he doesn't care about momentum, or continuity, or a lot of other things that you might quite reasonably care about when you sit down to listen to his records.

If these tracks had even the slightest shred of originality, it would be one thing, but Tillmann's on autopilot from the moment we push play.

The tracks on Yanqui are content to continue building to bored, satiated endings we can see coming 20 minutes in advance.

A decent follow-up from a band who has already proven themselves capable of much, much more.

We Are Your Friends might not be a completely successful album, but it's rarely less than a compelling one.

American Supreme, even at its most unlistenable and monotonous, still makes its point.

All this variety is to be commended, but a lot of the tracks here sound like unfinished sketches.

Saint Etienne have been "back" before, but this time-- this time it sounds like they're really back.

With every album, the Foos get slicker than before; the passion behind their songs waxed off by an ever-thickening veneer of overproduction. Right now, the Foos are so polished you can see right through them.

Make no mistake, Spend the Night defies any post-liberation role reversal debate: The album, both musically and lyrically, is so one-dimensional, it would be equally vapid at the hands of either sex.

Not really a must-have collection for anyone that doesn't have a Ben Gibbard shrine in the corner of their dorm room.

Skinner has an obvious talent for forging damn sharp hip-pop hooks that supercede his inherent verbal handicap.

Tobin's definitely out to have some fun with this record, though the immense density of these soundscapes prevent them from being reduced to chop-shop filler.

Hear most of these songs a few times and you'll feel like you've known them all your life.

Röyksopp are, ultimately, too beautiful to hate and too harmless to really love.

On an album that feels about six minutes long (it's actually just under 29), a couple highlights aren't enough to make it a keeper. But you can't necessarily count the band's new younger focus as a flaw; Velocity of Sound showcases a tight, concentrated power-pop sound that the band seemed to have lost on their last couple outings.

O'Connor sounds very relaxed, and ultimately humbled by the ancient material. She resists the temptation to use her vocal tics and affectations; for the most part, she sings the words with a straightforward clarity and reverence.

Make no mistake, the record is extremely endearing and flawlessly constructed-- it's just hard to love an album that has a dazzling surface and not much underneath.

No matter your feelings on the mic work, though, you can't help but notice the musical talent at play here, be it in the unusual song structures or the unobtrusive, color-adding use of the organ behind Dante DeCaro's unpredictable chords.

The lyrics to Mascis’ songs no longer resonate.

Manages never to get tired or annoying.

Every track is memorable, though rarely on a musical level.

This formulaically old-school approach is both J5's greatest asset and worst liability.

As leftovers, Close Cover Before Striking is more akin to day-old pizza than three-week-old pasta.

A career-low for Thievery Corporation.