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.

Wire is continuing to make greatness look easy.

Despite their best efforts, nothing on Deathsentences of the Polished and Structurally Weak is even half as interesting or poignant as the CD casing itself, and musically, the decision to focus on this album's mood and textures largely falls flat.

The album's only worthwhile moment [is] the title track, which has already become a concert fave for fans.

A dynamic album with intriguing lyrics, a country/folk shimmer, and explosive pop moments.

It's difficult to overcome consistently lame, often meaningless lyrics-- especially with Suede's classic rock focus on singer and melody-- but they cope.

Nextdoorland finds the band's old chemistry in full effect, and Hitchcock's songwriting seems re-energized by the presence of his old mates.

Here, as on Mutations, he confuses lyrical simplicity and standard-tuning, key-of-C songwriting with the unpretentious directness of his idols.

While it's not torture to listen to Dirty Dancing repeatedly, it does contain more than its rightful share of slip-ups and missteps.

The first five tracks here are on par with anything you loved about Us.

Miller offers more than enough quality material here to justify stepping out on his own: what he's occasionally lacking in energy, he largely makes up for with craft.... That said, it's unlikely to instigate much beyond some afternoon head-nodding, and even some of Miller's fans will be somewhat put off by the album's borderline MOR sound.