It's impeccably recorded-- pretty at some points and vaguely somber at others-- but it never distinguishes itself.

The tracks here are supported by a fuller sound and more complex arrangements than on either of Travis' first two albums.... They're all competently played, but never really inspiring.

An epic album that speaks with grand gestures and a refined eloquence rare in young songwriters.

Quality aside, the questionable sequencing of Amnesiac does little to hush the argument that the record is merely a thinly veiled b-sides compilation...

The disjointed juxtaposition of styles on this disc is so pronounced that it feels intentional; like The White Album or Jega's Spectrum, this record underscores its versatility at the expense of consistency.

For better or worse, this is not Moon Safari Redux.

In fact, despite the thoughtfulness of the arrangements, it quickly becomes clear that nothing truly surprising will ever happen.

Because Flowers doesn't maintain the urgency of Echo and the Bunnymen's early records, it's not the place to begin any investigation into their trippy delights. But for us old-timers who remember reading NME before the editorial policy changed to shameless oh-so ironic hyping of teen pop acts, Flowers stands as a gorgeous bouquet of memories.

This is an album packed with abrasive tones of unimaginable density and uncertain origin. Oval shares with Autechre the ability to craft sounds that defy explanation.

That the archaic should sound this fresh is at least a mini-miracle.

I Believe is one of those albums that hardly anyone could bring themselves to hate, but almost no one could truly latch on to.

Sigur Rós effortlessly make music that is massive, glacial, and sparse..... They are the first vital band of the 21st Century.

Opens with a six-track attack that's rare for any genre, especially contemporary R&B.

From a production standpoint, the record sounds great, but at its core, it comes up empty, lacking a solid foundation of good songs to rest its adventurous studio trickery upon.... It's the most frustrating type of album there is-- one that's full of promise and shining moments, but never fully delivers.

Average from beginning to end.

Confield promises elegant production, accessibility in moderation, and one of the most enveloping, thought-provoking listening experiences to come forth from leftfield this year.

What makes Reveal so disappointing is that the additions to the classic R.E.M. sound are all merely superficial. The increased reliance on burbling, jittering synthesizers actually makes the album a less engaging listen, turning many of its songs into messy sonic muddles.

Now, with the early new century demanding "opuses," Tool follows suit. The problem is, Tool defines "opus" as taking their "defining element" (wanking sludge) and stretching it out to the maximum digital capacity of a compact disc.

Long time fans will undoubtedly be delighted, but it's tough to predict if this record will inspire converts.

Unexpectedly, though, some of the record's best moments come when Byrne strips away the rhythmic accessories and relies on basic orchestral backing... And yet, the majority of the album still relies on primal, swinging grooves.

Perhaps as a direct result of I-Sound's presence, Music is a Hungry Ghost is a looser, more abstract affair than previous efforts.

I suppose that the backstreet Black Market Music will endear itself to gender-exploring teenagers who find the girl-on-girl action in Buffy the Vampire Slayer "fucking awesome."

The Cliff's Notes of classic rock.

Granted, it's not mind-blowing, and it's not nearly as masterfully executed and affecting as their earliest work. But there are only a handful of bands out there that can put out an album as well-constructed as Rock Action and still expect people to bitch and moan about it.

While previous albums gave a studio sheen to the noise, Dilate has a looser, more spontaneous feel to it.

Coquelicot, like most Of Montreal albums, is at times sublime and lovely, at times infuriatingly catchy, at times simply infuriating, at times overly twee, and at times seriously fucking scary. What sets this record apart from its predecessors, though, is a level of intricacy and detail that Of Montreal have never previously attained as a band.

Overall, Sad Sappy Sucker feels as if it was sort of put together in a hurry, despite it having sat around in the warehouse for seven years. The album part has plenty of good songs, though, and any completist will want to hear it.

If the additions are what make this record distinctive, what's left out is what makes it brilliant.