Christ Illusion is not a throwback; it's something new steeped in something old.

It may all cohere together, but it doesn't all work.

Though some of the oddball, art-house tendencies have been lost in this new translation of the band’s music, there has never been a better, brighter or more immediately satisfying pop soundtrack to Das Kapital.

Pixel Revolt simply and beautifully reminds us that no matter how great a rock producer is, songwriting talent is as essential as it’s always been.

In spite of this second half lag, Daedelus continues to exhibit a tremendous capacity for distilling disparate ideas into something personable.

By all accounts, a solid album; it’s just that we have come to expect better from someone with such a flawless back catalog.

A stunning, grandiose pop record.

This ability to remain reverent to its influences without compromising its personal vision or sounding like a dull tribute act is White Hills' greatest strength, and it's on display throughout the album.

Although it's a top-heavy record, Waterloo to Anywhere gets stronger with each listen; the melodies come through and the energy that at first seems restrained starts to break free.

The largely successful results characterize a risky proposition that in the hands of talent and artistic focus has yielded all sorts of adventurous delights.

Most of Death by Sexy plays like the hard-rock equivalent to Ying Yang Twins or a stripped-down version of anything in Motley Crue's catalog.

Heart of My Own sounds more produced than Oh, My Darling, but not for lack of quality. Despite the yearning lyrical plotlines, the warmth exuded from the woodsy harmony of Bulat’s voice mingling with the amalgamation of guest instruments cozies even the bitterest of winter days.

Fate exposes the larger problem with Dr. Dog’s catalog -- namely, that the band have become so comfortable where they are that they are content to merely play to type.

Their chemistry undeniable, this debut could serve as a watershed for both members’ future creative outputs.

It's a lot to take in, but the simple, hypnotic beauty of the stark landscapes Tyler has created here reveals itself more with each subsequent listen.

Information Retrieved's value lies in its stark denial of what fashionable indie rock is these days; it's an admirable and frustrating time warp to the days when Sunny Day Real Estate were cutting edge.

Girls and Weather is a rousing debut effort from a band that isn’t out to try to pull birds by acting like the Stones (or the Clash or the Libertines).

Mandell’s best, most varied album is hidden somewhere inside Artificial Fire. You have to dig through 20 minutes of brightly painted filler to find it, and unfortunately 12 of those minutes make up the album’s first three songs.

On this album she proves herself as something more (way more, in fact) than an eternal scenester and competent drummer.

With Luppi's influence, the band holds its ground in more sophisticated territory on Grand Animals than it has in the past.

There isn't a song here that truly rises above the rest, and nothing here is as offensive as anything you'd hear at a stop on the Warped Tour.

Ultimately, Hearts is an adolescent album in every conceivable sense.

Unfortunately, Sigel has taken a step away from reconciling the truth on his fourth full-length, The Solution. Instead of shedding the one-note dimension of his popular Broad Street Bully persona, he simply cloaks himself in another unconvincing and uninteresting trope: the mack-lover.

The result is an album that's heavy on ideas instead of execution. It's pleasant but forgettable.

Family Perfume Vol. 1 wafts with a brilliant array of aromas, drifting from atmospheric psychedelia to homegrown folk melodies that leave a lingering sweetness in your mouth.

Ditherer is a lot of great noise from a small band with big talent.

Perhaps Adams is just earning cheap sympathy with his strained, tour-weary voice, or maybe it’s just too thrilling to hear him revisit Gram, but Jacksonville City Lights does seem to come by its sound honestly.

Wigflip feels like the type of thing Madlib could churn out on any given lazy Sunday afternoon.