Snip a few of the duds and maybe Future Brown would be one of the most consistently interesting and understandably weird debuts of the year.

Even when they're shouting, they do so in a particularly musical and distinctive way, and although their smash is one of five This Is… songs the duo had no hand in writing, they nevertheless suggest a consistent sense of authorship through the intensity of their shared ecstasies and frustrations.

Every space on More hums with blip-skipping bonus beats, phone-sex coos, and backing vocals boingin' like bungee cords. [March 2001, p.148]

Once you've heard the undoctored edition of Bert Jansch's heartbreaking "Needle of Death," a harrowing tale of self-destruction by heroin predating Young's own "The Needle and the Damage Done," the noisier approach feels like needless gimmickry that diminishes, rather than enhances, one of his strongest sets in a long time.

"I know it sounds strange," chirps mullet-rockin' Yo-Landi Vi$$er in "Rich Bitch," "but I used to count change." In fact, that's one of the more credible claims on this South African rave-rap crew's delightfully low-rent debut.

It's an overly gauzy, booming-echo epic that doesn't leave much trace after it's over.

If the Black Keys sped up a little, their stodginess might feel more songful. [Oct 2006, p.94]

Bear[s] the mark of Big Star. [Jul 2006, p.85]

with songs as strong as bluesy snarler 'Great Scott!,' the gospel-leaning 'Fear,' and stomp-along 'Tired of Being Good,' the musical debts are easier to forgive, if not ignore.

Julie Budet chirps exclusively in French, which helps her Auto-Tuned singsong remain vaguely mysterious, even if her childlike melodies are far simpler than the subtly finessed synths.

Little Broken Hearts is exciting because it explores the darkest corners of betrayal, bad love, and jealousy with enough vitality to propel Jones out of the bloodless purgatory of brunch music.

Western Xterminator ventures further from the '90s opiate-blues legacy of Trux, sounding more exploratory than RTX's debut. [Mar 2007, p.98]

Despite Shelter From The Ash's transcendent drones and trippy, Eastern-inspired guitar figures...[Chasny's] vocals too often kill the buzz. [Dec 2007, p.125]

Slower tempos and fewer yuks mean less fun, but tougher backing vocals pump the essential estrogen.

RJD2's collaboration with Philly singer Aaron Livingston bears the qualities that have divided the instrumental hip-hop producer's fans since the 2006 misfire The Third Hand -- most prominently, jazz-rock ellipses and thin, expressive vocals (Livingston's are only slightly better than RJ's own efforts).

Despite plenty of practice as a contributor to Rick Ross' Maybach Music Group compilation series Self Made, Meek's label debut lacks viable singles.

MGK is a talented rapper, but here, on his major label album, he sounds hollow.

It sure does prove that Bob Dylan isn't bigger than rock and roll--while also proving that rock and roll needs ace songwriters more than many current rock and rollers think.

Even if he never wins back the Interpol/Bright Eyes bystanders he lost with 2004's overly heavy, underachieving self-titled punt, Smith finally rewards longtime fans with a proper Cure album, not a quasi-solo-project facsimile.

This is Barnhart's least discursive outing yet. As a result, it's also his most predictable. [Oct 2007, p.108]

Nothing on this full-length debut is so insidious, though several tracks come close.

Nearly every song on their second collaboration--but particularly the brooding 'Salvation' and sweetly melancholy 'Trouble'--reveals gorgeous comfort in the juxtaposition.

Sometimes the results are stunning ("Hearts of Love"); elsewhere, the barrage of studio effects leaves you wondering if they're merely covering up crap songs. Either way, Sleep Forever never bores.

Laufer flushes out the dark corners of last year’s blushingly sexy No More EP with velvet-voiced rapper Jeremih, turning it into his most ambitious and cinematic album yet.

After a 2009 album, assorted seven-inch singles, and a recent live recording for Jack White's Third Man imprint, Jacuzzi Boys have taken their place among the best sloppy racket-makers bashing out easy-boogie soundtracks to your next drunken night at the local rock dive.

Time and practice have made them a far more straightforward rock band. [Oct 2004, p.120]

...melds Billy Joel and James Taylor... [Apr 2001, p.161]

Phantogram drives straight through, with a clear purpose, no rest stops.

There are glimmers of melodic gems--but that’s all they prove to be, sagging beneath the weight of these overstuffed songs.

The Montreal group has never sounded so desperate or epic as on their fifth album's four earth-scorching, quarter-hour compositions.

With songs and production this pumped, they’ll continue to make waves far outside their beloved home state.

Man on the Moon II: The Legend of Mr. Rager, the sequel to The End of Day, is a revelation, boldly reshaping Cudi's sound -- with vivid production by Emile, Plain Pat, the Cool Kids' Chuck Inglish, Jim Jonsin, Diplo, and others.

Animal Collective’s latest sees them painting with confidence, acrylics, dinosaurs, Bob Ross, a twist, and a wipe out.

For most of Neptune, the Duke Spirit graft sweet coatings onto a dark, swirling center.

The Israeli threesome's second full-length, though, provides fewer surprises, dutifully thundering through rage-rock history as singer Ami Shalev alternates between growl and yowl to communicate a life-is-short-might-as-well-bash message.

They sound like serious witches--impossibly high, fluttery voices singing mystic incantations over pulsing, six-minute jams that gun for another astral plane, and occasionally reach it.

She's smart to dress her aching, powerful voice in something other than rhinestones. [Nov 2008, p.90]

Brilliantly unhinged rock spiked with R&B and power pop. [Jun 2006, p.80]

Between Pitts' unrelieved misery and the tepid music, Pythons makes a bitter, unsatisfying brew. Imbibe at your own risk.

He’s chosen good material and done right by it. But Kill the Lights sees him both at an apex and a crossroad.

Their new songs are sunnier and jumpier than 2005's dirgeful "Feathers." [Mar 2008, p.100]

As intellectual and introverted as Krell often is, he’s at his best when he and the music simply let go. What Is This Heart? delivers in the second half when nearly every song peaks with exuberant finales.

Scattered predictability aside, AC/DC still sound strong and hungry 35 years on, as if they could pulverize riffs in perpetuity.

A big improvement over 2007's ho-hum "Smokey Rolls Down Thunder Canyon," it's also the most consistently satisfying full-length he's made.

When things are going right, she reverentially nods to the sumptuous aesthetic that defined Marvin Gaye's What's Going On; when her form slips, it's like Dido gone "groovy." [Jul 2006, p.82]

The lyrics are certainly emotional, as he says, but there’s an immediacy to them that feels new for DeMarco, and it doesn’t always suit the music.

From bracing opener "Precious Stone" to the chugging fan appreciation "Rock Crowd" to a heartfelt version of Gram Parsons' "Wheels," Yorn emerges with his most purposeful, affecting album yet.

These reimaginings... unlock some interesting textures suggested by [Black's] still-scratchy vocals. [Dec 2004, p.118]

While Damnesia makes a surprisingly strong showcase for the Trio's songwriting chops, they should've taken a few more chances.

At almost 30 minutes exactly, PC Music Volume 1 quits while it’s ahead.

Galactic complement these inspired contributions [from guest rappers] with chunky wah-wah guitars, chugging rhythms, and beats so tightly action-packed that they could be the soundtrack to a sleek Hollywoood crime frolic. [Sep 2007, p.129]

His songs get to where they need to go, but they’re lacking in narrative, specificity... purpose, if you will.

While the rock workouts never transcend their bar-band tropes, on the ballads ("Turn Your Pretty Name Around," "Black Eyes"), Olson & Louris evince real sorrow and regret with little more than a carefully picked acoustic guitar and ghostly organ tracing the tracks of their tears.

His return to more intimate recording can't conceal that there's nary a melody worth savoring amid the autumnal folkiness.

An easy album to enjoy. [Jun 2007, p.93]

Signature oh-so-mellow, mumblin' beat, only this time with just too much remove and far too little energy to make it work.

Though these faux-naif hipsters genuinely worship the wizard of Ozzfest, they don't have the chops to do much about it. [Nov 2005, p.101]

As with latter efforts Jar of Flies and Alice in Chains, Black's most tender moments ('Private Hell') are its most essential. And while William DuVall is a serviceable Staley impressionist, this comeback would register with more purpose had guitarist Jerry Cantrell assumed the vocal lead.

The songs appeal broadly, but they're tailor-made for two people.

The result is some of the loosest, most facinating music of their career. [Apr 2008, p.92]

Grandaddy's Moogy, moody music still sounds like ELO as HAL-9000. [Oct 2005, p.137]

There's an air of formal exercise here.... But if you can ride with the cliches, you won't fault the execution. [Jul 2005, p.102]

Recalling the stridency of Soul Asylum without the rock ferocity, Two Gallants are a minor annoyance. [Oct 2007, p.112]

Let those [few sub-par] parts slide into the ocean and enjoy the remaining hour of perfectly golden brilliance. [Feb 2007, p.89]

The fact that the album's best moments are in the details--a fiery lick, a wailing vocal ad-lib--speaks to the singer-guitarist's recurring problems: secondhand song structures and little to say beyond self-helpy reiterations of lyrical beatitudes.

Fussy knob-twiddling grounds a couple of tracks, but this skyward-reaching album delivers plenty of solidly earthy pleasures.

While EDM grapples with growing pains, beset by adult problems like drugs and money, Avicii has made an album with the kind of pure pop heart that's as likely to appeal to eight-year-olds as it is to amped-up ravers.

Amos' classical-label debut is a wildly imaginative ride full of orchestral fireworks and fairy-tale melodrama, though anyone with a Ren Faire aversion should stick to more straight-ahead songs like "Edge of the Moon" and "Job's Coffin."

Two dudes from bong rockers Witch, including Dinosaur Jr. ax god J. Mascis, and two more from middle-aged glam junksters Cobra Verde, including singer John Petkovic, make for a three-guitar, super-ish group that actually gets somewhere rather than just revving its engine (see Them Crooked Vultures).

Whether struggling with sobriety or confronting her own meanness, Pink has never been less cool: She's hot-blooded throughout, and it suits both her pipes and a female pop genre that rarely embraces this much tangible pain.

The album's best cut, 'I Hate People,' is an unexpectedly bubbly May-December duet with Iggy Pop, but all of Break It Up ripples with raw power.

A stunning collection of 36 instrumental tracks that is one of the most varied and ambitious releases of Reznor's career. [May 2008, p.104]

So, no, Marr isn't exactly reinventing rock here--he already did that. The Messenger feels more like a tribute to his youth, to his home, and to all the musicians he's worked with over the past three decades.

Occasional static aside, it seems Refused are really making good on their long-stated goal to take the airwaves back, or at least vibrating a little closer to the right frequency.

As always, the Crows are too indebted to the sounds of the past to truly signify in the present. [Aug 2002, p.114]

No matter how much Lenny plays it hard, there isn't that much difference between his ballads and his rock moves. [Dec 2001, p.151]

Beneath all that veneer, the band sticks to its guns. [Jan 2002, p.105]

They're Old Schooled enough to ace history, but the science they drop is strictly C+. [Sep 2004, p.120]

Straining to prove something to the haters, the Ring flee from their strengths, trading enthusiastic bash-and-pop for slow songs as soggy as deep cuts from a Train album. [May 2002, p.115]

No World For Tomorrow should ensure that 21-year-old dudes in women's jeans will gooble up reissues of "2112" for years to come. [Nov 2007, p.116]

For simian disco, electro-pop remixes by DFA and Hot Chip stand out amid Disc 2's uneven DJ fodder. [Jan 2008, p.98]

Now 22, she's full-on pissy and proud, pulling from some reliable forebears on this fascinating follow-up.

The tagets haven't changed much, and Bad Religion still hits them hard. [Aug 2007, p.98]

Lorde’s least vital project by several leagues. There’s just very little magic here. The album lilts and meanders across 12 tracks, wholly avoiding the incendiary electronic percussion of past releases. ... Fewer drum machines would be fine if the tunes were particularly engaging, but the album’s general sense of self-satisfaction all but screams no pressure, friends, check this out when you get around to it. The lax style is no accident, of course. Lorde is a deft songwriter.

Songs like "Fast Cars"... are gregarious, just like the beats, which are playful where Bazooka was ponderous. [Mar 2005, p.85]

NY's Finest has everything you'd expect from this legendary producer. [Mar 2008, p.108]

In dialing down the pomp of Belong and the fuzz of their debut, the Pains discover something that transcends mere buzz: an ageless indie pop sound that could last them for years to come.

Much like Bon Iver's output, Range of Light delivers a set of songs with a fixed sense of place and a nostalgic sense of time.

His neoclassical melodies feel warm and full of blood, his keyboards weep where others bleep, and he puts so much skillful passion into female vocal showcasing that the tracks on his solo debut are consumed by a yearning for companionship that's only shaken momentarily.

Trading obscure metaphors for assertive personae, Amos sings with a remarkably forceful focus. [Jun 2007, p.92]

It's easy to miss the bright counterweight that has kept his old-soul melancholy afloat in the past. [Sep 2006, p.100]

They still make totally successful, totally stupid modern rock anthems pumped up on three-chord riffs, an abiding love of the sci-fi sex-kitten archetype and a separate track for handclaps.

Only a snob could hate these 11 songs, which wear their bright, adrenalized grooves, lucid melodies, and arena-ready choruses the way the Hi-Fi boys wear their vintage Poison T-shirts: proudly and without a shred of irony. [Mar 2003, p.119]

Beneath the glitzy production, the songwriting lacks luster--catchier tunes like 'Daniel' and 'Dem Girls' offer jaunty bouts of melodicism, but the vast majority of this elegant Brit jangle feels a bit recycled.

Stripped of cheap but effective lo-fi tricks, Mysterious Phonk is meandering and moronic.

Changing Horses' Americana journey is hardly inventive, but Kweller's boyish charm and quirky songwriting keep it more promising than predictable.

Mostly, though, they demonstrate that pop trumps piety.

Ferry embraces these Dylan classics... with undiluted sincerity, gently remodeling the barbed lyrics into graceful modern art. [Jul 2007, p.96]