The sound misses the arenarific pump of 1999's Redd Kross-produced Get Skintight, and with that album's move from junk-punk to semi-pro metal now complete, the talent gap in the group has started to glare. [2/2001, p.108]

Minekawa doesn't just get by on riding kitschy gimmicks and trends: anything but bubblegum pop or cute rock, her latest, Maxi On, is a deliberate, understated effort that works below the surface with fragile electronic arrangements and delicate noise collages.

From the stark bass-thump to the low-riding pacing, from Erick Sermon's blaxploitative strings on "Double Time" to Dre's tinny march on "X," the tracks complement his tales of 'hood trivia. [2/2001, p.107]

It's a kick to hear them hoist the MC5's "Kick Out The Jams" as a sexy freak flag and drop an honest-to-God fresh conga break into Afrika Bambaataa's "Renegades of Funk." [2/2001, p.106]

Fully in charge on The W, RZA ditches the longeurs of Forever, borrows some adrenaline from Ghostface Killah's relentless Supreme Clientele, forsakes the Alesis drum machine, and returns to the crates to make the dirty, inexplicable music Wu fans want. [2/2001, p.106]

Apparently, this American movie is the story of the predatory woman who comes to your house, whaps the crap out of you, and makes you play the same song over and over again. [2/2001, p.107]

"Original Prankster" is one hell of a rump-shaker... the rest of Conspiracy buzzes from skate metal to Ozzed-up pop to Chili-peppered funk-punk to Billy Squirey sleaze-core. [Jan 2001, p.113]

Lovers Rock is an airy album, demo-like in its simplicity. It has none of the agression of a "comeback." In fact, Sade has never put out anything quite so ephemeral. [Jan 2001, p.114]

With nothing fresh to moan about, it's like a seventh James Bond movie without any new gadgets. [12/2000, p.223]

A post-masterpiece puzzler where the kicks just keep getting harder to find, spread-eagle between pop limitations and artistic aspirations. [12/2000, p.214]

On this speedy live best-of, loads of smirky, self-deprecating one-liners about boobies, boners, and crooked wieners can't conceal the music's winning wistfulness. [12/2000, p.222]

Call it the happy aftermath of a midlife crisis. U2 is relaxing, reasserting some beliefs critics love to shove back in their face--most importantly, that uplifing art is not necessarily dumb. [12/2000, p.233]

Harvey is the strange case for whom a return to straight guitar-bass-drums is risky--it might be mistaken for mere rock. But she has no mere in her. [12/2000, p.215]

Roni Size and Reprazent come back so fast and furious on In the Mode that their record sounds less like a jungle reinvention than a call to arms. [Nov. 2000, p.207]

A far more sonically consistent and textured work, cushioned in Americana, drenched in soul.... But there's no urgency to this album, which stops looking out at the world and settles in for some serious celebrity navel-gazing. [Nov 2000, p.195]

The sound is now clearer than on either predecessor; the rapping likewise. And here come Jane's Addiction and the Smashing Pumpkins--this is a slicker, grander record than Significant Other. [Jan 2001, p.112]

They're an American band that sound like British Francophiles, right down to the pip-pip accent in leader Jay Gordon's Gary Numan pout. [12/2000, p.223]

With such a steady-rocking formula, the record loses from repetition (and occasional knuckleheadedness) but gains mightily from shaking the groove with rhythm switches and guest voices. [Nov. 2000, p.203]

Nothing ventures beyond the tunefully middle-of-the-road, nor does any song manage the effortless historicity of good album rock. [Nov. 2000, p.206]

A collection of workmanlike whimsy... [12/2000, p.225]

Gough's dewy little tunes are mere scribblings in the margins of alt-folk's dog-eared hook-book, while his too-cool-to-care singing is drip-dry dreary. [12/2000, p.232]

Radiohead have completely immersed themselves in the studio-as-instrument--signal processing, radical stereo separation, and other antinaturalistic techniques. Even the precious Guitars--saturated with effects and gaseous with sustain--resemble natural phenomena rather than power chords or lead lines. Essentially, this is a post-rock record.... Kid A is not only Radiohead's bravest album but its best one as well. [Oct 2000, p.172]

By design, the band doesn't rock as hard as it used to. Doesn't punk as hard as it used to, either. [12/2000, p.215]

Music tailor-made for the world's hippest elevators. [Nov. 2000, p.200]

His remix of Azzido Da Bass's "Dooms Night" was the big hit, but really, it could have been any of these unpretentious but hardly brain-dead tracks. [1/2001, p.119]

While Gap is tougher and more fun than 1998's bland debut, Behind the Front, the Peas just aren't that good. [Nov. 2000, p.209]

The human element is a diva parade that skates by like Lilith Fair on (dry) ice: opera-lite from Jan Johnston, squishy spiritualism from Dead Can Dance, the dread Sarah McLachlan belting the coda of DJ Tiesto's remix of Delerium's "The Silence." [Jan 2001, p.118]

The Harsh Light of Day is being sold as a Great Album, which means ubersongcraft, which means the Beatles, and keep that pedigree coming. [Oct 2000, p.173]

Nelson makes his competition sound like thin parodies... he burns the melody down to ashes, never letting a howl do what a moan can do better. [Nov. 2000, p.208]

The first Madonna record in years that feels as effortless as the dance-pop of her Ciccone youth. [Oct 2000, p.173]

Selmasongs becomes a deeper listen after you've seen Dancer In The Dark.... But even without its proper context, the album is evidence of Bjork's unstoppable growth. [Nov. 2000, p.197]

May be Photek's best record yet. [Nov. 2000, p.206]

Buying the latests CD from a novelty act is like sitting on the same whoopee cushion twice. [Oct 2000, p.180]

Despite some bold, funkdafied grunting, it never really gets up off the downstroke... the bar-band bluster only blunts her individualism, making for music that's less Take Back the Night than the Night Belongs to Michelob. [Oct 2000, p.184]

Mud-footed trip-hop production... [Nov. 2000, p.208]

Hyacinths and Thistles is not even a 6th as good as Wasps' Nests.... these vocalists have two things in common: a cold demeanor and a predilection for high drama.

A record that's at once stark and lush... Mojave 3 makes sadsack rock of the first order, flying over the lives of the hopeless in such a way as to make their failures cinematic, their pains panoramic.

Tokyo psych-folk mystics Ghost add lavish accompaniment that lures these tiny, opining songs out of the bedroom. [Oct 2000, p.184]

The sound may be five years old, but Essence's insistence that jungle left something valuable behind back in '95 is a major part of its appeal. [Sept. 2000]

Each of her previous three records has its charms... The Green World is no exception. [Oct. 2000, p.182]

By the time one gets to the final track, a head-scratching take on Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here," the overall effect is a decidedly uncomfortable numbness.

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.

He fumbles the obligatory Canibus dis, and the self-aggrandizing title track, deftly strewn with fuzz-bass by London junglist Adam F, is mishandled by a don who's now too staid to come correct. [Oct. 2000, p.180]

The production, supplied by stellar guests ranging from Jay Dee and Rockwilder to the Plugs themselves, is clean and airy, with the boys floating on bubbles of flatulent bass and high-stepping over chirping guitar chords.... But if anything foils Art Official Intelligence, it's the wrath of the math: 11 of the album's 17 tracks feature guest appearances.

Fragments' gives us vacuous, "you go girl" funk that bites Michael Jackson and Grandmaster Flash without either of them biting back.

A rousing, enjoyable pastiche from start to finish, Thirteen Tales is an awful lot of fun...

Rancid is a roots record, scouring off any glossy residue left from the Alternative '90's by returning to pure punk... [Nov. 2000, p.209]

But it's not Eve 6's purely commercial aspirations that makes them so horrid...

Holmes' Bow Down breaks from the elegant flow-noir of his previous platters by spinning luridly out of control. [12/2000, p.220]

764-Hero faithfully, almost methodically practices the dying art of melodic rock songs with no particular point to them.

It's unfortunate, then, that most of Vol.1 winds up sounding like rejected Aerosmith ballads. Which is to say, epic, overproduced anthems made to accompany Ben Affleck anthropomorphizing animal crackers on Liv Tyler's stomach.

A grand, sweeping album of heavenly melodies and rich, full textures.

But it's like the guitars have had their teeth fixed and bleached, like a extremely loud Colgate commercial.

Far and away Deftones' most daring and impassioned work to date.

For such a propulsive controversy-magnet, her new album is awfully toothless and indistinct.

The Moon and Antarctica does show Modest Mouse willing to change. Too bad it wasn't for the better.... Mistaking subject for style, Modest Mouse has chosen to accentuate on a tendency to drift rather than an ability to write emotionally effective songs.

Puzzle gels the Kinks/Beatles sound the group obviously adores with something less dusty. Think the Sea and Cake playing with the Stone Roses. Or a chartier Belle and Sebastian.

Every twinkling ambient moment is remarkably humane.

Continues their quest for idyllic listlessness, setting claustrophobic love-sucks songs to shy bedroom beats that are always passing (out) into ambient ether. [Sep 2000, p.189]

A distinctively dark, insinuating aesthetic of measured instrumentation and abstract lyrics. Rather than sinking all its resources in squalls of feedback and distortion, the band diversifies its portfolio by adding canny production tricks and keyboard noodling to its impressive resumé of guitar innovations.

The record's nuances are divulged in layers and folds, through a latticework of instrumentation and, shockingly, some uncommonly good songwriting by band members other than Stuart Murdoch.

Vol. II may lack the celebratory tone of its instantly gripping predecessor, but this trip through Guthrie's more tormented thoughts finds Bragg and Wilco yet again forging gold with their musical alchemy.

Each song isn't particularly interesting or life-changing, but, damn, if every one of them doesn't boast a hook that sticks in your head until you're humming "We Wish You A Merry Christmas" just to exorcise it. For better or worse, this is talented songwriting...

Funny how so much controversy can spring up over an album that is, musically, not all that noteworthy.... what could have been a brilliant statement, instead elevates Eminem to the rarified air of true platinum rappers: ie, those that drop outstanding rhymes over frustratingly mediocre beats.

So, it hurts to say it, but the duo's newest collection, Communicate, isn't that great. And the problem is simple: the flow is screwy.... the album, while not without a few stellar moments, is ultimately a let-down.

XTC proudly displays its roots while subsuming them into a larger sound, one that is wholly their own.

ESG's DIY tracks have a raw, unfinished feel--echo-drenched vocals buried deep in the mix, jagged hen-scratch guitar, taut bass lines as infectious as mononucleosis, and reverberating layers of percussion... The group's 1981 debut single, "Moody"... is one of the funkiest songs ever recorded. [Sep 2000, p.181]

If there's an ounce of you that's ever been keen on Pearl Jam, or even if you've never bothered, grab a pair of headphones and let Binaural pummel and soak into you, and relax about it.

A science fiction romance dedicated to the triumphs and disappointments of the modern world, the Geometrid has all the D.I.Y beats and endearing loops of Looper's first record, Up A Tree. This time around, though, Looper take the grade-school storytelling groove of that record and retool it space-age stylee.

Despite the signs of sonic evolution, All Hands is mostly cut from the same cloth as its predecessors, with the record's heat generated from the braiding of lead singer Tucker's histrionic vocals and Brownstein's deadpan backup and everywhere-at-once guitar.

A soundtrack nuanced enough for the rippling wit of Mann's lyrics.... These songs are layered and soft-spoken, to be sure, but also confident and rewarding of multiple listens. They are the sound of Aimee Mann growing as a songwriter. Yet the album also features the sound of Aimee Mann grousing about being a songwriter.

Ween are still perved to the core.

For the first half of the album, this tested formula works as well as ever.... Moone runs out of flavor, however, when the Apples trade colorful and ebullient for derivative and listless.

The record is not a disappointment, it's a progression.

Almost every musical style imaginable is crushed into this three-and-a-half minute, something-for-everyone product... But No Doubt's newfound introspection is a tad hard to swallow-

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

The music, particularly Lenny Kaye's guitars, can be both gritty and lush, but it mainly functions to uplift the words and hold them closer to the ears. The problem here is that Patti's got our attention but her couplets are too often second-rate.

Is it essential? Absolutely. With only a guitar or piano, and a voice that is developing into one of the most expressive in rock, Marshall crafts deeply textured explorations of heartache, terror, longing, dismay, and emotions I'm pretty sure I've not found yet.... Rock will see few finer releases this year.

Interesting as these personal/lyrical developments may be, overall the latest round of self-therapy just isn't quite as tuneful as previous ones.

It's synthesized, as expected, but not in a new wave way. Organs breathe a heavy, gloomy sigh through 13 tracks... It's beautiful and I'm sold.

Confused and lapsed Pumpkins fans have reasons to rejoice... this is a necessary, welcome return. Unfortunately, MACHINA does linger a bit too long on the softer side of things. But every time the tempo veers towards screeching to a halt, there's a well-timed boost of adrenal sound.

Unfortunately, timelessness does not always equate with flawlessness.... it is all a little too pristine and sanitized for someone's protection...

Instead of the pleasing pop potpourri of their last album... the 13 songs on And Then Nothing . . . flow together subtly, all texture, mood and shade.... Yo La Tengo's tenth collection of warm, tiny songs is by far the finest in their careers...

Bloodflowers smartly pulls up the weeds and cleans a bed for mid-life flowers akin to Leonard Cohen's I'm Your Man or Dylan's Time Out of Mind, though it doesn't reach the creative heights of those albums.

A near-masterpiece of magical sounds that are both familiar and wildly new, a stunning blend of classic Americana and classical orchestration.

From the albums start the band's signature "low rock" sound is evident. But impressively so are a variety of new sounds, from female backing singers to the inclusion of such non traditional Morphine elements as violin, grand piano and acoustic guitar....on many levels "The Night" is a success...