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]