The result is less an uncommonly danceable indie-rap disc than it is an uncommonly thoughtful groove album. [May 2008, p.100]

AFI may not be breaking new ground, but they never forget who listens hardest.

In 2018, as it becomes more pressing than ever for artists to use their platforms to speak out, Love Is Dead pursues clarity, both in production and politics, with mixed results.

This folkie indie-pop band doesn't slam you with hooks on its fourth album--everything is catchy in a modest, reasonable way.

The harder the music hammers, the flatter the lyrics get. The more the band holds back, the stronger the songs become. Consequently, there's half of a great album here. [May 2007, p.83]

Admire feels oddly reined in, a transitional record by a band not yet willing to completely let go of the past.

It's rarely as lively as 2007's Last Light, but the interplay of organ, cello, and acoustic guitar on "Brooklyn Fawn" has a genuinely comforting warmth.

They're never slavish imitators, and when they goose the velocity--those comparisons gradually fade into classic, shimmery guitar pop. [Nov 2008, p.88]

More stompers like "White Night" and "123 Stop," bubblegum throwbacks with a Wilson Pickett kick, would be welcome.

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.

More danceable (and vulgar) than previous releases.

Here, [Califone] take a straighter path on their seventh album... but with the same basic ingredients. [Nov 2006, p.97]

It's not the conceptul masterpiece he was clearly hoping for, but there are moments of transcendence just the same. [Nov 2008, p.89]

On the follow-up to 2007's terrific Neptune City, Atkins trades that album's lush torch-song vibe for scrappier indie-garage arrangements that drain much of the drama and romance from her music.

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]

For their previous temporary-reunion album, 2003's Strays, these dark alt gods created a superslick din seemingly designed for radio, but definitely not your heart.

Audio, Video, Disco teeters on the edge of self-mockery, not an unfamiliar position for Justice.

Tom Rowlands and Ed Simons continue to smear psychedelic synth cheese and stereophonic airplane noises over chewy grooves that veer closer and closer to straight disco.

Though the title hints at darker turns, the album never steps out of the glare.

It’s a confusing but enjoyable record that sidesteps the rap hand-wringing and telegraphed weirdness of the drama surrounding Yachty.

The Brooklyn siblings forgo their 2007 album’s rock star cameos (Karen O, Gibby Haynes, Fred Schneider) and funnel their adolescent aggravations into nippy punk rousers, where closet monsters and rich kids alike get served a scuzzy skewering.

On his Rhymesayers debut, Philly's bearded battle rhymer gets consistently meaty beats from producer Jake One, whose soul-stirring tracks perfectly match Freeway's energetic musicality on breathless anthems such as "Know What I Mean." Problem is, proclamations that he's "about to bring that '98 hip-hop back" gradually unravel into bizarrely dated dismissals of other rappers.

Tricky reengages with his pain that gave him his original power. [Sep 2008, p.128]

Even as Intimacy gets sonically or lyrically precarious--'Zephyrus' recalls 'Jesus Walks,' for Christ's sake--it does so while reaching hard toward something exhilarating.

Her vamping can't touch their steamy-windowed originals.

It's sad to see the rocker side that Lynne has unveiled in her live sets turned into histrionic failures like "Trust Me," "Star Broker," and "Jesus On A Greyhound." [Dec 2001, p.154]

Philippe Zdar handles most vocals, sneering through the propulsive dance-punk single 'Toop Toop' but failing to sustain the drones that dominate this overlong disc's second half.

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.