It's a lovely place that Soft Will fashions here, but it sounds hesitant about pulling you in, perhaps because its creators are secretly concerned that you'll realize you aren't really going anywhere.

Polishing the snappy pop of their 2008 debut, the Philadelphia-based trio crafts thoughtful tunes about relationship angst and introspective wandering, though it's often hard to get past drummer Jesse Kristin's fidgety beats and Ben Thornewill's hyperactive piano.

The debut album from G-Unit producer Jacob "Jake One" Dutton plays like a crowd- pleasing beat reel for future employers.

It's wittier than it is moving or insightful, but give McGuinness time.

Though Crosswords’ lackadaisical pleasantness is by no means offensive, there’s no compelling reason for this EP to exist.

Food & Liquor II is fine and good. It's just not The Great American Rap Album.

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.

Gibb... is the seamy, sex-fueled yang to the ascetic yin of the Magnetic Fields' Stephin Merritt. [Oct 2006, p.98]

[Patterson Hood] cedes too much of the spotlight to competent but less distinctive mates Mike Cooley and Shonna Tucker. [Feb 2008, p.92]

The Ruffinas are far better the less seriously they take themselves. [Mar 2008, p.97]

[It] succeeds best when it shakes off the doldrums. [Jun 2007, p.92]

The vintage makeover suits them well. [Oct 2007, p.100]

Each track bleeds into the next with seamless precision, borrowing each other's fantastical effects from both mid-century analog plug-ins and modern digital tricks.

It’s understandable that Joanne finds Gaga performing authenticity, if only because it’s the strongest way to convey artistic evolution to the masses in 2016. The image here--the illusion, really--is as imperfect as it is meticulously rendered.

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).

Rae Sremmurd are at their best when they're doing what they want, rather than eschewing their oddities in favor of radio-friendly hooks ("Safe Sex") or buzzword phrasing.

Many emotions clearly still linger, but as a songwriter, he seems to lack the desire that he once had to simply be sincere. [Feb 2008, p.95]

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.

Bad Witch, like its two predecessors, contains glints of exploration tempered by maturity and consistency. ... It’s a strangely tentative gesture from an artist who made his name as a longform auteur.

At his best, he sounds like he's sweating it out in a kitchen with flypaper dangling from the ceiling. But on The Appeal, he could be anywhere.

Thing of the Past contains no original songs (although it's unlikely that anyone without a nasty crate-digging habit will recognize most of these tracks), but Vetiver are awfully well suited to the material, and Cabic's vocals--sweet, smooth, and golden--shine.

Rain in England, a therapy-session testimony that sounds like Soulja Boy having a Damascus moment in the champagne room over a beatless synth tide--is his least accessible.

[The songs] sound like woozy shanties for seasick barflies. [Nov 2006, p.100]

Both the album’s most grating and gratifying moments sound like they could’ve emanated from a Hot Topic 15 years ago. There’s danger in that nostalgia, but when it’s good, it’s great. It’s a decidedly uncool record from a band that’s long since stopped caring about these things.

The Thrills have matured into pretty crafty tunesmiths. [Nov 2007, p.125]

Not since U2 built an Atomic Bomb has one band tried so hard to turn each track into a breahless epic. [Feb 2007, p.84]

Guitar-less but heavy on the organ, sax, and hands-to-the-heavens claps, this home-recorded debut swings like demos of actual '60s hits. Lyrically, it's less finessed.

While his whispery vocals work well amid the woozy atmospherics of 'Strong Animal' and 'Three Months Paid,' it's a shame someone else can't sing Raposa's dour, sketchy tunes. [Dec 2007, p.112]