Though Bonfires' pacing is erratic, the band keeps winsome romance close.

Scorpion is stronger when Drake stops narrating the circumstances of his own life and simply writes more of the breezy, cocksure songs that seem to come so effortlessly to him.

A sideways step in the right direction. [Nov 2006, p.97]

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

Misfires aside, it’s tough to dispute that although Born in the Echoes may not be a great album, it is generally a competent one.

You'll find [it] either icky or inspirational. [Jul 2006, p.83]

Blends the furious muscle of 2001's God Hates Us All with the more melodic experimentation of their post-Reign work. [Sep 2006, p.112]

The Glass Passenger, the group's second album, chronicles McMahon's successful battle against leukemia, matching hyperemotional melodies with his tender voice on dramatic tracks.

The group's final album (they broke up in October) still punches like a champ, with sharp bursts of intelligent energy.

The fusion is sweet yet corny... and occasionally it's just baffling. [Aug 2001, p.132]

Sometimes the album sounds backward when it isn't. Rarely does it sound like one person squeaking out notes in succession--more like a bunch of dudes filling a tape with improvisations, rewinding to the cool parts and haranguing some hapless studio engineer to razorblade it all together.

French actress Charlotte Gainsbourg's voice is small and unaffected (a stage whisper, indeed), but Beck, her producer-songwriter for 2010's celebrated IRM, tends toward the opposite extreme.

Cherry Bomb is both impressive in its ambition and absolutely stunning in its aimlessness, weaving countless genres into multi-part suites but still coming off undercooked in its entirety.

Working in Tennessee glides along on its Bakersfield groove with the greatest of ease, despite the album's title.

Barroom confessions that are more soulful, if somewhat less tuneful, than her day band's. [Sep 2006, p.106]

The best parts of this boy-girl duo's second album sound like some obscure '50s act, the kind that ought to list "reverb" as a band member.

It is an acceptable listen--on par with the Kills’ previous record, 2011’s Blood Pressures--but your best hope for enjoying it is to manage your expectations.

It's not White Blood Cells or Icky Thump, but at least they no longer sound like they're producing records in a Black Keys factory.

He's already sophisticated enough to paste lines about real heartbreak onto chunky, melodic beats ("True Story"), then turn around and be an equally passionate goofball ("Getting Dumb"). Leaning toward the latter could make him a star outside the backpack circuit.

Gradually, he surfaces along with the band's worldly identity, but the sentiments behind the histrionic symphonics often remain obscured, and the band's desperation lacks focus.

He’s not really in a fun mood, and the music follows. The lushness has diminished, and the work evokes increasing comparisons to ‘70s singer-songwriters like Randy Newman and Harry Nilsson, who hid their acidic commentary within sturdy pop structures.

Here, tunes about racism, consumer culture, and the evils of TV hit their marks, then hit them again and again and again.

Revivalist? Sure, but this refreshing, smarter side of the late '80s has yet to be co-opted into a hipster fashion show.

Size's fuzzy, string-laden bass bombs seem a tad sober. [Dec 2002, p.141]

Hooks are typically meant to stick, and after the infectious opening tracks, very little of Barter 6 does.

The sound is too slick by half, but Craig Finn's rhymes still resonate.

Bellowing hoarsely while ivories tinkle and muted guitars gently twang, he comes across like a scenery-chewing Method actor marooned in a stoic Ingmar Bergman flick.

Add some beatboxing courtesy of Tom Waits (!), and you have an occasionally forced, yet boldly magnetic change of pace. [May 2008, p.94]