Drum and guitar free, with stark string orchestration, this imaginatively selected and sequenced collection achieves such a haunting consistency of tone that its spell lingers long after the speakers fall silent.

An impressive balancing act that name-checks Ween and cracks wise about Stevie Wonder's vision while spinning bighearted melodies and harmonies over quirky beatscapes. [Jan 2005, p.89]

Every sweetly conflicted track sounds almost exactly the same, but his perverse playfulness makes that limitation almost feel like liberation.

Even with the occasional middling moments, it's hard to deny the band's clever, boisterous spirit. [May 2007, p.86]

There aren't any plinking pianos or Hollywood strings, but the music still goes big the way we've grown to expect from Green Day.

The album's guitar- and keyboard-heavy production obscures some of his folky Britpop melodies, but it shows off his Bruuuce heart in a big way. [Oct 2006, p.105]

The Adventures of Bobby Ray is a hip-hop Scary Movie, tossing off references (Vampire Weekend sample, Rivers Cuomo cameo) while struggling to establish a distinctive identity.

Overreaches. [Jul 2006, p.88]

Snowflake Midnight ranges widely, from synth-heavy orchestration to film-score dramarama. And between those ambient bookends, there's virtually no filler.

The problem with the fantasy of a major Khaled Album though, is that, like a summer blockbuster, Major Key is too front-loaded.

Herren's stream of consciousness favors laptop techniques and restless exploration, and the results are Ampexian's modestly satisfying minute-long grooves, which seemingly end as soon as they get started.

That penchant for swollen, cathedral­size arrangements--particularly on Coldplay­like cuts 'Late of Camera' and 'In a Look'--is a weakness, but hopefully, Enigk will learn to shake it off in favor of leaner renditions of his winning, winsome tunes.

The result may be the year's heaviest, creepiest, and sexiest hard-rock group effort. [Oct 2007, p.104]

Gibbard’s downcast verses keep Kintsugi all too safely anchored and docked.

It does eventually resolve into "I Heard You Say," a dash of wintry Mamas and Papas pop. Sadly, the trio regresses from there, simply shining up versions of the same old loose, punky love songs they've been hawking for years.

Thanks to Supergrass' long-standing dedication to the well-placed smirk, they never succumb to sappiness. [Apr 2008, p.100]

Stepping out solo, the energetic multi-instrumentalist--assisted by guests including Dresden Dolls' Brian Viglione--does fine when he keeps things forceful. But when Nicolay decelerates, his weaknesses (cheesy croon, misguided piano) emerge, resulting in over-earnest, loungey balladeering.

Though this is a flawed and scattershot project, Wayne remains an artist who makes music like a patissier--his songs are frivolous, delicious, and meant to be relished for just a moment.

Their biggest asset, though, is singer Hayley Williams, an 18-year-old siren with a killer fashion sense and an undeniable knack for writing contemplative love songs.

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]

An album sanded with sad humor and a return to old loves. [Mar 2004, p.96]

On their second album, this Aussie duo's buzzy guitar pop is more hyper and gripping than ever, as she breathlessly spews dramatic tales that have the immediacy of crazed Twitter posts.

Lush, slo-mo, and mildly psychedelic. [Jul 2007, p.102]

Most of these ten tracks, though, make Jason Mraz sound daring.

In most of these dozen tracks (not including a ponderous intro regarding the necessity of risk and a slow-jam sequel to Jay-Z's "Empire State of Mind") Keys seems uninterested in breaking new ground, snooze-controlling her way through a series of familiar piano-soul platitude.

When the hooks of their surprisingly humble songcraft dull, Dale Earnhardt Jr. Jr. are mostly a spanglier version of the Spoon-fed types that flooded the Internet with serviceable but risk-free indie rock in the mid-2000s.

Though he inexplicably apes Slayer once again ('I'm Alright'), the tempered ingenuity is an encouraging turn.

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