Singer Michael Vidal owns his gloominess and the band delivers arrangements that are plenty tricky, but their arty '80s excavation rarely finds the gooey, glittering choruses that would truly elevate their stylistic shift.

Effectively reinventing their sound with these glooomy anthems, Booka Shade should still rock the superclubs with ease. But some may miss the clever duo known for the carefree pulse of singles. [July 2008, p.94]

His music is also a hodgepodge: square sax-rock, Motown, bongo-heavy folk ballads, and sunshine pop, all tinted by Shin's guitar, which is alternately savage and buttoned-up.

While 2005's Fear of a Black Tangent was a hilarious, merciless evisceration of rap hypocrisy from the bottom up, he's now trying to address the wider world. [Feb 2007, p.82]

The album's finest moment comes on an aching version of Ray Davies' 'I Go to Sleep' that improves on the original (and the Pretenders' cover) by rendering it as a slow-motion, piano-splashed lament.

Unlike When I Was Born, which made similar pileups sound subversive, Handcream often feels mapless. [May 2002, p.122]

Buddy Miller pares down the arrangements and Moorer relaxes, allowing her dark, sultry voice to simmer. [Mar 2008, p.106]

Minor Love still packs some Jonathan Richman–esque quirk, as Green croons in a Lou Reed deadpan about goblins, flatulence, and other concerns over solidly constructed lo-fi tunes.

The goofier aspects of his earlier work are missed here, as are his usual naturalistic beats, which have been replaced by squelching, ominously snaky G-funk.

[John Gourley's] thin, inexpressive singing and gloopy lyrics lack the mumbo-jumbo grandeur of Marc Bolan, an obvious influence.

Somehow, these constant flourishes enhance, rather than obscure, the disc's plentiful catchy bits, giving Person Pitch a resonant, off-kilter charm. [Apr 2007, p.93]

Hills and Valleys, their third studio album since reuniting in the late '90s, holds zero surprises--mixing Tex-Mex bounce, outlaw twang, and folkie sincerity--but it feels utterly right, like your favorite greasy meal at the local diner.

Mostly, though, they demonstrate that pop trumps piety.

To most listeners, though, Through the Devil Softly will simply function as a collection of breathily perfect lullabies.

For now, we’re left with a deeply imperfect and too-often derivative album that is not without its charms, but won’t exactly help form the connection with the average listener that Halsey long ago established with her core fanbase.

Despite the occasional mosh-pit flare-up, though, Taking Back Sunday emphasizes the band's crafty songwriting rather than the psychological intensity that defined Tell All Your Friends.

Brace the Wave doesn’t really crest above Barlow’s torrential output, it’s just another pre-frayed entry in a catalog of scratchy home recordings.

His songs get to where they need to go, but they’re lacking in narrative, specificity... purpose, if you will.

Like the good postmodern thrashers they are, Gojira blend blast beats ('Adoration for None'), sludge stomp ('Yama's Messengers'), and death-and-doom riff spirals (take your pick) with unexpected quirks, like the solid minute of stick taps that open 'The Art of Dying' and the math rock of 'Toxic Garbage Island.'

These tunes dig deeper than the musings of, say, Michelle Branch, but none are groundbreaking or revealing enough to suggest that Pink has learned to navigate the space between fluffy and toughie. [Jan 2002, p.108]

On Happiness Ltd., they admirably mess with success, loading up their spastic, skinny-tie ditties with epic heft. [Oct 2007, p.104]

E6 can't quite keep it up throughout, though they still sound delighted to mess with sounds both full-throttle ('You're Bored') and loungey ('My Idea of Fun').

As over the top as all this can be, Amputechture has little of the thrash influence that's made modern prog so deadening, and the impenetrable lyrics... are easily overlooked. [Sep 2006, p.104]

It's gleefully cheeky, but a little safe. [Oct 2007, p.96]

The vocals can still dilate your pupils, but her melodies (on "Ruler," "The Package Is Wrapped") deserve equal attention, as Stern bids to become one of the few finger-tappers who's also a songwriter.

The duo's tinny new-wave pop is spot-on. [May 2008, p.104]

Sounds of the Universe comes on a bit softer, with less industrial guitar clang and more of chief songwriter Martin Gore's dreamy atmospherics.