The song choices aren’t a deep excavation from the quicksand of their record collection (“Friday I’m in Love,” “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry”), and the uniform decision to do these all in a clean format with brushed percussion and campfire acoustics is exactly what one would presume from an all-covers venture.

It's reliably beautiful, if staid. [Dec 2007, p.124]

Fifth Harmony’s talents do get their shine in spots of this front-loaded hodgepodge.

It's far from an implosion, far from spectacular.

Here, they deliver the sort of mid-tempo, orch-pop fussiness that they'd been praised for transcending.

Now even Gary Powell’s drums can’t give these sodden valentines the right kick.... The best Anthems recall a time when Doherty and Barât could still tickle each other.

While Decemberunderground sounds terrific, at times Havok's dear-diary lyrics are so awkward they're almost laughable. [Jul 2006, p.81]

It's a given that Gutter, like the ex-Pulp sideman's five previous shimmering, sepia-toned solo albums, has moments of heartbreaking beauty. Too bad those moments are outnumbered by a reliance on secondhand lyrical conceits (songbirds, shipwrecks) and drifting arrangements.

On the good side, there’s the spacey disco-funk of “Palace of the Governors” and “Begin Countdown.” Describing Deerhoof songs frequently forces you to invent delirious fictional bands to compare them to; the latter of these two sounds like the Meters as covered by an ensemble of Teletubbies. On a handful of songs that litter the album’s second half, however–”Sea Moves,” “Singalong Junk,” “Kokoye”--the band searches at its borders for a new sound to bring back and doesn’t find anything very interesting.

While Jones' confidence as an MC has grown, his talent still lies more with songs of the streets than with songs of the sheets.

Mostly wordless and free of Birgisson's trademark rapturous build-and-release, Riceboy Sleeps is more ideally suited for yoga poses or total headphone absorption.

If you've ever fantasized about Vedder singing you, or your kids, to sleep, consider your wish fulfilled.

At times, the results are a bit aimless; even a cute kids' chorus can't save "My Generation" from Joss Stone's wailing or Lil Wayne's awkward motivational turn. When the two principles catch a groove, though, it's impressive.

Earlimart's sixth full-length doesn't break new ground -- those Elliott Smith comparisons will keep on coming -- or approach the sublime sexiness of fellow Los Angelenos Rilo Kiley. But it's an undeniably solid set of droney hooks.

The thrills come when he jumps off the cross and gets on the dance floor. [Nov 2001, p.129]

No instant classics... but the productions remain fresh, hype, and kaleidoscopic. [Oct 2006, p.94]

They're all pretty good, actually, especially "When It's Over"... [Aug 2001, p.129]

It features another ten songs of standard Pollard-isms--vaguely British, Robyn Hitchcock–esque vocals warped by reverb and Echoplex mazes; surrealistic, first-thought-next-thought lyrics; sudden loud crunches of lo-fi guitar; and melodies that soar but never quite achieve the permanence of his best work.

Trent Reznor's dark symphonies of clank succeed when their bleakness is broken by moments of humanity or hilarity, both of which come from the Nine Inch Nails mastermind's serrated scream. But when Reznor's haunted-spaceship beats combine with the seductive coo of former West Indian Girl vocalist Mariqueen Mandig (his wife) on the trio's debut EP, the results too often suggest a plodding, Matrix-style soundtrack.

The Odd Couple is basically a more refined "St. Elsewhere," without the rap aberrations or goofy covers that made the debut such a wild, bumpy ride. [Apr 2008, p.91]

Rausch’s ambitious structure is an incomplete but laudable step forward. If Narkopop was a belated capstone on the first era of Gas, Rausch might be the first real statement of a coming second phase. And its status as second-tier Voigt doesn’t necessarily portend dire things to come.

His fourth album is a buzzing, overblown concept piece about psychic warfare, in which sheer force of will conquers icky stuff like depression and homophobia.

This is oval-shaped music, circling around the tracks; it’s accomplished, but not particularly infectious.

Songs of Experience, clicks into place more boldly than Songs of Innocence did three years ago. Tempos are alert, riffs punchy, melodies sharp. ... It’s also too bad the album’s second half gets stuck in pensive midtempo mode and never recovers.

Kensington Heights is a mixed bag of aesthetically correct placeholders. [May 2008, p[.98]

Rather than go fierce, Kid Sis has gone house, crafting a debut that's high on her Chicago hometown's pulsating synthetic beats and '80s freestyle reinventions, but low on chiseled rhymes. Move along; no savior to see here.

By design, the band doesn't rock as hard as it used to. Doesn't punk as hard as it used to, either. [12/2000, p.215]

He finally gives his dark, dense instrumentals room to breathe on his fifth album. [Sep 2007, p.136]