Real to Reel is otherwise lacking in the kind of tension that's required to produce an album that's more than the sum of its talented parts.

Editors have acquired a sense of urgency and emotion they lacked on "The Back Room." [Aug 2007, p.98]

Crossing the garage rock of early Strokes with the dance rock of Franz Ferdinand a decade too late, this suburban Los Angeles trio makes a tired idea sound viable by sheer force of postadolescent will.

Too often on the Antlers' second full-length, their washed-out melodies suggest powerfully memorable hooks that never fully materialize or cohere.

The rest of the album buries otherwise thrilling moments. [Oct 2007, p.108]

Here, perhaps his most deft rhythm section (Clutch drummer Jean-Paul Gaster and Rezin bassist Jon Blank) acts as a liberating army -- trad doom, hardcore tempos, mathematic instrumentals, and a Fugazi lope ("Wild Blue Yonder") coexist perfectly with his famously piercing, rounded guitar tone. It's change any hesher could believe in.

Expectations is an insistent but uneven album that points toward greater musical ambitions than it achieves. The sound is pleasantly aquatic and soft-edged but fussy and overwrought, as though its architects were worried that too much downtime might spur listeners to click away.

Boasting enough sugary banjos, glockenspiels, and handclaps to give a Teletubby diabetes, The Boy Least Likely To animate their softly sung indie twang with nonstop hooks, bright production, and gently acknowledged adult anxieties. Beneath lyrics celebrating balloons and whiskers lie bittersweet longings.

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

The real story of this breathtaking follow-up... is Romeo Stodart's transformation from merely a good songwritier to an outstanding one. [Feb 2007, p.85]

The harpoons that Paul hurls at the industry's blubber have lost their edge. [June 2003, p.105]

The only friction here is between Lord's kewpie chirp and Nick Saloman's guardedly bitter lyrics. [Apr 2004, p.94]

Her vocals are both pitch-perfect and emotionally resonant. [Apr 2007, p.96]

On this debut full-length, already a U.K. No. 1, she glides through blippy anthems ("Starry Eyed"), pumping disco ("Animal"), and delicate grooves ("Lights") with a pixie-ish voice that's one notch sweeter than Metric's Emily Haines.

Too often [Woomble] is an impotent voice struggling to cut through the clutter. [Apr 2007, p.88]

In lieu of dynamics, [bassist Thomas] Mayhew's pull-out method keeps the album engaging. [Mar 2007, p.99]

His latest is dedicated to "the spirit of the summer night sky," and that's an accurate, if slightly cornball, description of these six impressionistic guitar instrumentals.

[It] never rests in one spot. [Feb 2007, p.87]

This is a troubling record. There are some stellar moments, but it's mostly just troubling. [Jul 2004, p.105]

staying true to their party platform (sex, God, kissing, etc.), songwriters Eugene Kelly and Frances McKee remain the Ramones of sunbeam, patty-cake pop--even if they sound less like awkward twentysomethings singing about cats and bikes, and more like the countless post-'90s alterna-rockers who owe them gratitude.

Bridges' country-fried drawl gets wonky (see the shuffling "Blue Car"), but when the pieces come together -- as on laid-back, folksy charmers like "Everything but Love" and "Maybe I Missed the Point" -- the result is as comfortable and unpretentious as the Dude's bathrobe.

The songs appear to take chances--sweeping chord changes, symphonic progressions, darts into electronic sound--but there's little at stake.

All signs pointed to Shiny and Oh So Bright (full title: Shiny and Oh So Bright, Vol. 1 / LP: No Past. No Future. No Sun.) as an authoritative step back on track.

Some of the tracks sound pretty tossed-off, but it's nice to hear such a brainy bunch not overthinking things. [Feb 2007, p.86]

The emo-punk angst is cut with little of the band's trademark wit or ingenuity: Most of the songs plod bloodlessly to an inevitable, pointless climax of noise, sour humor, and teen nihilism.

Mumbly, scratchy-voiced Pete Quirk is more self-assured than on 2007’s Invitation Songs, championing optimism and determination in the face of trouble, powered by sharp folk and country-blues guitars, plus no-frills percussion.

The overly smooth production undercuts his righteous fury, suggesting the group harbors dreams of a Green Day-style commercial breakthrough.

While the lyrics to 'On the Rise' never explicitly address the se-duction of addiction, the pretty drone that cuts through the jangly melody nails it exactly. [Aug 2007, p.104]