Much has been made of Yelawolf's Southern rock fandom, but Radioactive is more an ode to the Southern hip-hop movement that started to seep across the world a decade ago.

Sir Paul McCartney has made an utterly forgettable, featherweight record designed primarily to appeal to Sir Paul McCartney.

These songs are more believable--touching, even, if you’re not put off by the milky expressiveness of his voice--than the multiple attempts at rapping.

Slinging new styles and innovating them are separate matters. [Oct 2006, p.100]

Grainger's solo efforts are more restrained than DFA 1979's sweaty frenzy, and ultimately, his blues-frilled rock would be pretty pallid if not for the playfully sarcastic undercurrents.

They return to the infectious anthems that made them Warped Tour headliners. [Aug 2007, p.110]

And while he may never amount to more than Aesop Rock-minus, there's some black magic lurking between his bitter introspection and his myriad producers' "goth-hop" illuminations. [Apr 2005, p.108]

His skill is still intact, but his music lacks its former inspiration, and he only digs a deeper hole for himself by taking aim at the youth.

The competition is tough for Emo's Most-Avowed Dramatist -- Gerard Way? Jared Leto?! -- but Panic! at the Disco singer Brendon Urie might take the golden compact.

The debut by this Seattle indie-folk group suffers slightly from an abundance of niceness.

Folds is incapable of mediocrity, but Way to Normal comes way too close.

A confused, confusing album, MGMT treats contemporaneity as if it were an insulin shot.

Despite gestating for years, IV Play is an album that feels unattended to.

Elbogen pens lively lyrics about car chases and hot DJ ladies, but his arrangements trundle along stiffly, each song rendering an imitation of rock that's as finely detailed as a hobbyist's diorama, and ultimately about as exciting.

The result is a listenable, more conventional version of his primary band. Though refreshing in a solo-career context, we've heard most of this stuff before.

Lacking lyrics as memorable as 2006's "Meds," Battle for the Sun is heavier but duller, with the gap between Molko's spindly melodies and the fatter, newly Americanized riffs widening.

Even emo and chamber music get roped into Sidewalks' exclamatory gush, verifying that there truly is no sound these two won't use to support their almost religious commitment to spreading huge grins.

Her vamping can't touch their steamy-windowed originals.

He's proven he can assimilate into the world of mainstream rap while still retaining his singularity.

She's not Katy Perry, not yet Carrie Underwood. But look out.

Lynch handles most everything else here--vocals, guitar, writing, production--creating soundscapes that are dark, unsettling, and often confusing.

This is no slavish style bite by Euro pretenders; it's a delectable refiguring.

Even the terrible parts of Born to Die are just so lovable, which bodes well for the actually great parts.

Glowing Mouth's general disillusionment anchors its sprawl.

A moving listen, despite patches of redundancy. [Oct 2004, p.111]

Does its best to earn a few Daft Punk comparisons. [Aug 2006, p.82]

Lip Lock may not be the best rap album of 2013, but it's interesting, and it's honest. After 11 years, that's a respectable way to ride out.

Bright, anxious pop-rock melodies that pulse with a geeky charm. [Sep 2006, p.114]