On his second agit-folk album under the Nightwatchman persona, Rage Against the Machine and Audioslave guitarist Tom Morello incorporates electric instrumentation and foregrounds his sonorously ponderous baritone, aspiring to, if not attaining, the gravity of Johnny Cash, Tom Waits, and Nebraska-era Bruce Springsteen.

War Stories feels more like a random compilation than a fresh exploration. [Aug 2007, p. 110]

As it stands, with its insistence on aggressive polyrhythm and bumping bass, 2 of 2 is most certainly a funky record, but it's hardly a deeply soulful one. That's not a distinction without a difference.

The vibe here is mellow, unremarkable, and a touch contrived. [May 2007, p.85]

Much of the record satirizes plastic surgery and oversexed macho men, but despite the ironic humor, there’s a compassion in the music that’s unexpected coming from a band best known for a Taco Bell–referencing novelty hit.

Five songs, one skit, and just 18 minutes total, this is a concentrated dose of Mr. Muthafuckin' eXquire's spaced-out, drink-and-fuck-too-much, end-of-days rap. It's also frustratingly brief and low-stakes, though it leaves you immediately anticipating his next move.

Employing a variety of producers, Everything undertakes a cathartic reinvention via late-night, sex-driven trips through dim, sweaty basement parties.

The Trickster's best record in years. [Aug 2003, p.119]

They're an American band that sound like British Francophiles, right down to the pip-pip accent in leader Jay Gordon's Gary Numan pout. [12/2000, p.223]

"Original Prankster" is one hell of a rump-shaker... the rest of Conspiracy buzzes from skate metal to Ozzed-up pop to Chili-peppered funk-punk to Billy Squirey sleaze-core. [Jan 2001, p.113]

The surface-heavy results suggest painstakingly remixed outtakes.

Dead Petz is a short-lived album by design.

The erstwhile Moldy Peaches wears out his welcome at 20 tracks, each one unrelated to the last and haphazardly abandoned around the one-and-a-half minute mark. [Apr 2008, p.98]

Clef sounds more invested in his music when he's appropriating other people's songs. [Jul 2002, p.109]

While the vocals and arrangements are more ambitious and arguably better, there's less free play, less of the goofiness and kewpie-dancehall scatting that defined her. [Jan 2004, p.98]

Pink Friday: Roman Reloaded, like a Whitman's Sampler, has something chewy for everyone.

Synth-driven grooves that feel communal and cosmic at the same time.

There's a hypnotic purity to Innocents.

Th Peas keep it exuberantly funky.

As always, Argos stumbles into poignancy on his way to the punch line.

Like cans of Monster Energy Drink, this collection is spracked out and ridiculous and fun and sometimes disposable, just one more shard of debris left in this kid's wake, and his generation's.

Represents a major upgrade in Dashboard's sound. [Jul 2006, p.83]

The muffled, placid Daybreak lacks the burn of the first two parts and never illuminates.

They're still pretty fly for old guys. [Jan 2004, p.97]

Here, awash in bedroom multitracking, she's more diffuse.

Most of the energy of New English is poured into his (trademark?) ad-libs. The staccato yeahs and machine-gun sound effects do a good job of convincing you that you’re listening to an exciting project. But after a while, it just starts to make your head hurt.

Its slightly peculiar over-reliance on technology only makes it more human, more lovable, and more rock and roll.

The self-infatuation on this album is less attempted-clever and more ambient, a body-posi constant that gives the plethora of tasty palm-muted figures and colorful production settings a semblance of gravity even if it becomes the favorite of the “Yaaas queen”-abusing straight Facebook friend you had to unfollow.