Hidden would be unbearably pretentious if Barnett and crew didn't execute their mission with such wild-eyed determination. Instead, it's a chilling thrill.

Pitting his manly baritone against squishy feminine keys in the sexually ambiguous '80s tradition, O'Regan gives his transformation a thrilling edge, not least because there's real danger involved.

Li's new album, Wounded Rhymes, is equal parts seething ice princess and lonely snowwoman, vacillating almost track by track between fury and despondence over a scotched relationship.

Majesty Shredding does favor a more thoughtful pace at times, opening up room for the occasional ornate sonic touch--a horn riff, decorative keyboard figure, even viola.

Instead of the pleasing pop potpourri of their last album... the 13 songs on And Then Nothing . . . flow together subtly, all texture, mood and shade.... Yo La Tengo's tenth collection of warm, tiny songs is by far the finest in their careers...

The music is stately and nocturnal guitar pop, arranged precisely and played with quiet conviction, as sure of its purpose as the song’s narrator seems unsure of theirs.

On Reloaded, he's written perhaps the most vivid rap album of the year--and possibly of his lifetime.

Granted, 10 of those are just a minute or less (sometimes far less: "Yet Unknown" is nothing more than a nine-second sample from a news broadcast), and 11 more don't even break the four-minute mark. On the plus side, we're treated to some of the best songs from his recent, out-of-print releases.

Even when the music flags, Common's remarkably hungry raps push it along. [Jun 2005, p.102]

Sequenced like an upside-down bell curve, the band's fetching fourth album opens with the vintage hippie wisdom, musique concrète, extended space rock, and lush, jazzy Americana of "Isadora."

While not as conceptually taut as its forebear, the new record plays like a jolt back to reality — and a sprint toward the dance floor. It is, by many leagues, the most objectively fun Mitski album to date, anchored by the pairing of ‘80s-tastic “The Only Heartbreaker” and “Love Me More.”

Here, tunes about racism, consumer culture, and the evils of TV hit their marks, then hit them again and again and again.

[Patterson Hood] cedes too much of the spotlight to competent but less distinctive mates Mike Cooley and Shonna Tucker. [Feb 2008, p.92]

Though indebted to the brassy blasts and pleading yelps of James Brown, as well as the riffs of the MC5 and Stooges, Lewis and Co. avoid sounding either self-consciously retro or awkwardly modern on Scandalous.

Wild Flag offers odes to volume and youth ("Romance," "Future Crimes"), suggesting the barely contained frenzy of teenagers. It's all the fury you want, but executed with the capability and confidence of lifers.

Though Swim is less referential, the artist that does come to mind in these sprawling pieces is Arthur Russell, whose outsider disco and house featured warped cello and ghostly vocals.

The album shuffles and grooves like Fela Kuti sloshed on gin and tonics. [June 2003, p.100]

These Brits deconstruct bombast via bombastic guitar riffs. [Jun 2005, p.108]

The result is one of Cave's hardest-rocking records, but also one of his funniest. [Apr 2007, p.86]

Though it would still be a potent political statement, Hopelessness would be something of a joyless slog if the music weren’t so gorgeous, matching the intensity of the subject matter without overwhelming it and giving the appropriate space to ANOHNI’s voice, which remains a glorious instrument.

On his third full-length, Weber keeps the beats crisp but more varied, conjuring steamy pipes (on "The Splendour," featuring !!!'s Tyler Pope), wind chimes (the twinkling "Bohemian Forest"), and a bullet train ("Welt Am Draht").

Sounds exactly like what you'd expect. [Oct 2005, p.132]

Under Color Of Official Right rumbles along with tense basslines and drums that feel like they're trying to stay out of Casey's way, as guitarist Greg Ahee slashes a path forward.

This time, the band lug the still-smoking amps from their lightning-strike live show into the studio and let the noise chase the midnite vultures away.

As a work of scholarly revisionism, Purple Snow is peerless. How and why the Twin Cities helped transform Prince Nelson into the Artist remains a mystery. But this is a charming addition to the Paisley Park family.

The more down-the-middle SVIIB shows that these postscripts aren’t always special, but we’re grateful for the closing chapter nonetheless.

The seven minute thriller 'Joe's Waltz' demonstrates their flair for balancing craftmanship and raw emotion. [Apr 2008, p.96]

For now, we’re stuck with a record that’s both intentionally and unintentionally frustrating: A record about self-loathing where the actual remorse is absent, where its creator would insist that’s the point.