This one is way, way, way better [than her last album], not least thanks to a quaint little ditty called "Body Party."

The way the album veers between savage energy blasts and more deliberately paced displays of power is extraordinary.

Quickly working 11 tracks into 40 minutes, the album is visceral and unrefined, two qualities not often associated with Hebden.

An aesthetic- and career-defining set, it's the album they were destined to make. [Nov 2006, p.103]

Whether the devastation of the aforementioned accident has imbued Baizley with new life, or his dual successes in the arts are just making him a fuller person, somehow Purple is still heavier than Yellow & Green despite being a leaner machine.

While Ty Segall may not be his opus, but it’s certainly a testament to his fruitful brain and the unparalleled output that spills forth from it--a mind on a marathon, yet to stumble.

Nash's bluntness and detail make for a good spectacle. [Feb 2008, p.96]

Despite its tortuous path to existence, Joyride is a strong, cohesive project.

Regardless of the catalyst, Chelsea Light Moving is an entirely successful test of Moore’s post-breakup mettle.

Instead of sounding like a half-baked aberration or a tedious, overlong experiment, Die Lit broadcasts a refreshing and well-developed aesthetic--one that feels like Carti’s specific achievement. Its appeal feels distinctly corporeal, like it’s inducing some swag-rap equivalent of ASMR through exploring a limited and tightly EQd collection of sounds.

What could have been an assless art-groove experiment turns out to be a synth-pop idyll. [Feb 2003, p.99]

Erasing the gap between the 1930s and today, this striking North Carolina trio brings a modern sizzle to the legacy of classic African American string bands like the Mississippi Sheiks, with fiddles, banjos, and even kazoos sparking an electrifying ruckus.

The songs remain wonderfully the same - simple guitar lines seething like itchy scabs, scathing lyrics scribbled with trembling, coffee stained hands, memories of kissing with nicotine lips.

Wonderful Wonderful is the Killers’ strongest statement since 2005, a more than okay affirmation of their power to keep a global audience.

While mediating the difference between bitterness and hooks was such a hallmark of past releases, it feels good to hear them find catharsis here, even if it’s in small doses.

Peeling back the density and obtuseness of Xen and Mutant, Arca is his most engaging, emotionally draining and confrontational album to date.

In a career fraught with obsessions over the perfection-imperfection dichotomy, it turns out to be a blessing that she put pop and its various pressures on the backburner just to deliver some real summertime sadness.

The White Album not only matches the sounds and feelings of Buzz Bin-era Weezer, but also the craft.

The rhythm sections and synths have been crafted with a newfound appreciation for sound, but with unexpected, childlike curiosity. The lyrics retain a relatable amount of simplicity, yet they also portray an intimate exploration of self-worth and image.

There are fewer miracle strokes like Le Tigre's "What's Yr. Take on Cassavetes," but these "roller skating jams" have so much certainty, its irrelevant. [Nov 2001, p.132]

On the beautifully airy Original Colors, the ambient pair seem weary of making a good impression.

On their sixth, the band's sound finally matches their romantic ambitions.

Her most adventurous album yet. ... On Mañana Será Bonito, the future looks bright for Colombia’s next pop queen.

Lowe's sexagenarian years have real sparkle.

The group embraces its status as a classic-rock band, and make no mistake, this is a classic-rock album--one that evokes the sort of denim-clad '70s-rock vibe that Guns N' Roses and Foo Fighters tapped into.

The layered results are mesmeric, giving their introverted noise a new, laserlike intensity. [Nov 2007, p.114[

The enthralling Real Animal presents a concise overview of the man's art and life, encompassing the punk fury of the Nuns, the country-rock twang of Rank and File, the rootsy guitar assault of True Believers, and the late-era tortured, string-quintet balladry that showcases his unbearably sad voice.

II, like the record that preceded it, is still a seasick and unyielding document of brutalist experimentation. But because the trio is willing to explore different avenues, there’s more corners to get lost in.