While string-gilded klezmer ballad "Steak Knives" and steamrolling six-minute confession "Shameless" plod well-trod territory, the mod-pop swing of "Piranha Club" and the wry, multi-suite cabaret of "Oh, La Brea" place Honus' self-loathing in a refreshing, no less bizarre, light.

Plenty of bands try to re-create Bob Dylan's mid-'60s apex, but Celebration, Florida sounds like it's conjuring Dylan's mid-'70s Rolling Thunder Revue period.

That combination of bottled passion and efficiency spreads itself evenly through the 11-track set.

Sonically, Emotional Mugger lands somewhere between all of these records [Manipulator, II, and Ty-Rex], maintaining the cohesion and (relatively) streamlined arrangements of Manipulator but nodding to the scuzzy ’70s hard rock of the latter two and Segall’s trademark haywire, lo-fi garage.

When he injects melodic sunshine, as on the loping 'Action/Reaction,' For the White in Your Eyes nestles nicely between the Beach Boys and Fleet Foxes. But Makrigiannis mostly stays in stark, downcast mode.

Here’s hoping The Tree Of Forgiveness is not either an incidental or deliberate farewell. If it must be, at least it’s both a suitably goofy celebration of his career and a dignified capstone.

Gift of Screws boasts a lot of attractive touches, from the lovely acoustic guitar of 'Bel Air Rain' to the crashing chorus of 'Love Runs Deeper,' but less polish would add some soul to the mix.

Frontman Adam Lazzara's temper tantrums sound more sore- than full-throated, but they still freeze blood for short stretches, while the revolving choruses are as enormous and polished as Boeings.

Like Lifted, Once Again offers a mesmerizing blend of canny sample science and Stevie Wonderful life-band R&B. [Dec 2006, p.96]

Their debut shares Gnarls' yen for psychedelic weirdness and uncharacteristic (for hip-hop) emotional vulnerability, but with beats that are swampy, murky, and--when thumping below moaning guitars and spacey organ melodies--wholly disorienting.

For all her grandiosity, though, McCarthy's meditations on domestic toil ("Housekeeper") and seasonal change ("Hibernation Tales") feel intimately heartfelt, while the wailing "O Mary" blends natural imagery and Christian allusions in stirring fashion.

The up-tempo numbers are great fun, but the Puppets excel on the ballads, which they croon in lovely tight harmony. [May 2008, p.100]

Fiasco approaches his second album as if it's his last chance to get all his conflicted ideas out into the open.

Straddling the line between street and pop, Attention: Deficit doesn't quite capture the pop zeitgeist. But it sheds light on Wale's evolving personality, and his circuitous story raps reward deep listening.

Few bands this side of Wilco float along so easily on little more than diagonally rendered elegiac noises and severe anxiety disorder. [Mar 2006, p.95]

Heartfelt guitar rock capable of punching you in the gut and patting you on the back. [Aug 2003, p.114]

It's synthesized, as expected, but not in a new wave way. Organs breathe a heavy, gloomy sigh through 13 tracks... It's beautiful and I'm sold.

For a 28-year-old, Carrabba remains remarkably fluent in the language of teen heartbreak. [Sep 2003, p.107]

Wallentin has reined in her seductive-foghorn voice, and Wildbirds & Peacedrums are a more subtly compelling band for it.

On W.A.R., the Queens MC is still in a linguistic fervor, rapping about being in the streets "like catalytic converters" on "Clap (one day)" and comparing himself to a preacher with a ".38 snub-nose" on "Let My People Go."

Joined by the similarly un-categorizable Swedish reedman Mats Gustafsson, Live at the South Bank is an onslaught of sound.

Layers of strings and piano (the droney "Old Statues") or ghostly backing voices (the haunting "As I Lay My Head Down") are usually enough to keep Tamer Animals from feeling too domesticated.

While the album is more a series of word puzzles than a memoir, it does occasionally illuminate the man behind the mask.

Listening to Non-Believers is like clasping hands with an old friend: It’s warm, accessible, and sweetly familiar.

An album to savor, then, or forget.

Repulsion is like The Wild Bunch seen from the outskirts of Edinburgh, a European reflection of the stylized American West. [Aug 2005, p.99]

Bad Witch, like its two predecessors, contains glints of exploration tempered by maturity and consistency. ... It’s a strangely tentative gesture from an artist who made his name as a longform auteur.

His decision to ditch the club and retreat to a more conventionally romantic setting allows him to let his voice take center stage, which is where it should have been all along.