Hello, Mimi Sparhawk, who sings lead on five of these 11 songs instead of her usual one or two, and it is glorious to behold.

Long on cryptic references (you mean you haven't read Curzio Malaparte's 1944 novel Kaputt?) and Euro-weary mood, the vintage electronic-pop ambience of Destroyer's ninth album recalls the days when MTV emphasized music.

Her tender songcraft grows stronger.

Fussy knob-twiddling grounds a couple of tracks, but this skyward-reaching album delivers plenty of solidly earthy pleasures.

Principe doesn’t carve any revolutionary niches on or off the dance floor so much as it patiently, oh so patiently, chips away at Thomas’ own reputation as a space-disco purveyor

These New Puritans prove the model perfected by New Order ain't dying anytime soon. {Apr 2008, p.106]

His best in more than 30 years, he teams up with members of Ladybug Transistor, Teenage Fanclub, and others for songs heavy on rememberance but energized with chin-up horns and strings that'll sound fresh to fans of the Decemberists and Arcade Fire. [Apr 2008, p.92]

When [Albarn] stays away from the light and the mic, Humanz shines.

Of course it's nothing new, but Guided by Voices' precision messes are their own reward. [Aug 2002, p.110]

In flashing back, Cox smears just the right amount of Vaseline on the lens. [Mar 2008, p.96]

The melodies and rhythmic accents here hang together as decent hooks, if not poppy ones.

What the album lacks in focus, it makes up for in sheer listenability.

Mercer rants like the end is extremely nigh and songs refuse choruses, stapling together shattered fragments of classic psychedelia and the bits of Springsteen riffs that their countrymen Arcade Fire left behind.

These are heftier tracks that, because of their added weight, move slower; and like any collection of thematically linked subwoofer-challenging, chart-charting songs, some feel a little Skyped-in--or at least tailored a little too much to their guiding spotlights.

Extra Playful is as easygoing and steady rolling as he's ever sounded, serving up hooks, elegant Euro-beats, and a modicum of glee in poking fun at his own uptight image.

Glowing Mouth's general disillusionment anchors its sprawl.

A visceral display of synth prowess that makes exhilarating use of contrasting textures and subtle dynamics.

There aren't any plinking pianos or Hollywood strings, but the music still goes big the way we've grown to expect from Green Day.

The ballads tend to turn murky, but the rockers are terrifically drunken reveries.

You Can Have What You Want floats dusty folk-rock melodies in thick echo, giving the vocals an otherworldly cast.

Interesting as these personal/lyrical developments may be, overall the latest round of self-therapy just isn't quite as tuneful as previous ones.

His most accessible [album] yet, crammed with melodic Brit punk played at maximum speed. [Nov 2006, p.97]

Singing en español, clear-voiced Andrea Echeverri ponders subjects like immigration ('Bandera') and pregnancy ('28'), projecting unflappable confidence.

Nice as F**k are not a “girl group”; they’re a Spoon that owes two dozen quarters to a washing machine.

Gibbs elevates this eight-song EP above '90s-gangsta-rap homage with his baritone-deep hauteur and studious lyricism.

Twenty years since their last album of new material, Gill and vocalist Jon King spit out splintered riffs and skewered tropes that approximate the band's peak on grabby party-starters ("Who Am I") and mesmerizing midtempo grooves ("A Fruitfly in the Beehive"). The rest are only slightly damaged goods.

The band's typically thunderous melodic sprawl and cryptic musings on life and death perfectly fit the conceptual bill, with everything cranked to its natural extreme.

Troubled frontman Anthony Green and his mates have embraced glossier production while reconnecting with At the Drive-In's teeming passion.