Favoring excessive computer and crowd noise over the pair's concise hooks, the relentlessly bombastic concert CD accompanying the DVD combusts as if it were one 66-minute, fireworks-spewing finale.

Long stretches of Circuital could even pass for an alternate version of Quadrophenia, albeit one heard as a distant echo with the volume turned down to deathly quiet. James sounds remarkably like Roger Daltrey at 
times, singing with an appealing, yearning catch in his voice.

Brooklyn's Crystal Stilts filter trembling surf guitar and tambourine shakes through echoing chambers of effects until their wistful, barely-there tunes seem to dramatically float out of murky, cavernous depths.

Like the film from which it borrows its title, Lady From Shanghai is an artfully awkward study in malaise.

Both jarring and hypnotic. [May 2006, p.91]

Sounds of a certain vintage, which can net a poignant, tragic-romantic classic ("The Weekend Dreams"), but occasionally overreaches.

They apply a borrowed Steinway Grand and some retro synths to a mess of ideas, from the rockabilly-plus-tabla stomp of 'The Time' to the Arcade Fire mimicry of 'Antonia Jane.' But they really shine on epic, Bat for Lashes-type ballads like 'Never Seen' and 'Waiting on the Sun to Rise.'

It's an album designed for playing late at night; even peppier tracks like the popping-piston "Burn The Pages" and the jittery "Hostage" have a darkness to them. That darkness might not make Sia the world's hugest pop star, but it sure makes her one of its more compelling ones.

Ultimate Care II is reliably dream-like, the sort of album you never quite hear in the same way twice; passages jut out or fly under the radar.

It's their most instantly accessible effort after "Bark," with a dozen catchy tunes packed inside 47 easy, breezy minutes.

At its wildest moments, this synthesized Gensho sounds like the universe throwing up in its own mouth.

While the band itself might still be metal newcomers, their music goes down like an aged mead, and Void Worship is an early contender to be one of 2014's most satisfying drams of doom.

Los Campesinos! can't stop adorning their odes to existential grief with snappy handclaps, but the Welsh septet are still showing signs of growth on this third album.

This time they come dangerously close to conventional rock. [Nov 2005, p.101]

These songs [“Greedy,” “Into You” and “Touch It”], which unite a strong persona--haughty, insatiable, a little manic, really into you--with a vivid pocket version of one style or another, are the core of a swift, heedless pop album, albeit one struggling to emerge from the false notes (“Dangerous Woman”) and rote 2016 obligations (Future) of what’s probably an executive-mandated bagginess.

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

The music doesn't always keep up with Bemis' self-absorbed lyrical jujitsu, but there's definite charm in the struggle.

An immaculate 38-minute lullaby for the not-working class, replete with tape hiss and timpani, sweetly brooding vocals, and otherworldly Hobbit-core. [5/2001, p.147]

Lee's take on the feminine id is like the music itself: smooth on the outside, savage within.

Psychopomp is a 25-minute-long dream-pop album that feels like much more: a sharp-edged exploration of how loneliness and longing form into brittle personal shields.

Apparently, you can go home again, and it's still plenty loud and comfortable.

This hybrid group -- two American indie vets and two Kenyan benga musicians--twist rock and African riffs into drum-head-tight grooves on their third album, a feast for multiethnic guitar nerds but also a lively mix that anyone can dance to.

While other possible sonic antecedents abound, the full album feels more roots than retro, old tools reclaimed to new ends.

Vexovoid is possibly the most inscrutable, evil-sounding thing to emerge from Australia since Mel Gibson.

Even when Electrelane ditch the cheer completely, they inspire more smiles than growls. [Jun 2007, p.92]

Laced with bariny raps, cooing backing vocals, and a keen attention to meloncholy melodic detail, Why? almost one-ups those heady precursors [Fountains of Wayne, Rentals]. [Apr 2008, p.106]

The tunes on Saint Cecilia--the patron saint of music, as any Art Garfunkel fan will tell you--were largely assembled from past albums’ cutting floors. The title track crawls towards wholeness on the lovely vocal meld of Grohl and Kweller.... Meanwhile, “Iron Rooster” is a bone-tired dragger that’s probably of recent vintage but could date back to Down on the Upside.

It’s tense throughout, but it’s also endearingly frisky, and the poppiest moments have a tendency of landing at just the right time to stave off any potential noise-rock monotony.