While producer Budo creates melancholy set pieces--from the funereal piano of "Bloody Poetry" to the soulful organ grinding of "Heartbreak Hotel"--Grieves shines as a friendly, thoughtful voice, gladly ready to share secrets.

Slave Ambient feels like a more back-alley Byrds filtered through a gauzier Spacemen 3 lens.

Era Extraña picks up as if that criticism (and 2010) never happened. Some tracks sound 25 years old and they're one Martin Rushent assist away from being genuine synth-pop hits.

What elevates their debut beyond your average twee-punk rager is the gentle psych dabblings.

She follows up 2007’s covers and remixes album Yes, I’m a Witch with another collection that’s just as strong and intriguing, mainly because of the smorgasbord of indie and electro-pop oddballs and A-lister names attached to it.

Over punchy, driving riffs and crackling drum work, Stollsteimer howls like a guy with much to be pissed about, while the sharp production and dark pop hooks offer a vision of garage rock that's more grand than grimy.

The living, breathing aspect of Arnalds' music is more evident here than on his previous six years’ worth of albums and EPs, which makes Winter easily his most straightforwardly accessible and mainstream-leaning effort to date.

It’s a cohesive meditation on the legacy of avant-garde greats like Steve Reich and Arvo Pärt and peers such as Tim Hecker--and, of course, an essential part of Stetson and Neufeld’s own impressive canons.

From the beginning, Franti has favored a retro, flow-through groove, and here hsi funk adds a decidedly disco flavor. [Jul 2001, p.135]

Recall[s] the most disturbingly surreal moments of a David Lynch film. [Jul 2006, p.87]

Visitations sounds more alive than anything since 2000's near-classic debut, Internal Wrangler. [Feb 2007, p.82]

The whole thing is pretty, if a bit mild, suggesting not quite another green world, but something ideal for--as its cover art suggests--watching autumnal leaves turn.

For most of Neptune, the Duke Spirit graft sweet coatings onto a dark, swirling center.

Antony and the Johnsons' third full-length wisely focuses on the frontman's enormous talent, with Nico Muhly's classical arrangements plinking and waltzing but never overpowering.

Though modest, Skyscraper may prove to be an integral step in Interpol’s progression.

With nods to synth pop, electro, and funk, Sweden's Little Dragon fill their second album with bleeping keyboards and jazzy arpeggios, recalling both Howard Jones and Saint Etienne. But what sets Machine Dreams apart is frontwoman Yukimi Nagano's alternately yelping and cooing voice.

No one can say Black isn’t ambitious, and it’s nuanced too; easily Bentley’s most personal, affecting release yet.

Gainsbourg and Beck generate one catchy track after another without producing much heat, but sometimes canny dabbling is its own reward.

She fills the space with more intellectual depth than she’s shown before, incorporating T.S. Eliot’s apropos poem “Burnt Norton” as a space-age interlude. Ignoring the most offensively nonsensical of her lyrics (“Baby you’re so ghetto / You’re looking to score”), such a relatively monochrome album spans a breadth of cultural markers.

Buckner's singular pipes and surrealistic lyrics tug the songs toward the esoteric, but the band pulls them back. [Oct 2006, p.95]

The pub stompers are as rowdy as ever, but they're balanced here by laid-back ruminations on romance. [Jun 2007, p.91]

Like Paul McCartney, Crowded House leader Neil Finn possesses a massive melodic gift, but no longer seems interested in writing anthems (à la "Don't Dream It's Over"). That's okay when the results feel as intimate as they do here.

Singer/songwriter Will Sheff gives overkill a good name on Okkervil River's fourth album. [Sep 2007, p.136]

Yet here they are on their third full-length, and rather than calcify into indie-scene shtick, Tilly's music has gotten funnier and more vibrant.

As usual, the North Carolina trio's latest is musically contemplative (mostly acoustic guitar or piano, bass, drums, maybe strings) and lyrically bountiful (camera-ready metaphors, idiosyncratic settings, characters with warts).

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.

It's a kick to hear them hoist the MC5's "Kick Out The Jams" as a sexy freak flag and drop an honest-to-God fresh conga break into Afrika Bambaataa's "Renegades of Funk." [2/2001, p.106]

Unlike Someday World, the far thornier High Life doesn’t improve much with repeated plays: These are egghead jams whose esoteric textures bewitch more than their relatively static frameworks.