The tunes barely let up until the Mann-led "Hummingbird" and "Honesty Is No Excuse" more than halfway through, and even then the usual boring singer/songwriter-isms become a nice resting place from the otherwise inescapable hooks.

It’s not quite a caricature of what an average rock fan considers The Killers to be, but it’s close. Still, Mirage is markedly superior to its uneven predecessor, 2017’s Wonderful, Wonderful, largely due to the presence of several guest artists.

They almost reach the orbit of their sister band, the Flaming Lips... [Oct 2001, p.127]

From the moment that crystalline keyboard riff and sparse drum machine open the first track, “And That, Too,” it’s clear the band has raised the stakes to match the talent they’ve been hanging out with.

McGee may not know where he's going on his murky head trip, but he's a compelling enough guide that you want to follow him.

In lieu of dynamics, [bassist Thomas] Mayhew's pull-out method keeps the album engaging. [Mar 2007, p.99]

In the end, this is a loud, almost triumphant statement .

Despite frontman Rhett Miller's nice-guy tendencies, Old 97's are way more fun when he gives in to his bitchy side--which is large and in charge on The Grand Theatre, runaway-train backbeats and all.

Too Late definitely scans as a transitional work, a transfixing moment-in-time sort of recording that sees an unprecedentedly fortified Drake firing off paranoid and power-drunk thoughts from his basement, sounding even lonelier than he does than when he specifically talks about feeling lonely.

All Hope Is Gone, reportedly the first thing they've recorded in years without wanting to kill each other, proves that there's still musical unity in disharmony.

Demolished Thoughts is a noisenik's idea of California dreaming; it's also the acoustic record Sonic Youth fans always knew this vintage psychedelia superfan had in him.

Germano's wooziest and most ethereal [album] yet. [Aug 2006, p.78]

On his fifth full-length, this '60s-pop obsessive mostly ditches the balmy homemade chorales of his earlier work for folk-rock verities, crafting his tightest, fullest-sounding record yet.

Their first full-length collaboration since 1991's stellar "Mavericks" is a beautiful set of grown-up pop, meshing Holsapple's emotional directness with Stamey's headier approach.

And while 'Sleepwalking' can't help but sink into the somnambulism its title promises, R&C also get ambitious, abandoning lathery fantasia for something a little earthier. [Apr 2001, p.163]

These songs are more believable--touching, even, if you’re not put off by the milky expressiveness of his voice--than the multiple attempts at rapping.

Produced by power-pop whiz Butch Walker and Fountains of Wayne's Adam Schlesinger, Alter the Ending contains no shortage of high-gloss thrills.

Wandscher (an original member of Whiskeytown) drives the ship with riffage ranging from gently atmospheric to snarling quasi-metallic. Still, it's Sykes' voice that impresses.

At times, the very sonic repetition and minimalism that makes much of Why Choose so effective also hampers its output; the second half of the album especially feels monotonous and weighed down by its musical rigor. Yet Why Choose redeems itself with the brisk, mostly instrumental closing track.

The quality of the set rises and falls with the quality of the band, from the formative fusion of soul, rock, and pop on their first three albums to the sudden, exhilarating sound of it all snapping into focus with 1969's Stand! and the gradual turn into 1971's claustrophobic, paranoid There's a Riot Goin' On and the nimble funk of 1973's underrated Fresh. From there, however, it all fell off just as quickly as it had risen, as Sly's genius dissipated in a downward spiral of drugs and delusion.

The gripping Strangelet strives for a tricky balance of darkness of light... and mostly succeeds, thanks to the raw charisma of Phillips' hangover vocals. [Apr 2007, p.94]

Beirut actually rock, in their extremely geeky way. [Nov 2007, p.114]

Tankian may be taking a break from System of a Down, but his solo debut hardly favors wimpy love songs over political jeremiads. [Nov 2007, p.125]

Throughout the record, words are just pathways through which the melody travels from one sweep to the next, but nothing really comes into focus except an almost free-floating regret and confusion.

Somehow Williams is at his most charged-up and urgent when he’s at his bleakest, though you’d be hard-pressed to remember song titles here.

These young Scotsmen have grime to spare, along with a belief in rock's power to rescue them from it. [Mar 2007, p.99]

Costas coos anachronistically whimsical and hallucinatory lyrics as if she were the ghost of an ill-fated fairy-tale heroine, and the haunted results suggest the greatest psych-folk obscurity you'll never afford on eBay.

This wobbling between attempts to impress the dance music cognoscenti and to make songs as purely delightful as "Coast Is Clear" defines Recess, and occasionally bogs it down.