By setting its course in the equal and opposite direction of Life Without Sound, it becomes its evil twin, a still-incomplete picture of Cloud Nothings. ... Yet Last Building Burning feels like a triumphant return because there isn’t as much pressure on it to do or say anything beyond its purely utilitarian aims. It slaps, shreds, and whips ass in whatever way you see fit.

Four [is] the most consisting-sounding Direction album yet.

At times the writing struggles to keep pace: The concepts behind songs like “needy” and “fake smile” are as relatable as they are predictable, and begin to stretch thin after a couple of minutes. Still, there is an awful lot to like.

Kath's hooky charms ease the ferocity of singer Alice Glass' panting wails and loopy, sarcastic screams. [Apr 2008, p.94]

The latest from these Nebraska dance rockers doesn't instantly charm like the '80s flashbacks found on 2001's breakthrough, "Danse Macabre." But its fixation on the present pays off with repeated plays as clashing guitar and keyboard hooks hammer home the Faint's central theme--the chaos of a world in conflict.

Favoring a bright, treble-heavy guitar attack, the group skew their arrangements in ways that feel more canny than contrived.

Proof that simple pleasures always beat academic detachment. [March 2002, p.137]

Even Klaxons' most ominously rambunctious tracks grind out plenty of bug-eyed dream-pop chants.

Her sophomore disc hardly sounds like something dashed off between higher-profile gigs: Sardonic chamber-folk gems such as "Tower Song" and "You Cheated Me" (in which she tells a lover to "run your scared little ass down the block") offer lyrical and sonic detail for days.

Glow tries so hard to keep the mood pneumatic that it starts to feel over-stuffed, even at just 55 minutes long.

If there’s a quibble with II, it’s that like most doubles, it would be more effective as a single disc.

They've returned to the frantic music of original heroes Gang of Four, banging out songs that vibrate with exactly the tense energy they'd mislaid. [Jun 2006, p.83]

If anything, 7 Days acts as the inverse of The Chronic, wherein a famous hip-hop producer introduced the world to an up-and-coming MC weaned on P-Funk and George Duke; now, it's a pop-cultural hip-hop icon giving a bit of shine to an adept indie producer who can elicit all strains of funk in this 21st-century Zone of Zero Funkativity. It's not the dank, but breathe deep anyway.

Ghostface Killah's ninth album consoles his hardcore constituency: Forty-plus minutes of gritty, soul-sampling beats soundtracking bizarro street tales ("Starkology," "Ghetto"), with lyrical tough-guys Busta Rhymes, Redman, and more than half the Wu Tang Clan tagging along.

It's no "High Enough," but it is a damn fine collection of selected ambient works.

The desire to show subtlety and restraint is quickly overtaken by their visceral need to go buck wild (“Gimme All Your Love” is the best example of that roller coaster). While that pacing becomes a crack in the album’s otherwise polished veneer, it can easily be overlooked once you’re sucked in by all of the sounds and colors.

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

There are no prominent electronics on Island Universe, but it's a relatively ambitious, often distortion-less statement that feels more spacious than the band's (former) basement-rock peers.

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.'

For all the period-piece lethargy of "Warm Summer Sun" and 
"I Fall Asleep," though, they balance it out with the blistering "Space in Your Face" and "Honey Bear."

Infinite, often chaotic, near-instrumental psych-prog-punk-metal grooves rich with fine-ground detail. [Sep 2006, p.100]

O'Rourke mostly contributes electro-folk noodling for a laptop-friendly coffeehouse, but Tweedy's tunes are glum gold. [Jan 2003, p.98]

Unlike the Bollywood rock house sound of Cornershop, Clinton shimmies with science, canned beats and funk cornerstones, creating a technology-savvy dance floor pitch. It's so full of disco it could make a glitter ball blush.... Instead of inventive, the album sounds slightly recycled.

Their second B-sides compilation is a clear reflection of that indeliable good cheer. {May 2008, p.94]

Alongside the preternaturally mature croon of frontlady Linnea Jonsson, those threads fit seamlessly:

The songs could use more steam, but Crows reveals yet another color in Moorer's palette.

A brief, somber meditation on his health problems and on the stresses of supporting dozens of friends and family members.

For all its grim honesty, Whitmore's fifth album also boasts a survivor's tenacity.