If you come to this collection strictly as a fan of one particular period, you may have to work to appreciate the others. An Artist’s Legacy is certainly comprehensive, but it fails to highlight any common threads that might help us navigate Cornell’s long and varied career.

Their sophisticated studio treatments make every sound sparkle. [Aug 2006, p.84]

Apparently, [Craig Fox's] been stockpiling solid songs: From the slinky "Go Tell Henry" to the stinging snarl of "Underestimator," everything here is taut and lively. The lone drawback: It all sounds terribly familiar.

Early EPs were lumped in with math and prog bands, but those impulses recede on this debut full-length: Clearly there's some showing off on "Carrying the Wet Wood," with intricately intertwined fretwork and drumming, but it's all in service of sing-alongs, tied together by Dave Davison's pinched, inimitable voice.

The British trio's caffinated, smart-ass guitar pop only underscores that aura of snarky confidence. [May 2008, p.111]

However much she slurs her lines on this fine fourth album, the shabby rockers and frayed ballads cut deep. [Nov 2008, p.93]

Rather than straining for pop sophistication, Fridmann simply brightens and focuses the band's darker, more obtuse corners.

Whichever side you fall on, King is worth myriad repeat listens: Dolph bridges the gap between his hometown and the Atlanta production that dominates rap’s mainstream.

When he injects melodic sunshine, as on the loping 'Action/Reaction,' For the White in Your Eyes nestles nicely between the Beach Boys and Fleet Foxes. But Makrigiannis mostly stays in stark, downcast mode.

As always, Argos stumbles into poignancy on his way to the punch line.

Nadler's fifth album benefits from a newfound directness. Over acoustic fingerpicking, splashing cymbals, and languidly twanging steel guitar, Nadler inhabits her strongest set of songs yet, pining in a barely adorned soprano for both lost loves and a conjoined twin.

While Sean obviously lacks his mentor's star power or ambition, he shows more heart than he typically gets credit for.

It's about three songs too long and a little all over the place. [Nov 2006, p.99]

Unlike... Worlds Apart, So Divided is built less on brute force and more on hyperdetailed songwriting. [Dec 2006, p.101]

One of his strongest outings ever.

Yet the cameo-packed Olympia shares far more with Ferry's recent solo stuff than it does with Roxy's early-'70s art rock; lusciously arranged lounge-funk workouts.

The 78-minute Spiral Shadow supersizes everything, from song lengths to layers of deep-focus space-rock effects, but the sprawling songs are still built around riffs as sweaty as a south Georgia summer.

Adding electronic gurgles to heavy, prog-rock power chords, The Secret Machines recalls Rush and Black Sabbath at one end of the sonic spectrum ('The Fire Is Waiting') and David Bowie’s spazzier, punk-era edge at the other ('Atomic Heels'). In between those far-flung atmospheric poles, the band proves they’re more than just the sum of their seamless influences.

Oldham remains mostly untroubled on Beware, accompanied by an array of instruments--marimba, cornet, banjo, and flute swirl around placid country-tinged ruminations.

Little Me reveals a variety of textures over time, and when you can decode the lyrics, memorable scenes emerge.

The result of all this hemming and hawing is a captivating reminder of how much weirder this band is than its reputation.

Its slightly peculiar over-reliance on technology only makes it more human, more lovable, and more rock and roll.

Point is at once less sprawling and less insular than Cornelius' earlier work. [Feb 2002, p.110]

When they get the balance right (yes, that reference is from '83) and filter those desires through their own distinct sensibilities, Divine Fits stands with their best work.

6 Feet, like Me Moan before it, succeeds sometimes in spite of itself.

Bluesy single-note guitar lines compete with jagged chording, the bass thumps out counter-melodies, strained yelping dissolves into pastoral harmony. Yet it all coheres thanks to frontman Benjamin Verdoes' pop instincts and the band's jittery energy.

The energetic players temper Farrar's grave persona--for all the vintage touches, this is a deceptively funky band, as the sultry 'Down to the Wire' proves.

With Wiley's vocal attack as sharply acerbic as ever, 100% Publishing is a boldly independent declaration.