Compiled by Stones Throw's Peanut Butter Wolf, this set features singles, club mixes, and unreleased tracks, including the George Clinton-esque electro of "On the Floor," plus mid-'80s synth-dance tracks that recall Prince and DeBarge.

They seem to be having fun. [Jun 2006, p.79]

Confident, intimate, and weirdly glammy, Life of Pause is worth taking five for.

Ida Maria throws herself into every song as if it's all a big finale, which makes for an auspicious beginning.

Shoniwa is both impulsive and precise: Every string-swept disco flourish or arena-rock guitar break heightens an unflappable poise that bypasses rote R&B melisma for soul-shaking celebration.

Murs for President has a cumulative bang that's impossible to deny.

The veteran group's dizzying flows remain flawless. [Jun 2007, p.90]

Neither Cocker's chewy structures nor his voice's subtle shadings are particularly well suited to Albini's you-are-there engineering. Fortunately, this collection of surging and reeling tunes is the former Pulp frontman's strongest since "Different Class."

The album frequently slips back into forgettable genericism, and its back half is mediocre--but it’s also a strength. At its high points, Revival is marked by this lush, sphinx-like readinessss: as if, after a decade and a half of being nonstop front and center, Gomez has finally figured out what it means to center herself.

Equal parts bang and whimper. [Jun 2006, p.81]

Things go slightly south with wedged-in jokes, but if you overlook those interruptions there's enough fuzzed-out fun and tender, Shins-like classicism to transcend any retro trappings. [July 2008, p.100]

The Malibu-dreamin' sound evokes a band settling into their twilight years--relaxed, carefree, and ready for a sunset cocktail. [Nov 2004, p.118]

Lacking a balance between pretty and ugly, their experimental alchemy is scabrously tiring, with cacophonous fragments that never connect. [Apr 2008, p.100]

Everything is underwritten or overwrought. [Feb 2004, p.104]

Suggests a gullier Cocteau Twins. [May 2004, p.108]

A perfect album, except perfect is the wrong word for a band so dedicated to kitchen-sink oddness. [Mar 2004, p.96]

Flails along the same path as 2001's casually brutal return to formlessness, Beat Em Up. [Dec 2003, p.123]

From the albums start the band's signature "low rock" sound is evident. But impressively so are a variety of new sounds, from female backing singers to the inclusion of such non traditional Morphine elements as violin, grand piano and acoustic guitar....on many levels "The Night" is a success...

Some songs function well as singularities, particularly “New Level” and “Grandma,” which showcase a few of Ferg’s best qualities in spurts, but as a complete work, Always Strive and Prosper is a misfire that presses to be greater than the sum of its parts.

Ant perfectly underscores Ali's gruff cadence, simultaneously self-assured and stressed, with a melodic lope that scrunches soul voclas underneath loops of bluesy guitar. [Apr 2007, p.86]

The contentment Malkmus expresses here is so cozy you might feel a little corny calling it wisdom. But you wouldn't embarrass yourself too much if you called it perspective.

Though the title hints at darker turns, the album never steps out of the glare.

Fashion Week is very different from any other Death Grips album just for being so linear, and while Stefan Burnett's guttural, performance art-ish MCing is missed, their astoundingly dark and imaginative sonic palette remains intact.

To say that PRODUCT leaves you wanting more is an understatement, beginning and ending with EDM you can’t dance to, building and toppling all kinds of aural Legos in between.

McKeown's Marc Bolan-influenced rhymes and party-time shouts are always wryly slapdash, but the weaving bass line and expansive structure of 'Situation' indicate that 1990s still retain some of the members' arty ambitions.

QOTSA may be rock at the edge of the abyss, but Heart On vaults right over, taking flight on an updraft of woozy audacity and shuddering riffs.

Four albums in, this nourish duo are still unwavering in their approach: Chilly, disturbing lyrics emerge from a dense fog of blissful Spector harmonies and squalling Jesus and Mary Chain surf and strings. Only now, those lyrics are more bizarre.

Weirdly calm yet supremely uneasy, On the Ones and Threes fluctuates constantly from folk to psychedelia to grunge, often in a single song.