As a current-events commentator, Gray's got better beats than The New York Times and funnier lyrics than Fox News.

80 minutes of dank, chopped-up percussion and blitzed hard-drive scree. [Apr 2004, p.94]

Beautifully arranged and produced yet feels like something on display behind milky glass. [Jul 2004, p.112]

They never let math get in the way of a good time. [Apr 2008, p.96]

Peanut Butter is far more self-aware, and that leads to music with greater resonance and variety.

With Jonathan Meiburg's luxuriant, lachrymose croon topping the slow-cresting violins of this tasteful rock ensemble, The Golden Archipelago will surely satisfy listeners in need of a melodramatic nap.

Leo has now produced more Pharmacists records while we've been at war than not, and in a world that still needs Fugazi's oppositional fire, The Brutalist Bricks' Dischordant burn is welcome.

The melodies and rhythmic accents here hang together as decent hooks, if not poppy ones.

Amadou and Mariam were wise to forgo a full-on return-to-roots move: They're no kind of traditionalists, let alone folkies, and if their songs lovingly reimagine Bamako, cosmopolitan Paris is their spiritual, as well as their physical, home.

Their follow-up finds a better balance, albeit one that teeters toward a straight party groove. [Oct 2006, p.104]

Slime Flu has its charms, acting as an energetic reminder of insider-y, turn-of-the-century New York hip-hop long gone: sample-laden, ignorant, and wealth-obsessed.

Another Day isn’t quite as good as the best Fucked Up records; that bar is just a little too high. But it’s still a Fucked Up record.

Like most extreme acts, this trash-talking MC's strengths are best showcased in wham-bam singles. To sustain interest between fourth-album climaxes, the Berlin-based sleaze queen collaborates with London's Simian Mobile Disco.

With so many legacy-artist posthumous sets, it’s hard to avoid a certain level of brain mush. The final stretches often feel like pointlessly processed outtakes of alternate takes of fake takes of imaginary takes. It’s like extracurricular archaeology, and it’s often not very fun. But even when you’re working up a sweat with your shovel, Funky Nothingness rewards the strain.

The mini-classic of ultramelodic singer/songwriter pop that he's always hinted at. [Oct 2006, p.99]

His grinding blues buitar/aggro piano and her Bonham-bashing coalesce in a sound as heavy as his soul. [Apr 2006, p.91]

[Love Is All frontwoman Josephine Olausson's] aim is true on the Swedish quintet's third full-length, a fizzy, exhilarating hybrid of bubblegum pop and bratty punk.

Wit's End is even more hushed and sluggish than 2009's Catacombs, leaving lighter Dylanesque fare for depressive Leonard Cohen depths.

Beauty Behind the Madness is front-loaded with fresh directions for the Weeknd that achieve the impossible: make it sound like he’s actually enjoying himself.

Ideal Lives is an uneven record, at times frustratingly so, but it is also the sound of a band finding out just what they are capable of, and falling in love with it.

Working in Tennessee glides along on its Bakersfield groove with the greatest of ease, despite the album's title.

The occasionally somewhat disturbing words he pens for that medium knock around on the page with the same ease that they roll out of his mouth.

His characters feel like individuals, not archetypes. [Sep 2004, p.114]

That’s Storyteller as a whole: expertly arranged, dense without overwhelming the force of its captain.

Harper sounds most engaged on the disc's loudest, least melodic cuts: "Clearly Severely" is a furious, TV on the Radio–style soul-punk blast.

[Aesop Rock's voice] Paired with the Long Island rapper's abstract, self-aware lyrics, it makes None Shall Pass a challenging, rewarding head trip. [Sep 2007, p.122]

The Art of Hustle is about more than misleading filters, though: it’s a thorough testament to how and why Gotti has carried the banner for Memphis since 2005: “Law,” featuring E-40, is superbly ageless.

Flavorless chamber pop. [Jan 2006, p.91]