Fantasy Empire equally splits its time between the physical and metaphysical. It belongs as much in a musty basement as it does in an art gallery.

There’s next to no tempo to speak of, and they assiduously cultivate a studied monotony, but one can’t escape the sense that this slab is, secretly, the ultimate grower.

He’s both looking back and moving forward, attempting, successfully, to capture the nervous optimism of youth.

So, backed by melancholic, electronic-tinged production from Dnae Beats, Gab fashions inspired stories out of loquacious speed-raps, ruminating over humanity's foibles. It may not be transporting, but it's still impressively empathetic.

Unlike Beck during his purple-paisley "Midnite Vultures" phase, Damian Kulash employs a soul-freak falsetto that's sincerely accurate, and with the help of Lips producer David Fridmann, he and his power-pop pals master the Okie pranksters' baroque whirls.

Here is another deeply considered collection of top-shelf beats and uncompromising-though-still-pop-enough raps that justifies the fairly awful personalities driving it, which, depending on your tolerance for wounded narcissism and a complete lack of insight, is either fascinating or frustrating.

Holy Ghost is something of a wash... Winter Women, though, boasts some of [his] best material. [Sep 2006, p.111]

The musical ideas here will be readily familiar to anyone who has heard Pantha du Prince's work before.

Even at the EP’s most florid moments--say at the 11-minute mark, where they zone out for a minute of cobweb-like arpeggios--it remains music of immense impact and gravity.

The songs that collapse under their own weight find the band struggling to feel epic, but Wolf's Law still soars when the band struggles instead with epic feelings.

Trading in easy recognition/gratification, the barrage grows as dizzyingly nostalgic as Oz's tornado. [Sep 2008, p.116]

On his third full-length, Weber keeps the beats crisp but more varied, conjuring steamy pipes (on "The Splendour," featuring !!!'s Tyler Pope), wind chimes (the twinkling "Bohemian Forest"), and a bullet train ("Welt Am Draht").

Whiteman recombines mambo, Americana, and mesmerizing BSS-style rock with infectiously rambling results. [Mar 2007, p.88]

His second album delivers fleeting moments of bliss, like a beach bum’s opiate dreams.

With Courtney Love the only original member involved, Hole's return is nominal, but Love's resurrection is very real....It's only when Love throws a pity party on a series of slow jams that sincerity eludes her.

Although they're purely instrumentalists, Matmos can too, with a charm that sets the laptop duo apart from lesser lights for whom chilly beats and icy synths are ends in themselves.

There’s something more filigreed at work: a thoughtfulness about the band’s mannered chaos as though they’ve come out on the far end of some mass realization.

For her second album, she flexes more ambition, and the results are rewarding. [June 2008, p.110]

Let's have a toast for the ladies who stick it to the douchebags.

Not everything works, and the second side maybe gets bathed in one too many foggy organ dirges, but I, Gemini is like the chorus subject in weirdo-pop single of the year “Eat Shiitake Mushrooms”: Never invincible, but never predictable.

Like its predecessor [Reputation], Lover shines when the bombast is stripped away and the songs are humble and discreet, even muffled.

Sure, there's hurt everywhere, but Carrabba sticks with the pain he knows. [Nov 2007, p.121]

They refresh all their tricks, with stripped-down, energetic guitar plus little electronics. [Apr 2008, p.92]

When the band wraps itself around singer Lizzie Bougatsos' singular shrieks, they ascend to vertiginous heights on 'Holy Communion' and 'Dust Storm,' creating something truly transformative.

Their major-label debut gets by on smarmy-smooth suburban- pop melodies, cheeky genre mash-ups, and good bad jokes.

Psychopomp is a 25-minute-long dream-pop album that feels like much more: a sharp-edged exploration of how loneliness and longing form into brittle personal shields.

Love Streams manages to break through the vaulted cathedral ceilings and peer above the clouds, largely eschewing the degraded, gothic textures Hecker has become so fond of in favor of more vivid, almost celestial palettes.

Heavy Rocks is a monolithic take on everything from trippy Funkadelic acid sludge to galloping Blue Öyster pöp to lightning-riding '80s thrash; yet it all billows fluffily from the same dreamy doom factory they constructed on 2005's Pink.