It's not perfect--it's too long by a third, David Lee Roth often sounds like a 2 A.M. drunk doing David Lee Roth at karaoke, and a Kinks cover wouldn't have killed them. But the album clearly aspires to both be part of the canon, and, if need be, serve as an entry point.

They clearly prize improvisation and spontaneity; the songs always sound like they were written this morning, refined over lunch, and recorded in time for happy hour. [Jan 2004, p.103]

From the beginning, Franti has favored a retro, flow-through groove, and here hsi funk adds a decidedly disco flavor. [Jul 2001, p.135]

A Death Cab For Cutie album you can listen to while ironing your cape. [Apr 2004, p.94]

It’s an ambiguous ending that makes the journey all the more fascinating.

The diversity of the players is reflected in the sprawling songs, many of feel like patchworks.

Constant club-pop hooks, courtesy of executive producer Dr. Luke (with help from mentor Max Martin plus Benny Blanco, Ammo, and others) render the hypocrisy nearly irrelevant; but if they dry up, yikes.

How to write authentically about a mundane life? Smith's answer involves screwball hooks, surreal evangelizing, and drunken-troubadour gusto.

While there's nothing here as dense and biting as the Ministry slams of Bush Sr. in the '90s, Jourgensen can still pile on the jackhammer beats and clever samples.

Keep Your Eyes Ahead maintains a dense soundscape with electronic tinges, but adds a fresh, succinct tone, trimming songs to four minutes tops.

Rarely has whimsical weirdness been done with such finesse.

Well respected for sparse, plaintive bummer folk since his 2004 debut, LaMontagne gets a bit more expansive here, gently juking his earthy rasp with Stax-y horns, guitar twang, and lilting lady backup vocals.

As pure listening experience, Tourist's mazelike structure, full of echoes and switchbacks, best lends itself to listening on shuffle.

The band's typically thunderous melodic sprawl and cryptic musings on life and death perfectly fit the conceptual bill, with everything cranked to its natural extreme.

While that may sound dangerously morose, Death Cab have become skilled with the light/dark juxtaposition.

The lack of in-your-face future-funk arrangements isn't a sign that Beyoncé has lost her appetite for domination; indeed, as a singer's showcase, 4 will probably end up bested this year only by Adele's 21.

Velocifero's grinding soundscapes (honed in part by Alessandro Cortini of Nine Inch Nails) are easy to admire.... Too bad there's rarely much of anything going on below the surface.

Body Music, the full-length debut from British duo AlunaGeorge, could have made an excellent EP.

The debut album from this London quartet, founded by laptop folkies Sam Genders and Stephen Cracknell, lulls you along with its sparsely melodic tinkering and blippy slow burn. [July 2008, p.92]

At times, the results are a bit aimless; even a cute kids' chorus can't save "My Generation" from Joss Stone's wailing or Lil Wayne's awkward motivational turn. When the two principles catch a groove, though, it's impressive.

In 2018, as it becomes more pressing than ever for artists to use their platforms to speak out, Love Is Dead pursues clarity, both in production and politics, with mixed results.

Like their last three records... [Riot Act] balances emotive bombast with a taut, sweaty hard-rock attack. [Dec 2002, p.137]

A half-dozen times on their debut, the Shackeltons sound completely convincing, and that's about six more times than most bands ever manage.

Producer Parallel Thought supports the storytelling (and saves the duo from dissolving into navel-gazing) with sharp loops.

We get big-budget bloat, lifeless lines, and none of the warmth or reality that would cause any label to take interest in the first place.

While his desire to evoke the druggy euphoria of early U.K. club music has sometimes jostled against his ear for atmosphere (as on his contributions to the Shock Power of Love split with Blackdown), those two extremes are more fully integrated than ever on these two 13-minute tracks.

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.

A clear attempt to re-create their most commerical sound--which works well on the ingrating antiwar titile track and the glistening time capsule 'Oh My Heart.' [Nov 2008, p.96]