What we have is an album that’s mostly pretty good. It’s certainly an improvement over Tha Carter IV--likely his least memorable album ever--but it’s also not a record that is going to reignite a second peak from Wayne, if that was the hope.

Only in the fire-hydrant-ready title cut, where an around-the-way girl reminisces about bodegas in Bed-Stuy, does Coppola seem like more than a confessional folkie playing funky dress-up.

Dawson keeps Thunder Thighs from becoming too precious or intense.

This completely non-shitty '70s-Nashville country record reminds you why Adams was once a big deal. [Nov 2005, p.101]

Though it manages to be both lovely and adventurous, too often MCIII sounds like Cronin falls back on the string beds instead of utilizing them with the same fervor he used to reserve for crunchy, just-this-side-of-DGAF riffs.

You start out rooting for Lucas when his ex keeps his Pretenders album. But the more mean-spirited he gets, the more his melodies fail him.

There's nothing on Trap Lord to suggest Ferg will follow A$AP Rocky onto the pop charts, but it's a rewardingly dark and grounded listen.

Too bad inconsistent vocal performances from Prince Po to MED, tempt you to switch the dial on this hour-long jam. [Nov 2008, p.96]

Frank folk-rock songs that are too sketchy to be great but too good to write off. [May 2003, p.116]

His interpretations seem both timid and presumptuous. [Oct 2004, p.120]

Gut-wrenching, foot-stomping punk. [Feb 2006, p.87]

An anthology that holds its own against MacLean's "official" releases.

As deft revivalists of “country” in all its forms, the four guys in Deer Tick are entitled to wallow. Luckily, though, their second album delivers doses of pop buoyancy.

Both the production and Wyatt's shape-shifting croon are so butter-smooth that it takes repeated plays to sense the hurt that hides behind these dance-floor lullabies.

The effect is more Tokyo neon than Lower East Side leather. Surprisingly, the sonic leap forward intensifies Casablancas' greatest gift--melody.

He refines his act. [May 2008, p.106]

While his guitar remains ulceric, songs such as 'The Ballad of Charley Harper' stew rather than combust.

I'm Having Fun Now is all whimsical, tongue-in-cheek cutesiness, but with songs this sugary, it'd be churlish to complain. Rilo Kiley's Jenny Lewis and singer-songwriter/boyfriend Johnathan Rice have both had their moments of pure-pop confection in the past, but never as crazily delicious as here.

Like most of these top-shelf indie-pop tunes, ["101"] is cause for hoping Julian Casablancas loosens his songwriting grip on the next Strokes album. [Mar 2007, p.94]

Trip-hop pioneers give doom a romantic tinge.

By recycling and loosening up "Two Thousand's" best elements--inventive instrumental passages, rich harmonies, across-the-board emoting--French Kicks get both poppier and deeper.

The journey is less emotionally fraught than her best work, but just as revealing.

On Duskland, he veers slightly more into homegrown Kurt Vile territory, especially with the organ-saturated opener “Sundowner.”

The hooks are stronger, the production richer, and the scale grander. [May 2007, p.84]

This sophomore set from the Swedish acoustic troubadour is undeniably pretty but ultimately doesn't hint at much more. [Oct 2007, p.102]

It's no "High Enough," but it is a damn fine collection of selected ambient works.

It’s largely a plainspoken, cohesive work, closer in spirit to single-minded efforts like Morning Phases, Modern Guilt, or even Sea Change. And really, that’s fine.

A stark, erratic, and perversely back-loaded collection. [Mar 2006, p.96]