The Pickups also pile on the sophomore-album enhancements here, deepening a sound that scarcely wanted for depth beforehand.

The brighter moments of the second half can be interesting, but never as achingly perfect as that opening stretch.

This dichotomy between the album’s two bandleaders makes the album an authentically interesting listen instead of a throwaway reunion effort.

Even without the manic singer actually up in your face, the band’s gleefully knuckle-dragging first full-length is a thrilling throwdown.

It's not that Chromeo's run out of ideas--they've been a one-idea band all along. But now they've got more of the world singing along, so their brand of fun suddenly means a little bit more.

With guitars that ring and roar and percussion that gushes and thunders, they finally turn theirlyrical perculiarities into a legitimate churn of ideas, rather than a posturing diversion. [Feb 2008, p.92]

My Morning Jacket sound right at home on "Emmet Otter's Jug-Band Christmas," while Rivers Cuomo and Hayley Williams conjure some bizarro odd-couple energy in "The Rainbow Connection."

Pearl may have studied Karen O's textbook, but when her bandmates rev up a proper garage-rock racket, she dives in like she was born with her own irresistible rock-star sneer. [Jul 2006, p.82]

Akron/Family provide consistent backing, but it's Gira's array of violins, "krautabilly" electric guitar, accordion, and choral vocals that turn the tunes inside out.

[Franz Ferdinand's] Alex Kapranos... owes JK crooner Paul Haig a pint. [Dec 2006, p.103]

Should these two musicians choose to continue their professional reengagement (and here's hoping they do), jettisoning the vocalists and second-rate John Cooper Clarke monologues in favor of the noisy anti-pop skank they helped invent might yet yield wondrous results. Less talk, more skronk.

A ponderous chain-gang stomp and some misty lyrics outline his limitations, but once again, Perkins' loss is our gain.

This Montreal orchestral rock combo's previous efforts were lush and woozy, like a half-remembered dream, but Roaring Night is the stuff of nightmares.

Cheetah is warm, rudimentary (lotsa 808s), and demurely catchy--making it the poppiest record of this career phase by default.

Get me out of here, take me back: That's breaking up in a nutshell, and Cults till this soil multiple ways.

For a band named after a benchmark of mediocrity, it's fitting that they bow out consumed by matters so ordinary. [Sep 2007, p.134]

Arcology is very much an extension of that pulsing amalgamation of sounds, while filling out an expanded universe of technological touchstones.

That Daft Punk's Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo and Thomas Bangalter would score Tron: Legacy seems destined.

Julie Budet chirps exclusively in French, which helps her Auto-Tuned singsong remain vaguely mysterious, even if her childlike melodies are far simpler than the subtly finessed synths.

Hospice is packed with lofty choruses and extended instrumental passages (the alternately elegiac and tedious 'Atrophy'). But with emotional drama in abundance (mostly from vocalist Peter Silberman’s fiery, tormented shouts), sonic indulgences like the astral guitar blasts on “Thirteen” offer genuine catharsis.

Their diverse third release occasionally finds new ways to induce grins.

"Original Prankster" is one hell of a rump-shaker... the rest of Conspiracy buzzes from skate metal to Ozzed-up pop to Chili-peppered funk-punk to Billy Squirey sleaze-core. [Jan 2001, p.113]

Never succumbing to mere cleverness, Adem achieves a singularly intimate expansiveness. [Nov 2006, p.96]

The third album (and first for a major) from this Boston-born, Mississippi- and Chicago-bred singer-guitarist is bound to inspire Sam Cooke comparisons, but Get It just as frequently stirs up Jackson 5 dance fever.

The songs are powerfully wiry and declamatory.

Dynamics or structure are not a major concern; these songs sound happy to just get the ignition working.

Positively exuberant. [Sep 2006, p.114]

You’ll discover plenty of laconic beauty wherever you drop into The House, and it glimmers with the songful club music that made its predecessor great for getting ready to go out. But a profusion of digital-pastoral vocal settings makes it unlikely to displace Pool from constant shuffle rotation.