Just as messy as the Mescaleros' first two stabs at relevance. [Jan 2004, p.102]

Unfortunately, many of the underdeveloped rockers and plaintive ballads here are dance-floor-clearing duds. [Nov 2003, p.111]

Mercer staggers from self-doubt to self-righteousness with each song, concealing razor blades inside his caramel-apple anthems. [Dec 2003, p.133]

Fang's edge is a bit more mosh-by-numbers than Hole's. [Dec 2003, p.129]

Healy's wounded sneer makes you long for his misty croon. [Dec 2003, p.128]

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]

Blueprint reminds us that retro hip-hop is always better when it remembers laughter. [Dec 2003, p.128]

He cross-fades scratch solos and oddball sound bites like he's trying to win a DJ battle and top the Down Beat poll at the same time. [Jan 2004, p.100]

The swollen, baroque-pop arrangements... may ruffle the band's more delicate followers. But the songs are always smart, and it's the music-librarian's humor that helps keep things from slipping into the maudlin. [Nov 2003, p.109]

It's a set of torch songs to do Nico proud--some folkie, some neo-soul, all darker than your closet at midnight. [Oct 2003, p.113]

If this album had been released five years ago, it would've been a blast. Today, it's the same new same old. [Nov 2003, p.117]

[Death Cab] have never made the truly great album that their best songs promised. Until now. [Nov 2003, p.112]

It's such a confident display that you barely notice the English-as-a-second-language lyrics. [Nov 2003, p.117]

The arrangements are so ponderous, the vowel-masticating vocal languor so excessive, you almost wish he'd go whole hog and cover "Ave Maria." [Nov 2003, p.117]

Atmosphere's least frantic, most playful album. [Nov 2003, p.114]

Peaches seems to be having much more fun with her sleazy subject matter. [Nov 2003, p.116]

Singer/songwriter Shawn Christensen's yelping Oingo-Boingo-ish voice gets grating fast. [Nov 2003, p.117]

A prog-rock field trip that will give Diary fans something (else) to cry about. [Dec 2003, p.128]

For the juke-joint blues of “Jimmy Mathis” and the breezy mountain song “Comin Round,” he takes old-school-as-the-hills song forms and gussies them up for the club.

When the hooks fall off, his lone-gunman purging becomes more tiring than cathartic. [Dec 2003, p.128]

On the more stripped-down songs, though, Conley's keen intuition pokes through. [Jan 2004, p.102]

If the idea of an indie-rock Captain & Tennille appeals, there's a berth for you on their love boat. [Nov 2003, p.114]

Like Grandaddy, they know the future isn't glitch-free, but they're gonna throw a good party anyway. [Oct 2003, p.113]

A relaxed, even graceful affair. [Dec 2003, p.123]

It's more cerebral than aggressive.... A derivative effort that makes Keenan sound less talented than he actually is. [Oct 2003, p.105]

Sadly, Mayer's idea of a good time involves hiring jazz musicians to make himself sound like '80s James Taylor. [Dec 2003, p.128]

The radio-friendly album Liz Phair should have made. [Oct 2003, p.113]

Quasi sound feistier than they have in years. [Nov 2003, p.114]