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

The trio offers copious catchy bits, more tonal variation than the usual guitar-plus-beats norm and an appealingly pleading frontman in Ed Macfarlane. [Nov 2008, p.91]

When they work up a good buzz and growl ('Batcat') or hit a scrumptious riff ('The Sun Smells Too Loud'), Mogwai still take your breath away.

On their fourth album, the Kings of Leon still rule with a messy hand, applying rough magic and blurry, slurred imagery to their swashbuckling rock.

Throughout Dear Science, TV on the Radio--which includes the rhythm section of bassist Gerard Smith and drummer Jaleel Bunton--flesh out Adebimpe's and Malone's ruminations with relentlessly inventive arrangements that make even familiar sentiments seem fresh.

Relying on sturdy-legged piano chords ('I've Seen Enough'), boogie rock ('Mexican Dogs'), and caffeinated backbeats to boost Willett's narratives, Loyalty to Loyalty is rarely subtle.

Acid Tongue is glossed up at the expense of Lewis' charming flaws.

Slivers of banjo, rattles, kalimba, and what sounds like a coffee percolator swirl across winsome exotica minitures. [Nov 2008, p.93]

The band's freak-out, slacker glam jams return, but it's Earley's comparatively focused alt-country side that impresses.

Fender Rhodes–heavy groove of 2006's self-titled breakthrough gives way to more discernible melodies and socially conscious lyrics (see "Oppressions Each"), buoyed by soulful horns and backup vocals.

His fifth solo album, which is rife with clichéd storytelling, shows signs that another makeover might be in order.

Plundering the 1980s for inspiration (shock!), 27-year- old New Zealander Pip Brown emerges with a confection of synth-infused, mammoth-chorused tunes that sound surprisingly and thrillingly fresh.

Powered by rattling drums, simmering organ, and Stuart Staples' resonant baritone, the first half of Tindersticks' latest is a can't-miss proposition....Too bad the disc's second half descends into a morass of half-finished, melancholic curios that mostly go nowhere lowly.

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]

Gift of Screws boasts a lot of attractive touches, from the lovely acoustic guitar of 'Bel Air Rain' to the crashing chorus of 'Love Runs Deeper,' but less polish would add some soul to the mix.

The album is a dark gem, a high-IQ song cycle that combines guilt, neurotic lust, and low self-esteem into piano-based tunes that come studded with lyrical daggers.

The Georgia quintet's debut may appeal to My Morning Jacket fans, but songs like 'Heavy Petting' and 'Start Me Laughing' (which recalls Kurt Cobain at his nastiest) possess more growl than that comparison implies.

These Los Angelenos deliver a brash follow-up to 2006's platinum-selling "15." Spewing filthy oaths and sweet promises, sometimes in the same line, frontman Josh Todd does his best to give misogyny a good name.

The album is more a rebirth, with Metallica exploring what they've learned durig their 20 years at the top of the heavy-metal slag heap. [Nov 2008, p.96]

Credit producer Butch Vig, too, who brings the trio closer to sonic Nirvana by coaxing out their snarls and then compressing and polishing them to maximum shininess.

Tricky reengages with his pain that gave him his original power. [Sep 2008, p.128]

Carried To Dust's songs travel a trail that seems carved out of ancient echoes. [Sep 2008, p.114]

Their more subdued follow-up doesn't dirty things up much, but it does give some character to the quartet's airtight groovemaking.

The Stand Ins, is packed with the same compound sentences, sprawling narratives, and precarious, barn-dance guitars that made its companion piece, 2007's "The Stage Names," so weirdly gripping.

Mostly, though, they demonstrate that pop trumps piety.

Depending on your disposition, former Moldy Peach Kimya Dawson is either endearingly naïve or impossibly irritating. Parents who fall into the former camp could do worse than this children's album (it beats Kidz Bop!), but caveat emptor when uptight grandparents are around.

Zac Pennington sounds a bit pubescent himself as he sputters the record's bizarre, hard-to-follow story, but the impeccable arrangements, wormy melodies, and jarring carnal imagery get the point across.

Key elements--shy vocals, shimmery guitar--remain from the Kadanes' previous band, slow-core pioneers Bedhead, though Matt now actually enunciates the band's diary entries.