The giddy shift towards pop and even traditional dance music structure that Mouse on Mars take here is so irresistibly fun and persuasive that the very thought of loyalists furrowing their brows and crossing their arms is comical.

It's a long, occasionally ponderous listen... but it's an impressive and rewarding journey that moves between prog, space-rock and subdural transmissions in ancient alien tongues.

City is a noticeably fleshier beast than its predecessor; the album is lush and sophisticated with hooks aplenty.

More sonically adventurous than its mainstream look suggests.

The only real problem with i is the sheer volume of excellence we've all come to expect from Merritt.

Green Imagination succeeds because it rarely seems obvious or disingenuous, even as it indulges in copious quantities of shamelessly retro fun.

White Hot Peach displays a precise and inventive nature that has a lot in common with Guided By Voices' Do the Collapse.

Unabashedly mellow and reflective, Burn the Maps may not hook mainstream music fans who've been conditioned to expect a tidily rhyming chorus ever thirty seconds.

The intimacy is startling. The introspection is as charming as it is insightful.

The melodies are hauntingly memorable; the band is smart enough to add just enough supporting touches to augment and support, without ever threatening to overwhelm.

Stereo/Mono is less polished than Westerberg's other solo efforts, but the song quality is consistent.

A discernibly West Coast-influenced affair, it's an album of anecdotal moments set to a glorious country-rock backdrop: graciously sun-kissed melodies, vocal harmonies, neat arrangements and refreshing, varied instrumentation.

Instead of embracing the angularity of the self-conscious Britpop and New Wave scenes of yore, Field Music embrace the sugary pop-rock that defined the first British Invasion.

By returning to the drawing board they used to create Ego War, Dinsdale and Franks have created a bigger, better version of their all-inclusive dance-pop/hip-hop.

What's most fascinating about Welcome to the Monkey House is that, in the midst of copious drug usage, heavy drinking and god knows what else, the Dandy Warhols have emerged with an album so cleverly coherent that it simply couldn't have come from anywhere else.

Nastasia's gaze is still directed inwards, obsessed with the vivid minute imagery of relationships and an increasing dark streak -- a still-blackening air.

As ordered as it is wild, as gorgeous as it is gruesome, Lay of the Land is indeed a ballsy record.

Broder gently provokes your senses with curious combinations of divergent instruments, creating a collection of progressive musical oddities that is entertaining as well as musically fascinating.

Wherever I Am, I Am What's Missing remains grounded in electronic composition, but the subtle distinctions between spacy trip-hop epics (see "Diamonds and Stones) and booty-shaking dance-floor numbers help to keep the band's dynamic fresh, even after ten years.

This is utterly original, honest, intelligent music that sounds like nothing you'll hear elsewhere. It's not an easy listen, but it's well worth the time it takes to get to know it.

One hell of a good album.... [It] retains the intelligence of Prewitt's Sea and Cake work and melds it to rock and roll songcraft.

Its startling brand of dreamlike space-folk, while reminiscent of earlier efforts like Stereopathic Soul Manure, is a wholly unique venture.

There's a definite demand for FLA's art, and on Epitaph, they're at the top of their game.

The music here is never outright parody, and there's evidence that real work went into creating this record -- it isn't a lightweight effort designed to cash in on retro-trendiness.

He barely sings above conversational volume -- a little bit raspy, rife with emotion and completely convincing. It's a perfect fit for his songs, and for the half-broken but lovely and endearing production style with which he has realized them.

Their bouncily hummable tunes and tortured lyrics about girls might evoke thoughts of groups like Weezer, but these guys aren't nerd-rock clones.

[Congleton's] studio wizardry shows in the bolder array of sounds he's plundered and the crispness with which they're delivered, while his improved songwriting shines through in bolder arrangements and a tighter instrumental focus.

If you can't get enough Xiu Xiu, this album is definitely for you.