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

For all of Walking with Thee's obvious musical accomplishments, its most impressive facet is the ability to transcend all the hype, hoopla and haranguing surrounding its release.

What’s Next to the Moon is Kozelek achieving the impossible; he has actually managed to make AC/DC sound romantic.

It is (Smog)'s most colorful, vigorous, and alive album to date.

His vision appears to be his own, and just happens to coincide with both the director's and the author's visions also, resulting in one of the best soundtracks -- and albums -- I've heard in a long time.

It's hard to put into words exactly what makes this album so appealing. The mindlessness of it all is a major selling point.

It's a dense, matte-black monoblock of furious sonic energy -- ultra-compressed riffs, barely controlled bursts of feedback, and lyrics more urgent and angry than anything Wire have done in the last twenty-odd years.

Anyone searching for a wholly absorbing listening experience should look (and listen) elsewhere.

These new stylistic change-ups give Of Montreal a contemporary edge, but dull the pastoral chaos that made them so charming to start with.

It's powerful, clever, and you can dance to it.

This is powerful stuff, unrelenting and dark.

Aside from being a strikingly orchestrated affair that ranks among Quasi's best work, Hot Shit! is the fully-realized version of Quasi that Coomes has envisioned since the beginning.

Here, finally, is a goth album for people who hate goth, an electronic album for people who hate electronica, and a pop album for everyone else.

Deliberately slow in tempo, delicately arranged, emphatically "dreamy" in tone, Misery is a Butterfly is lovely, but also difficult going for Blonde Redhead fans.

Waiting For The Moon is a welcome and singularly strong addition to one of the most impressive catalogues in modern music.

The songs may pay excessive homage in spirit, but their composition and divergent tones are wholly original.

By the time "Our Mutual Friend"'s symphonic percussion and hammering cellos reach their crashing apex, the album begins to feel a little like the fourth consecutive hour at a well-stocked party full of musical theater majors.

While Face The Truth rarely presents a side of its creator that has not already been seen, loved, and cried over, it's a passable, even better-than-average album.

Real Gone may not rock your world in the way that 2002's musical one-two punch of Blood Money and Alice did, but you'll still be glad to hear it.

One of the major differences between this and other Grandaddy releases is that Lytle finally seems comfortable in his role as production auteur.

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.

A band more fixated with guitar solos and drunken fist-pumping than in the more nuanced, desperate territory of their former incarnation [Lifter Puller].

The joy of Lost in Revelry is its balance. It's assured, but freely flaunts its imperfections; it's polished, but clearly revels in its most amateurish moments.

While it delivers the triumphant rock 'n' roll thrills and oddball incantations promised by the GBV "brand", the most surprising thing about Earthquake Glue is that, at a point in his career when his inventiveness really should be waning (along with his libido and his prostate), Robert Pollard's creative spark seems brighter than ever.

The album sounds mature, weathered, tired and occasionally almost weary, but is far to dynamic to ever seem truly lethargic.

Usually entertaining, often thought-provoking, and occasionally insightful.

The Double combine unsettling electronic noise with simple, enjoyable vocal hooks to create a rickety, rattletrap pop collage that's too undeniably ear-catching to ignore.

The Instinct is a showcase for an amazing voice and a band that knows how to build around it.... One of the best albums of 2003.