Essentially, Still Night, Still Life is a fun, carefree listen and doesn't pretend to be anything more. As an added bonus, it's also a clear improvement over the band's past works as well.

Back on My B.S. disappoints regardless, making it a point of no contest that the Busta Rhymes of old is gone forever.

The result is far from flawless, but Clues sparkles in the rough.

It is overbearing, pretentious, huge, and begrudgingly catchy, but most importantly, it unveils a band without direction.

Using Shallow and Waterworks as benchmarks, this doesn't even come close; it's glaringly obvious that the addition of a third member has wreaked havoc on the formula.

Between the organic and artificial sounds found in Actor, St. Vincent’s voice melts the two clashing styles into a divinely pleasurable experience.

Outer South is too long, too uninteresting, and too uninspired to be anything better than not good at all.

Despite all of these positives, and no real negatives to be found, Set ‘Em Wild, Set ‘Em Free isn’t quite a perfect work--it’s much too clunky, much too unorganized to be considered as such--but it’s a considerable record, one that’s sure to remain a highlight of this decade’s final chapter and afterwards.

To attempt to rank Wavering Radiant within the Isis discography is to miss this point. Fans of earlier releases will likely be disappointed but if this record proves anything, it's that Isis are a fully-functioning organism, slowly moving towards something not yet known by the listener and perhaps not even the band themselves.

The album is pure homogeneous shitheap of stream-of-consciousness turgidity nonsense that strives to be different and to take you “somewhere else” but in the end really just ends up being hilariously bad and hilariously derivative of his past work and despite the frequent “so-weird-it’s-almost-cool” moments it still just plain sucks hardcore.

Insides is a thrilling, addictive, at times breathtaking piece of electronica and is sure to make Hopkins into a name more renown than just ‘Coldplay’s co-producer’, but here’s hoping that with his next effort he can focus a little more on stirring the heart and a little less on shocking the head.

It's a shame that the album fails to hit, and in some ways, it's also a shame that it's not terrible, either.

Shockingly good but reassuringly gimmick-free, The Devil You Know is not only the best Dio or Sabbath release in over a decade but a front-runner for heavy metal album of the year.

What's really impressive: this is intelligent enough to satisfy the conscious-cats with enough inspiring socio-political discussion (see Gina Loring's "Poetic Greed"), poppy enough for the club with some hype-generating hooks, and ideal for a 45-minute workout.

Almost every song is terribly alike--each featuring the same hallmarks Nadja’s become known for, besides their most important aspect, being their relentless creativity--and this bland similarity becomes taxing.

Listen to the guest performances if you dare; just tune out the pedestrian rapping.

Mean Everything to Nothing is an excellent record, but no better or worse than its predecessor. It’s just different.

At the end of the day, this album might not be what the change-resistant fans wanted to hear but it was necessary and more importantly, they pull it off quite well.

Fantasies is not only a top notch record that effectively picks up where Metric left off at "Live it Out," but with a sense of genuineness that some of the band's contemporaries have lost.

It's intimate, accessible, and--Pumpkins comparisons aside--fairly unique in today's scene. What more could one ask for?

Simply put, Two Fingers is pretty much everything that anyone with an interest in clubtronica has been waiting for.

Two Suns then is everything it could have been--a worthy follow up to Bat For Lashes’ Mercury nominated Fur & Gold... and so much more. Here and now, take a trip, you just may come out enchanted.

Without hyperbole, it is one of the most fun, vibrant, rewarding, intelligently structured pop records to shimmy through these parts in quite some time, taking cues from whichever electro-punk-pop-DIY-indie-sludge-rock hybrid 21-year-old Londoner Mica Levi fell in love with when she was 14.

For better or for worse--you'll like it because of the music it reminds you of, but you won't love it for exactly the same reason.

Repo isn't a bad record, but it's certainly the least fresh and consistent one I can remember Black Dice releasing and both of those traits are a big deal with 'difficult' music like this.

It's Blitz will probably date badly and, despite clearly being better than "Fever To Tell," it probably won't be remembered by as many people, or as fondly by those people. Regardless, it IS a great album, and one that's come completely out of leftfield as far as its style and its depth goes.

Excessive, sexual, and catchy, UGK has crafted the most definitive template for the southern rap record. Sadly, it'll be their last.

Black Cascade should be taken for what it is: fodder for the band's increasingly heralded live show and, at its simplest, a strong output in an increasingly stagnant, attention craved US black metal scene.