Why Should the Fire Die? may see Nickel Creek turn further away than ever from CMT’s trappings, but it also shows the band reaching to eclipse its more generic pop-rock reference points as well.

Thanks to some subtly disquieting diction it’s almost as disturbingly memorable as a cuddly cartoon blood orgy.

Unfortunately, the magic of [the] first three songs is never captured again.

Other than a few cliched song titles and lyrics (this is rock 'n' roll after all), Twilight of the Innocents actually demonstrates a refreshing maturity and breadth; sure it rocks, but never in a clumsy or callous manner.

This is a solid, sturdy set of songs befitting their rootsy-but-not-exactly-honky-tonk settings.

Though The Wilderness is filled with stunning songs, by album’s end, they tend to meld together. Their uniformity is their greatest fault, though admittedly one that can be overlooked during its best moments.

The larger scope of the album bodes well for The Raveonettes... [but] it’s a shame that there are several clunkers mixed with such strong material.

Electric Six make junk music for junk times, and they’d be nigh-unbearable if they weren’t so much fun.

It's like a medicinal tonic cleansing your system of the toxic effects of 10+ years of boring, bloated rap full-lengths.

Remember that concept album Tori Amos did that was supposed to reclaim all those male-oriented anthems from their blowhard XY carriers? Smith paints over Amos’ tedious version and executes the idea so much better, without even bragging that she’s doing it.

The entropic quality of the ‘yellow’ Pole has undergone a ‘rehab’ of sorts, resulting in a cleaner and reinvigorated sound.

Nothing too dire mars Vega’s compositions, which remain as condensed and detailed as Victorian miniatures.

The band is still fun, successfully completing their transition from cutesy electro-Baroque to a twee-funk sensation.

There’s a bit too much flab on No Cities Left for it to be the truly great album it aspires to be.

Springtime is... the unveiling of a toothier sound that better reflects both Holland’s bloodiness and booziness.

An immediate and combative disc that blurries up a litany of angers over surprisingly versatile layers of pop-punk guitar thrusting, The Body, The Blood, The Machine is a focused tantrum, irresolute in its actual stances, but pissed and rambunctious enough to overcome its vagaries.

Get Evens is the aural embodiment of the sublimated rage of their debut. Though the instrumentation is still spare, it's meatier and more aggressive.

A record for the creeping darkness of a hot summer night in which the night seems to last forever and the heat, the same.

Its unbearable tendencies are avoidable because they're overshadowed by bursts of creativity.

Natural is their prettiest album; in spots it's almost pastoral.

For those of you familiar with the band’s debut, 2004’s Tiger, My Friend, I can make this simple: The Only Thing I Ever Wanted is just as good.

If the album has a fault, its that LFO can occasionally be accused of complacency, and a handful of tracks here stray into bog-standard Warp generictronica, but it’s a minor gripe considering the joys on offer elsewhere.

A little bit of kitsch is important... Begin to Hope has enough of it to stand out, and enough ethics to keep the whole thing grounded.

Favourite Worst Nightmare, a demonstrative record of small deviations, may pale before its predecessor but is better.

It is a funereal album whose spark and anger is obscured like the smoldering foundations of a burnt out city.

Mostly though, it’s status quo.

Promise Of Love is chock-full of pretty, melancholic music. In other words money well spent.

The combination of Treacy’s back-story and the complexity of My Dark Places makes it hard to live with at times; it is a supremely disquieting record.