Live From Rome is fairly lyrically sound. In this case, “lyrically sound” should be taken with exactly two grains of salt. One grain would represent the ranting political nature of the content.... Grain #2 simply exclaims, “Dude! Rhyme!”

Solarized is unlikely to win or lose Brown many fans, but the world of music would certainly be a duller place without him.

Apart from Caleb Followill’s distinctive, growly vocals--half-man half-grizzly--this could be a completely different band. A much better band. It’s quite an incredible transformation--and I’ll say this upfront: it doesn’t matter what you thought of their debut, you should listen to this album.

His pieces match open, lovely music with lyrics depicting people in struggle.... Individual songs take on various moods, but the album never dips fully to the bleak.

The realisation is obvious: a happy, contented, motherly Tori Amos is as irrelevant, sterile, and airbrushed as her face is on the cover of this album. Tori: it’s over.

Ward’s only failure in his bid to create a paean to another era is Transistor Radio’s length.

Simply put, either you’ll love this album or not “get” it. It’s too good an album for you to not like if you understand it.

Contemplative and comforting, this is inoffensive Americana for the brainy set.

It's not bad; it just feels like a stopgap to hold fans over until Enon has recorded enough material for a new release.

It doesn’t always work, and the record has a scattered second half that undercuts the sonic unity of the first, but the best moments here are as starkly affecting as any of Garnier’s past work.

The album is one of the few anti-industry freakouts that have appealed to me on both a conceptual and musical level, so whether or not you are familiar with Busdriver’s skittering flow or innovative song structure, it’s worth the time to see why he’s so damn mad after all.

The quality of the music here, whether you agree that some of the session versions match or improve upon their originals or not, make this a collection worth picking up for sheer song quality alone.

Feathers can be at times hypnosis-inducing. The effect of this hypnosis is that many of the unique moments on the album feel like dream states you aren’t sure actually happened.

Nashville is chock full of weeping slide guitar work, soaring harmonies, keyboards, and Rouse’s lonely breath of a voice pushing out from the relatively lush production.

I wish I could critique them for something other than their obvious debt to Spoon. Sadly, that’s the most distinguished characteristic behind the studied, boardroom-designed pop of Robbers on High Street.

Short, blunt, and skitless, A Gun Called Tension seethes with everything post-aught genre-fucking needs.

After disappointing would-be breakthrough releases from so many of the discopunk frontlines, this is an album that’s more easily classifiable as “great” for what it isn’t, rather than what it is. It’s not inconsistent. It’s not a total deviation from what we know of the group. It’s never dull. And, most importantly--it is in no way a let down.

It's a beautiful restatement of the group's strengths--and a consolidation of the gains made on Cold House.

A Healthy Distrust’s production and wordplay have improved to such a large degree that it’s hard to believe that it could happen again on the next outing.

The album moves in gasps and groans, with a steady flow to its twelve songs that weaves together like a symphony.

It’s hard to say that Andrew Bird is anything but a master-songwriter, capable of penning a song for any sort of occasion. It was the hardest challenge, however, for Bird himself to understand this power and to control it. He’s finally tamed that quivering urge and, in the process released one really long perfect moment in adult contemporary pop.

Out of Breach isn’t without its charms, but with an opening statement as assertive, exiting, and promising as Afro Finger and Gel, it certainly feels a little disappointing.

The Others are one of the worst bands I have heard in a long, long time.

Shouldn't he be trying something a bit more ambitious by now?

Before The Poison isn’t flashy, and it’s likely to get overlooked, but it may just be the single best album Marianne Faithfull has ever put her name to.

It’s the tracks that sit closest to the old Trail of Dead that make up a majority of Worlds Apart’s uninspiring moments and also ruin any cohesion that could have otherwise been attained through the heart of the album.

Digital Ash offers enough swelling, androgynous moments to approach its hype, or at least keep up with its release partner.

Bright Eyes may well be on the verge of finally bridging the gap between his precocious talent and the maturity of an ageless songwriter.