The middle third of pom pom gives itself over relentlessly to schlock and dross for the purpose of exposing deeper truths on the way.

There are thus a number of quite diverse stylistic influences at work, but here they are all fused together into a whole that is both natural and low-key.

Unfortunately, the bright spots are weighed down by fodder that would fill the troughs of many, but coming from Cohen feel perfunctory at best.

Arbouretum succeed through absolute concentration and craftsmanship, eschewing the easy crescendoes of mid-aughts post-rock in favor of more organically evolving swells.

While it offers just enough in the way of individuality to stave off a disappearance within the impersonal grid of the received and the conventional, it still can’t quite fuse this into a coherent personality that transcends its inhibiting foundations.

This is digital automation entering the flow of the socio-linguistic, or stark outlooks amidst techno-financial mind-control. This is the sound of a colorless decline.

While the conceptual ambitions occasionally overstep the mark, they rarely get in the way of the cerebral and gluteal-vibratory enjoyment that is to be found. It's a work no less beneficial than entertaining.

The jettisoning of shoegaze trickery takes place within a comeback that, even if very welcome, isn’t entirely spectacular.

This is Jack Tatum's Platonic pop record, and if it doesn't meet the expectations of critics, for lack of soupy textures or the rough edges of home recording or whatever, it's because he exceeded them.

Even when the instrumentation oversteps its boundaries, like on the extended rock-out bridge of 'Sheets,' it provides the adequate backbone Jurado’s lyrics need to stand.

Rihanna has released a flawed album that may shrink under the weight of her biography, but it also succeeds when approached more directly, superficially.

While the instrumentation gives the impression of self-bricolage, made up of materials from Mac’s own private collection under a particular washed-out filter, the lyrics derive from common property, things like fragments of old clichés and easy rhymes.

If you enjoy the ear-perkingly dense textures of friendlier experimental stuff like Four Tet and Fridge's Happiness LP, then you can't go wrong here.

Kila Kila Kila contains numerous pristine sounds and rich textures that show subtle moments of ingenuity and progression.

Black Holes and Revelations is probably the least restrained album of 2006, which for some is a blessing, for others a pretentious annoyance. It is, however, a focused album.

While the remixes don't contain the same level of shambolic personality that the nascent originals do, they are still a testament to the fact that Friel's work is full of possibility.

Other Life is a collection of poignant, emotionally powerful pop songs; but on a more conceptual plane, this album is a self-referential commentary on music itself, an intense examination--and, ultimately, an extremely heartfelt refutation--of the hollow, ironic appropriation that defines much of contemporary music.

This album is an embarrassment of riches.

The familiar ingredients are there, from superb buildups to instrumental pyrotechnics to Esjstes' buttery voice and a general insistence that points toward some bright and shining future.

Despite these compelling, fidgety positives, those who bugged out to last year's On Patrol (i.e., everyone) will be forgiven for experiencing a sense of deja entendu.

The tracks blister with attitude and grit, but the persistent monochrome grows a bit exhausting all coughed out at once. The bitter sandstorm could stand more punctuation, even if it did make Horehound less terrifying.

It's a stand-up, spaced-out entry in the already formidable footwork scene.

This lack of identity admittedly fuels the indecipherable, entrancing mystery of the album, yet unfortunately this strength also equates to the album’s primary weakness.

This isn't to say that Girls Names don't display any originality, and for those who have a special place in their heart for this kind of sound, no matter its repetitive trajectory, Dead To Me will be an unalloyed pleasure.

Instead of picking over internal ashes, Krill rotate and swivel, holding a lighter, as if looking more closely at the moment might make action possible.

Yet, for each of these highlights, there’s a much weaker counterpart.

That Ward succeeds so well in capturing something akin to escapism while keeping things engaging enough to bypass passivity is perhaps the album's greatest strength.