Unless you’re already a Music Tapes fan, chances are you haven’t experienced anything quite as exquisitely raw, effortlessly transportive, and charmingly distinct in a long time.

While enduring a few accidents, the group’s fresh folk approach shows promise.

It’s not that 31 Knots aren’t succeeding in flexing their musical chops--they just don’t know where to take them.

The Genius’ latest full-length Pro Tools is no different; while its power as a long-player doesn’t hold up very well, random dissection brings out tracks destined for analog and digital freaks alike (in case that title--and the sparse cover--had you worrying).

Although they have a ways to go before establishing their own musical identity, The Uglysuit have more than enough talent to make it plausible that they’ll get there someday.

Not enough of Farmer or Poor Richard. Not enough sweat and gunpowder. They are intent on a tent shakeout, but no one’s pitching it.

It’s one of those beguiling albums saved for times alone, times when nothing else would seem quite right.

As an album, London Zoo is simply more engaging. Kevin’s production is intense but club-ready, and the lyrics are righteous and relevant.

Here, obsessed with his own mortality, Conor isolates himself from what stirs his best writing.

It seems nothing can stop them from releasing a good-to-great album each ear, and Preteen Weaponry is another sensation that will likely be taken for granted.

As fresh as the Re-Up Gang keep their rhymes and beats, much of the album has a cheap feeling--a "We Got It 4 Cheap," cheap, that is, as nearly half of the album is comprised simply of freshly mixed tracks from "Volume 3."

The music is personal--an interior look--softly sung with more than a smidgen of sass and blitheness

Waiting in Vain captures the modest landscape of America’s backroads and countrysides.

What’s important is confirming that you haven’t completely lost it, that you’ve still got the inspiration that made us listen in the first place--Donkey, however, is in danger of making us forget.

It’s refreshing to hear such heavyweight harmonies being shipped out by a modern act, especially when relatively crunchy guitars and urgent drums act as the styrofoam packing peanuts, ensuring things never get too messy or convoluted.

Arrowhead is unfortunately not among the stronger things he’s released.

Stay Positive offers up plenty of reasons to let go and believe.

Object 47 is not a horrible record; it just isn’t all that good. It has none of the flare found on the band’s trilogy of classics and is never quite able to free itself from not-so-desirable labels like bland and unchallenging.

Ultimately, Nas’ decision to sacrifice lyrical and aesthetic sensibility for controversy, hype, and pop-appeal exposes the commodification and hollowness of his artistic voice and vision.

2008 requires more focus and more grace. Modern Guilt delivers both.

LP3 is a rewarding listen, and you’ll have a taste for it if you enjoyed the less powerful moments of "Classics" or Evan Mast’s previous textural work as E*Vax. Just don’t expect to find yourself headbanging and air-guitaring alone in your room.

They’ve become one of the most prolific staples of the American underground. And it’s there that Nude With Boots is a sound and welcome contribution.

I listened to this CD quite a bit, and it took some work for it to grow on me. I’ll admit that it finally did, but I’d say Knapp and Koster’s experiment was more failure than success.

Three 6 Mafia’s aspiration to evolve seems to have manifested itself on Last 2 Walk, from production to sound to lyrics. Having taken their novel sound to its lofty limits, it is time for the group to change and progress towards another musical frontier. However, their aspirations of progressing by melding Hollywood and the hood have largely failed.

Yet as much joy as you can hear in Hercules and Love Affair, it’s impossible to separate the melancholy from the mix.

Things just go from mad galloping gobbledigook to spongy sentiment.

It’s for the Pabst crowd, not the trendy crowd concerned about looking the part. It’s this honesty that permeates everything Escovedo does.

In the end, Ribot’s considerable talents are sadly lost among 12 disjointed tracks that range from out-of-place cacophony to irritating cliché.