Lekman makes the kind of Nick Hornby-ish "perfect pop" that no one actually listens to. Which is a pity, because his lyrics are Cole Porter witty, and his major-key songcraft delicious. [Nov 2007, p.110]

Rumours of emotional maturity are exaggerated...but the reflective moments are best. [Dec 2007, p.98]

Each song works brilliantly in isolation, making this a treasure trove of Wyatt’s finest work ever.

It's a potent combination and one made all more alluring by their refusal to settle for one chorus when about 12 all being played at once will do. [Nov 2007, p.98]

Almost succeeds through sheer force of personality. [Aug 2006, p.108]

The industrial grind of single 'Into A Swan,' glammed-up trashiness of 'About To Happen' and sinister alienation of 'Loveless' prove she's still the uncompromising outsider at heart.

It trades in giddying, irresistible, full-steam-ahead-and-damn-the-torpedoes rock'n'roll. But at its heart, it's essentially a thoughtful wander in search of personal and national innocence.

While the veteran singer's heart is in the right place, she sabotages her messages via the spouting of generalisations and the use of abstract language, with typically grating, inelegant results. [Nov 2007, p.110]

This fifth set strips back the gloss and points to some sort of redemption. [Dec 2007, p.89]

Amped to an industrial sheen by producer Youth and packed with stripped-back stadium choruses, Born Into This rips from the speakers like an irate Velvet Revolver, Billy Duffy’s relentless axe-hero riffing matched by Astbury’s typically waspish lyrics.

Reassessing the past and reengaging with the present, Revival lives up to its name.

The lissom guitars of brothers Dallas and Travis Good still allow for thrilling detours. [Nov 2007, p.121]

Elegant backgound music, better live, you suspect. [Dec 2007, p.98]

An album of lonely beauty and piercing sorrow, White Chalk is P.J. Harvey back at the peak of her considerable powers.

On the last Foos album, "In Your Honour" rock and acoustic music were exiled to different discs. Here, a satisfactory compromise is brokered between the two: the excellent 'Summer's End' is easy on the ear, easier still on the brain, and sets him up in the radio-friendly 'Wonderwall' district one imagines is his spiritual home.

It is, by any measure, a quiet revolution.

When it ends, the impression of Devendra Banhart that stays with you is of the artful songsmith, finding a confidence to express himself in something other than riddles.

Their third album is sprinkled with sensitive instrumental textures and plaintive tinkling noises, but their music remains utterly devoid of personality, not least because of Joel Potts' vapid vocals, while not even the best efforts of Gil Grissom and his eager CSIs could unearth a sniff of a decent tune. [Oct 2007, p.83]

It's all invigorating, wonderful stuff.

The Feist-like 'My Favourite book' and the triumphant 'Today Will Be Better, I Swear!' are songs of rare craft but you'll need to suspend disbelief to make it through to curtain-down. [Nov 2007, p.123]

This meatier effort offers more of the same dog-eared melancholy. [Oct 2007, p.90]

Go Go... is never less than delightful--at its best like Belle & Sebastian having a stab at Portishead. [Oct 2007, p.99]

A gleefully malevolent testament to the cathartic joys of furious, poison-flecked songwriting. [Oct 2007, p.113]

There's an elegiac beauty to these tracks. [Oct 2007, p.114]

This is a rock record, and Samson's band functions as the sharp teeth to his lucid tongue. [Jan 2008, p.112]

Like the five LPs preceding it, Last Light is dominated by autumnal mood pieces--but it rocks harder, making for a pleasing contrast with Pond's poignant lyrics and vocals.

The Connecticut pair's third album taps into the best qualities of alternative music, circa 1988. [Oct 2007, p.99]

There is nevertheless a supreme revitalisation of her deep-seated powers evident here. [Oct 2007, p.96]