Another assault of angular, Sonic Youth-style guitar and earnest anger that's more leftfield than most punk, and more engaging than many of their post-rock peers. [Feb/Mar 2002, p.110]

Though Loeb can weave a pleasant, elaborate melody, her originality wavers. [Apr/May 2002, p.115]

An elegant soundtrack, but not much of an album. [Feb/Mar 2002, p.116]

What Led Zeppelin did for bombast, Lambchop try to do for delicacy. [Apr/May 2002, p.114]

Donelly shows more confidence in her dreaminess than ever. [Apr/May 2002, p.113]

May be the best CD of his career. [Feb/Mar 2002, p.112]

All the post-punk components are here, but they don't jell into anything more than a mannered take on the punk that punk forgot. [Jun/Jul 2002, p.112]

A worthy successor to Surrender.... This is dance music that still outstrips anything else in its class. [Feb/Mar 2002, p.113]

[The instrumentals are] a curious bonus for his fans, but not much more. [Feb/Mar 2002, p.113]

Point is the sound of a post-everything pop auteur rediscovering his attention span. [Feb/Mar 2002, p.111]

An intentionally ludicrous Eurotrash concept album about the sweet life. [Apr/May 2002, p.113]

The band covers this cerebral terrain with renewed vigor, thanks to a sudden fondness for antique synthesizers and battery-powered drum machines. [Feb/Mar 2002, p.112]

The End is rather ordinary--severe, belligerent riffs and vocals that sound as though singer Chud gargles molten lava. [#12, p.148]

If there's a fault here, it's in the slightly hand-wringing lyrics, which, of not overwrought, are certainly pretty darned wrought. [#4, p.123]

On Tarantula, Mystikal futher refines his formula. [Feb/Mar 2002, p.114]

The Clan's lyricists remain as aggressively word-drunk as ever, balancing the music's pop conciseness with oblique rhymes that compel repeated listening. [Feb/Mar 2002, p.116]

A surprising return to form. [Feb/Mar 2002, p.114]

Offers something for everyone -- and ends up an intermittently engaging but overall shapeless collection. [#4, p.112]

The disconnect between their always gnarly syntax and the suede-buffed production drains the album's energy. [#4, p.116]

Even though there's nothing new, the album offers enough in the way of big-beat guitar and sing-along choruses to keep Smash Mouth on the charts for another two years. [#4, p.123]

Even the presence of A-list guests can't redeem such jaded, formulaic songs. [#4, p.118]

The melodic shortcomings of M!ssundaztood show that those eye-popping videos aside, she's no Madonna. [#4, p.122]

Far from the usual collision of greatest hits and "Hello, Cleveland"-type bluster. [#4, p.122]

This is very much another case of: nice lyrics, but a shame about the tunes. [#4, p.118]

If this collection has a coherent theme, it's the cautious joy of a man making his emotional recovery. [#4, p.119]

Exceptional, exemplary grown-up rock. [#4, p.120]

Works both as satire and actual make-out fare. [Feb/Mar 2002, p.113]

It's hard to listen to the rest of Britney without imagining what the album would have sounded like had [the Neptunes] produced the whole thing. [#4, p.121]