Because of his no-frills persona, the smallest suggestions of personality make a charismatic impact. [Jan/Feb 2007, p.89]

With this foulmouthed, backsliding rock, Hull and his flock do Dixie real proud.

The familiar-sounding song structures are an artfully crafted misdirection.

Their fourth album toughens things up immeasurably. [Oct 2007, p.114]

As usual, Franz Ferdinand pack a greatest-hits album’s worth of melodic tricks into each tune, while Kapranos purrs the sort of pick-up lines that would earn a lesser man a gimlet in the face.

Striking [and] confident. [Apr 2006, p.116]

Angrier than ever, Bad Religion aim punk's adolescent fury at grownup targets. [Jun/Jul 2004, p.134]

The songs change, but the sensibility remains the same, more or less: plaintive to mopey, clever to smartass, and back again. [Jul 2005, p.118]

Filled with ambitious production and winsome nostalgia, Saturdays is an otherworldly chronicle of adolescence only a starry-eyed 20-something could make.

It’s a fantastically difficult record, but almost every passage of knotty head-game weirdness quickly dovetails into something dramatic and physical, and it all sparkles with crushed particles of the blues.

The music is dramatic with a glammy Britpop insouciance, and Garcia is a refreshingly earnest romantic. [#16, p.117]

The band sometimes flails ineffectually, but more often it stays streamlined and urgent. [Jun 2005, p.109]

Two things save Electric Six from becoming the alt-rock Weird Al: Their jokes hit home and their music is convincingly ferocious. [#17, p.134]

Seachange wrap their songs in the glorious dissonance of Sonic Youth and the mighty alt-rock-meets-R&B rhythms of the Afghan Wigs, but underneath it all, they just want to creep you out. [May 2004, p.131]

Every track is stellar. [Aug 2004, p.133]

The vibe is all infectious, feverish build-up. [Nov 2006, p.155]

The lighthearted genre-hopping suggests nothing so much as a Broadway smash about a restless country star, borrowing from many styles, beholden to none.

Sultry suits her fine, but when she reaches for the sadness in these self-written songs, she can’t summon the sense of conflict that was embedded in ’50s pop.

B'Day never cools down, and swaety up-tempo numbers prove the best platform for Beyonce's rapperly phrasing and pipe-flaunting fireballs. [Sep 2006, p.138]

The music, coproduced by M.I.A. confederate Switch, warps and wanders too, from rock-rap to dancehall to new wave to folk.

Amerie's heat is irresistible, in large part because it's subtle. [Jun 2005, p.108]

It's fed-up and proud at the same time, a kind of Desperate Housewives meets Trailer Fabulous. [Oct 2005, p.144]

A throwback to his trunk-rattling G-funk heyday.

Jet frequently manage to turn in the kind of bulgy-veined, streamlined gonzo rock that [Oasis] haven't managed since the mid-90s. [Nov 2003, p.114]

Panic's cherry-picking yields several good songs, and a few brush up against greatness. [Apr 2008, p.76]

On her third album, Clarkson finds a Third Way: She makes nice with the pop machine and takes back the mall while keeping her integrity and personality intact.

An utterly original if slightly queasiness-inducing album. [Nov 2003, p.109]

Miller ups the melodic ante, staking his claim to becoming his generation's answer to Nick Lowe or Marshall Crenshaw. [#10, p.123]