Mr. Impossible [is] a record that shows a band evolving, as it embraces full-on melodicism with a cheeky goofball spirit.

Signs of Light fulfils the aim the band’s handle appears to indicate. This is after all, music that connects with the head and the heart, and imparts a dual sense of resilience and delight in its wake.

Few albums dare to even come close to this stunning degree of grandeur, but with Here the Magnetic Zeros not only raise the bar, but easily scale it as well.

Do Things has a few missteps, but May just keeps smiling and charging forward.

Newcomers may be a bit overwhelmed by all the frenzied drive of their delivery, but the combination of irony and assurance guarantees populist appeal.

An entertaining album that follows no musical rules, a record interconnected by one common denominator--that there happily isn't one.

Spectral effects and pulsating tones swirl through each selection, but it's the persistent rhythms that steer the aural acrobatics, making Den a harbinger of fascinating efforts yet to come.

A rather smooth and relaxing affair, Best Blues proves that sometimes less is more.

They still sound as brilliantly odd as their seminal self-titled debut.

A band that started with Can's hypnotic propulsion has ended up floating in Tangerine Dream's weightless free formity, but it's gorgeous stuff.

Meteorites is a clarion call to all of their followers, from the Flaming Lips to Interpol, that Echo & The Bunnymen have finally come back to reclaim their rightful place back in front of the spotlight.

The rock instruments--drums, keyboards and guitar--set the framework, but it's the chamber music instrument that blows the doors down.

Shakedown is less about method and more about attitude.

It takes a certain like-minded political sensibility to wholly appreciate both the music and the mantra, but rebels in search of a cause will likely share sympathy for Morello's fervent muse.

Since only 42 seconds of the album is new material (the opening self titled track), it can, at times, feel redundant, almost unnecessary, but, with a musician of Claypool’s caliber, to see boundaries being pushed--and classics revisited--there is obvious value here. And, at the very least, it’s a hell of a lot of fun.

This is no disaster on the level of, say, a Leonard Nimoy or Don Johnson album, but given Laurie's outspoken love for New Orleans and the involvement of Henry and his crew, Let Them Talk still falls well short of expectations.

Shows him clearly confident on his own.

Though the songs can come off as occasionally sterile (“On A Day” quickly comes to mind), it’s still a pretty impressive collection of songs from a band that’s only been around for a few years.

This debut from Dangerkids is ambitious only in the fact that there is so much wrong with this record.

Brett Gurewitz’s buzzsaw guitars sound cool, but the blend of punk rock and carols turns out to be too predictable, so you know whether you need to hear this one even without hearing it.

Count Yer Lucky Stars is sure to be high on the critics' picks again and finally garnering the band the limelight they so richly deserve.

Majestically sad (“Almost Home,” “Saints”), soulfully sad (“A Case For Shame”), atmospherically sad (“Going Wrong”), trip hop sad (“The Last Day,” “Tell Me”), Northern soul sad (“Don’t Love Me”) are all interesting but often too subtle variations that almost make you want to force feed him Zoloft at times.

The record is a stellar collection of power pop rock songs.

Listeners are best advised to head directly to disc two and regard the set with strings as a curiosity and an example of eccentric experimentation best left on the shelf.

Her Space Holiday brings together all the key elements of Bianchi's decade-and-a-half of coloring outside the lines of the pop infrastructure to deliver a swan song appropriately fitting for his underrated one-man-act.

The songs on Deeper Into Dream don't manage to connect with listeners like some of Lee's previous work.

The band’s timbres are more distinctive than its songs, which means that even the shorter tunes are best when they let the instruments do the talking.

This pet project of Jack White uses all the clichés in spades on their self-titled release, The Black Belles.