Real Gone... is Waits’ grittiest work to date and is an excellent introduction, for those unacquainted, to his hard-boiled thirty-year run.

Despite somber interludes like the Shatner-only confession of his third wife’s death, “What Have You Done?” or the subtly rich “Together,” Has Been does little to rescue the Priceline spokesman from the novelty bin.

De La Soul [are] wise enough to keep the filler to a minimum, thus presenting a more consistent product than that offered by their followers/peers.

Littering their album with frail songwriting and all but killing off the aggression of their percussion, the band inexplicably jump into ill-advised stylistic misfires---with a few too many missed falsetto notes.

Although Pressure Chief isn't a bad album, several of its songs come off like b-side compliation fodder rather than a batch of fresh material.

Sets a new bar for self-consciously unlikeable indie rock.

The album manages to achieve that perfect pop effect: the ability to deal with enormously sad and personal subjects within the medium of happy, upbeat music.

[Espinoza] takes the predictably disappointing low road through fanboyville with cruise-controlled caricatures of one of indie rock’s most deified stars.

Universal Audio is a triumph in pop standard, simultaneously reminiscent of all the clichés, soundtrack archetypes, and euphonic exigencies of pure melody inherent in the mainstream pop of the last two decades. Yet it’s still a fully realized, consistently rewarding, original work.

The problem most people are going to make is taking the record too seriously, but even recognizing it as being overly tongue-in-cheek won't save it from being, at very best, painfully frustrating.

A nearly perfect follow-up... [it] keeps intact Interpol’s singular melodic prowess, while both tightening its songwriting and making unpredictable shifts in instrumental emphasis.

SMiLE has arrived as incredible and ground-breaking a record as any of us could have hoped.

Sad that we have to talk about a member of Black Star making an album without a guiding ideal, dull production, and bad lyrics.

It is indeed a soaring achievement, one seemingly without missteps.... In fact, the only drawback of an album this expertly executed is its smoothness.

In the end, This Week suffers largely from the hype---there’s no way this album could be as good as it was supposed to be.

These Arms Are Snakes have clearly created a distinct sound and are doing something only the Blood Brothers can come close to right now in terms being interesting, inventive and still rocking hard.

If the forced lyrical growth is a little stunted, it’s more than made up for by the band’s newfound sonic ambitions.

Might not be as mature as [Rejoicing] but manages to reach greater, more varied heights as a result.

While Showtime has one or two more duds than its shock-assault of a predecessor, its continued siege is of essentially comparable caliber.

Funeral... is a resounding success on all levels---the group clearly able to make something incredible out of the familiar, and something inexplicably moving out of one emotionally draining year.

Patrick Carney and Dan Auerbach deliver a much more consistent and musically varied album with Rubber Factory, yet don’t sacrifice the guitar rock that made their previous two albums so much fun.

The Citizens have a clear knack for arranging and a commendable ability to tackle a series of genres and combine them into an enjoyable full-length. The only real problem here being that the actual songs aren't nearly as good as their talent might hint at.

Some of these songs are excellent, in an unfinished but inspired way. But many of the album's tracks evidence a band that's bursting at the seams with talent, only to stumble on unfocused, scattershot song-writing.

A fractured LP, compelling and convincing in its intent, but just plain less satisfying than Vespertine or Post.

Despite its flaws, Connector stands as one of their best.

As a pure, balls-out rock n' roll record, Half Smiles of the Decomposed is certianly on par with the likes of Isolation Drills and Universal Truths and Cycles.

It’s sad when a band runs out of ideas.

What makes Winchester Cathedral stick out amongst their previous works, and make it their best release since Internal Wrangler, is a willingness to explore, albeit briefly, the previously malnourished middle ground between their seemingly two-speed approach.

Kinsella’s unrelenting lack of melody, his horribly self-absorbed and nebulous lyrics, and an overall misuse of timing force the rest of the mix into the periphery for a more numbing, frustrating listen.

Comparing The Dirty South to the last two Truckers’ records is like arguing over the merits of the first two Godfather movies. Either way you win.

Engaging yet generally dull.

Frankly, this is an odd listen.

A caterwauling hunk of avant-garde precision.

While this technically is enjoyable alt-country circa a half-album before Summerteeth, genre-standard romance and arrangements muffle the otherwise "astonishing narratives."

If you like blues-oriented rock from a man who can pour out his soul like Robert Pollard's bartender pours Bud Lite, then, by all means, give Bubblegum a try.

Masta Ace’s maturity informs his simplicity; experience strengthens the straightforward so that his words come methodically and sincerely.

There’s plenty of virtually virtuoso moments to make it worthwhile, and Doom just isn’t one to suck no matter how prolific he gets, but this sequel can’t help but disappoint after Vaudeville Villain.

Pulling every sound to its limit, Adem’s debut is glorious in its scope, maintaining a contemplative stride through bare instrumentation.

Anything ends with all expectations met, but little else. Martina Topley-Bird has the kind of voice that deserves beautiful and strange accompaniment, and as such, most songs beg for so much more.

I have the distinct feeling I’ve heard most of the songs on this album before. Nothing here is particularly original, and nothing moves me in the way that Gough’s earlier work so did.

It’s more challenging than the indie-rock that makes its way into heavy rotation on college radio, and in the end, has the potential to be infinitely more rewarding as a whole.

While that band has yet to make a record comparable to the sludgy majesty of their live show... Blue Cathedral practically explodes from the speakers.

At this point, we can assume with a fair amount of certainty that they won't be throwing a diverse masterwork our way any time soon, and if the most we can ask for is a consistent run through low-tempo folk, Riot is probably as good as they're going to give us.

The Friedbergers have made a cogent statement that leaves most other contemporary acts in the dust.

Heavy comes across more a shtick than Beginning Stages ever did.

Out of the Shadow remains one of the most promisingly straight-forward indie-rock/pop debuts since Oh, Inverted World.

The vast majority of the new Roots album lacks what has made their earlier albums so exciting: spontaneity, originality, musical chops, and a sense of purpose.

Too good to be merely forgettable or a waste of a decade's worth of building and planning, but too uniform and flawed to stand out as a major achievement or even one of the year's best.

What makes Ghost succeed so magnificently... is how the directness, the openness of the lyrics in general, is so beautifully matched to the damaged music, which is itself rife with symbolism and meaning.

It's not so much that he's over his head as much as just past his prime, and though his love of creating music that aims to communicate a very simple and honest message is respectable, he's ultimately unconvincing and awkward with tepid melodies, gimmicky guest spots and subpar lead vocals.

What they said.

A workmanlike effort that won’t do anything to harm the Phish legacy, but isn’t notable enough to make me wish that the band wasn’t packing it in.

Winds Take No Shape is a great album if you like soft, catchy eclectic pop/folk music with smoky serious beautiful vocals and lots of eighties-like effects.

Yamagata’s music creates a feeling of another time and place and conjures imagery of Rachael sitting in a dank, smoky, yet quaint piano bar playing her beautiful music to an intimate crowd of people.

It's probably their most immediate and consistent record to date, tossing in a few decent melodies along the way in an attempt -- a failed one, I might add -- to enter the slightly less crowded lot of mediocre country-rock outfits.

With the handicap of not having entered a studio until his forties, White still creates work that maintains a deft wisdom even in its worst choices.

It’s one fat, grotesque record. A used-car salesman’s pitch during the Apocalypse.

Together, “School” and “Silverbacks” make the best Wu-Tang one-two punch that I can recall.

We adore this album and are pretty sure most of you will, too.

The lyrics and musicianship are of the quality to be expected from Hayden, but something’s a little... boring about Elk Lake Serenade.

Far more unabashedly romantic than One Time Bells, the Kicks have let go of any lingering desire to be a rock band and are warmly embracing new wave style pop a la the Cars or New Order or Elvis Costello.

It has more than enough moments to make it a solid album, had Joel Petersen stayed with instrumental electroclash. It’s just that the lyrics are god-awful strands of post-teen angst monotonously spoken with the rhythm.

Penance Soiree is everything dirty and vile about rock music.

White’s arrangements and production are simple and effective, clear without gloss.

With the possible exception of his work with Brian Eno, Backwards is his most technically honed album to date. This is the stuff of an artist refreshingly confident with his work.

So yeah, the cheese gets awfully thick, but unlike most other groups purposely pushing the boundaries of bad taste in the past few years, Dan Bejar remembers to at least bring along some great songs.