Overall then, Whatever, My Love is a mixed affair. Die-hard lovers of Become What You Are will have few real complaints but might perhaps overdose a touch on déjà vu. For the less pre-devoted, a cherry-picked yet economically-unviable EP selection from the album might have served this reunion better artistically.

There are a number of ear-worthy gems on the album but it’s difficult to muster up enthusiasm for a band that doesn’t seemingly have much enthusiasm themselves.

A decidedly mixed bag that offers many captivating songs but not a consistently high-quality artistic statement.

Alternating between sounding like a gremlin and sounding like a baby, the vocals don't so much haunt as distract.

These initial songs are noteworthy by any measure; the remainder of the album, then, is a bit of a let-down, especially on first listen.

Nothing here is horrible, but nothing here is great.

Surprisingly enough, it lacks a strong sense of focus (something the creative basking of Sea Lion honed in on) and for all of its elements of sweeping grandiosity, they never seem to have much of a purpose.

Bardo Pond is not necessarily Avant-garde, but neither is it easy listening. It does however, defy categorization and perhaps with a little less unguided frenzy and a little more tempered structure would allow this reviewer to recommend it.

Bee Hives is a mostly instrumental album that heavily favors the fuzzy keyboard tones and heavy reverb of the band’s early work.

Mountains had found a way to work in an area which was unexplored and undefined, successfully fashioning their own esthetic. This new direction is taking Mountains away from that specialness and closer to the average.

Sea of Cowards, for all its snarkiness and caustic overtones, is ultimately a fun record, but it’s likely the band had way more fun playing it than I did listening to it.

Alas, it feels like In the Absence of Truth finds the band both spinning its wheels and running out of ideas.

Unfortunately one great number can't save the whole act.

If each track is taken on its own merits, it's apparent that these girls have real talent and there is some creative indie rock here.

While tuneful and solid, [In Time To Voices] is not as spectacularly primal as their initial offering Box Of Secrets.

Sunlight Makes Me Paranoid has enough substantive quirks amongst the tiresome new-wave signposts to make this album a reasonable yet flawed artefact that is more than just the sum of its quaint parts.

The North continues to show off their skill and while nothing earth-shattering will be found here, it's something to fully bask in.

Evangelicals certainly have the potential to push through and make amazing music--it’s just too much hit and miss here.

Based on the simple songwriting and the nauseating lyrical content, This Addiction is sad, and to the die-hard Alkaline Trio fans such as myself, it will greatly disappoint.

Hippies is hardly song focused, the record's 16 tracks tend to mesh together into a blurry, tape-fueled haze--there aren't any obvious highlights here.

“Something Hyper” and “Xian Undertaker” are exceptional and worth hearing. However, the rest of the album provides very little payoff.

The album would be yet another trademark Strokes outing if not for its glaring inconsistency in the later tracks.

Adamson is certainly adept at replicating the sights and sounds of the Bond and Blaxploitation films that inspired him in his youth. But is he celebrating his passion or merely mocking it in a hamfisted fashion? Sadly if feels like too much of the latter, even if it is by accident.

It’s the sheen and almost reflexive attentiveness to commercial accessibility that’s placed on a good handful of the songs that can make them sometimes fail or falter or seem weaker than they truly are.

Overall, what could have been yet another cash-cow milker actually turns out to be a curious and compelling piece of therapy for Frank Black as a writer and performer.

With a few shining moments, the band seems like they've given up. Rather than pine over an album full of memorable hits, Damnesia falls short in many ways.

Folds' wit is less biting, but it's still present. And he's still got style.

It's hard to dislike this album because it is capably performed and the sounds and voices work up a dreamy headspace, but it's also difficult to be really enthusiastic about it.