Chemical Chords is more compact, true, but they’ve not lost their character through economy.

There’s no question that when they get it right, the Walkmen are captivating. But with songs like 'Long Time Ahead of Us' and 'New Country,' the only thing keeping your attention is Hamilton Leithauser’s slurred laments.

There’s no question that Where You Go I Go Too is one of the year’s most coherent, craftily executed albums.

The album is an enjoyable listen, but not enough is at stake for it to get under your skin.

Clouds and Tornadoes ricochets back and forth between these three levels: the familiar, the unfamiliar but recognizable, and the unfamiliar and unrecognizable, and like Maddin and Katchor, it’s this tripartite feeling that gives the music its uniqueness while still feeling like an unearthed artifact.

The net result of The Uglysuit’s formula sounds something like an imagined pairing of Bedhead and Phish. It’s all right as far as it goes.

As far as 2008 sleepers go, this album’s near the top of the pile. Don’t Be A Stranger is good advice, indeed.

There’s charm here, but it’s mostly second-hand, photos from a party you didn’t go to.

Considering the host of absolutely killer tracks, London Zoo might just be Kevin Martin's finest album, which is astounding considering the man has been making music for two decades.

Oneida’s chemistry alone isn’t enough to make modest material effloresce.

if you like holey-jeans music, BITS is quite good--singer Michael Pace has a great indie-rock croak, and when these guys are loud, there's no stopping them.

For the most part, Donkey flounders in a sterile morass. It may well bring CSS to a larger audience, one that doesn't consider subversiveness an impediment, but that doesn't make it any less disappointing.

Each song seems a logical move from the song that preceded it, and no track stands out particularly from the rest. As a distinctive sound, though, as a warm, pulsing vibe, they succeed.

What makes Muhly’s work particularly interesting then is not only his use of this style--comprehending the four movements of the title track is particularly vexing as bits of voices mingle and move at different velocities--but the use of the style in a dynamic way itself, reminiscent of Nyman’s compositions.

I think one can get a much better grasp on the band’s music by seeing the songs as long, somewhat-complex pop songs--ones derived from much different circumstances than The Decemberists’ boring narratives--rather than grand, theatrical gospels

The in-the-moment experience of Fernow’s music is all physical; the aftershock is almost all intellectual, the specifics of the apparent transformation provided entirely by the listener, who is left standing not so much accused as self-implicated.

Various people have tried to explain to me why I find Object 47 so frustrating.... My inclination is to forget all that and just play the last four tracks over and over.

Less encumbered by the colonial detritus of Konono's overdriven drums-meet-junkyard sound, the Allstars let the rhythm section breathe and get funky with indigenous instrumentation. No distortion necessary.

The final rush commingles anguish and ecstasy quite powerfully, glorying in the significance Mapplethorpe held for Smith and resonating for anyone who has lost someone and is willing to be taken to the water.

This is what jamming econo means to kids whose horizon isn't classic rock and hardcore, but grunge and post-hardcore. It sounds really good.

Hercules and Love Affair is a sincere and sumptuous stab at the mirrorball splendor of the 1970s.

Only after the shock of genre and time warping wares off does the album’s real beauty become apparent.

The record never hits a stride that allows it to pull together as a cohesive album, save its fantastical, paper-thin theme.

Lookout lacks the piercing insight of Berman’s best work––those Old Testament and American Gothic retellings laced with sarcasm and self-loathing. At the same time, there’s a casual quality to this set that trumps the belabored tangle of the last go-round.

While it’s a solid follow-up to "Neon Golden," The Devil, You + Me falls short of its predecessor in that, taken as a whole, it doesn’t amount to more than the sum of its parts.

His voice is a delightful constant through good writing and bad. The propeller-arms guitar rock supplied by Pollard's various flesh-and-blood bandmates tend to provide just-off-enough accompaniment, but Tobias mucks it all up.

There is a coherent sound throughout the album––psychedelic electro-hop perhaps––while each song develops fruitfully without ever being dragged out.

Despite all these potential distractions, Dragging a Dead Deer Up a Hill remains, quite simply, a beautiful album, possibly because. Harris feels so comfortable in her own skin.