Similar to its other releases, the band masters even the several lyric-less shorter tracks serving as musical intermissions scattered sporadically throughout.

This album has a vibrant crosscut of all GBV’s personalities, and for that they deserve applause.

There are sometimes a little too many knowing winks in all the escalator chords and wordless chants, but you can't help but wink back. [Fall 2008, p.98]

Apt at harnessing the power of the pout, songs are left in the shadows, no minor key left unexplored. Theatrical, yes. But not without restraint.

Limits of Desire is more romantic, calling on aural cues from nostalgic ’80s movies but with some modern tricks.

Testing

Not limiting their lyrical or instrumental content, the songs never feel ostentatious or forced. [Holiday 2008, p.106]

It turns out Veirs hasn't actually abandoned instrumentations, she's just trying out a new kind. And what she ends up with is her best, most sophisticated record to date. [Holiday 2009, p.93]

The songwriting recalls Davies' Misfits days, which wouldn't be a snipe if he hadn't penned so many masterpieces with the Kinks. [#19, p.92]

N.A.S.A. is, like its government counterpart, bloated with potential and rife with inefficiencies, resulting in a record which is more impressive fotr its guest list than its track list. [Winter 2009, p.91]

The last few numbers droop, and as a whole, the record sinks a little from the weight of all that goddamn goodwill. [#12, p.98]

Siket’s haze blunts the sugar-sharp edges of Harding and Bruun’s melodies, but it also ripens their latent nostalgia.

On this fourth full-length, their existential musings are bolder than ever.

Pissed Jeans satirize the languor of adulthood and unleash punk malice on unsuspecting targets.

DeMarco, sans Elvis pitch-shift, delivers some quality tunes on 2.

The songs are mostly strong, but by the end, your legs stop kicking and your butt stops shaking.

[Josh Tillman] distinguishing himself as more than a back-row howler.

Russell brings a touch of the old South to all he surveys. Same here.

This electronic-folk duo, in the likeness of bohemian hedonists, turns meticulous attention-to-detail into bounding creativity--and something unequivocally bookish.

In 2014, Woods still stand tall, having morphed from a lo-fi weirdo electric folk band on their own fringe label into a veritable lighthouse on the now populous independent coast.

Ceremony, the second record from Anna von Hausswolff, buffets us with a cold, yawning beauty.

If the next James Bond film needs a soundtrack, those in charge should look to the latest from Florida-based trio The Postmarks. [Fall 2009, p.106]

When Welcome To The North is at its biggest, it's also at its best. Unfortunately, that means that the record's better half comprises the last two tribal minutes of each track and a couple of exceptional highlights. [#13, p.100]

Silkworm's brand of rock isn't overly complex, it's just smart. [#13, p.104]

Dulli is the king of building to a pinnacled, string-filled moment and he nails it here. The burning edifice of the heart rarely sounds so transcendent.

A beautiful album with an amniotic vibe, Dive can be a bit repetitive.

Several voices are at play on San Francisco quintet Young Prisms' second album, yet all find proportion evenly awash in its blurred shoegaze swirl.

There are hits and misses as the slower ones take a little longer to catch on, but when the arena-rock sized riffs meet Pollard's mid-fi production, there really isn't anything else you can ask for. [Holiday 2008, p.92]

'Emergency Call,' with its Jerry Rafferty-esque hook, marks the highpoint of the album. But the ditties are offset by introspective ballads like 'Never Looking Back,' with its mournful melody, and 'Bound,' a song in which Matt gets his dander up and renounces a woman who’s wronged him.

The duo of Pete Nolan and Elisa Ambrogio are back with John Shaw (enlisted as permanent member) and holy flaming feedback does this album take off--simultaneously into deep space and murky waters.

The audio-visual experience, fondly known as The BQE, centers on the history of New York’s Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, and its conceit works because of its composer’s breadth of influence.

Joined by bassist Peter Hughes and Superchunk drummer Jon Wurster, Darnielle's brilliant, pointed lyrics are reaching a new audience.

Their new record O' Be Joyful is a delightful combination of knee-slapping, bordering-on-gospel folk tracks and bluesy guitar-driven rock.

A short film accompanies the release, but it hardly seems necessary, given the music’s powerful cinematic evocativeness.

Future This delivers the same formula, but does so with perhaps one too many tracks.

Those who have spent endless hours tripping to various corners of the universe with Spiritualized on the stereo might be surprised by how earnest and grounded the great Spaceman sounds here.

It isn’t business as usual, either; these songs sound grander without losing their quaintness and some tread unfamiliar ground.

Whether constantly questioning or dismissively venting, Kinsella's got a true and clever wit to complement his writer eye and musician's ear. [Fall 2009, p.96]

A 16-minute EP that has similarities to the trio's [Au Revoir Simone's] dreamy synth-pop, but takes the music into lusher, sexier '80s territory.

It's Kiwanuka's staggering voice that makes you wince at its unrestrained sincerity and tenderness.

Living a dead-eyed disco dream somewhere between Nite Jewel and Chromatics, this new incarnation is dark, weird and basically awesome.

Fans of Lidell (or Prince, for that matter) won’t be challenged, but Jamie Lidell is proof that sometimes execution really is king.

James' lyrics, forever a sticky mixture of high-minded spirituality and cultural slang, keep up the theme; nearly each of Circuital's 10 songs is concerned with the relationship between the past and the present, the development of the individual character, and the quest for something beyond human.

Strangely timid in both its production choices and songwriting. [#11, p.92]

While not all of Work is as infallible--album closer "Too Late, Too Slow" has a title that aptly sums itself up--it's still exciting to see Shout Out Louds breaking away from the Robert Smith adoration that was so present on previous efforts.?

Closing with a bit of gaudy, high ’80s bubblegum, Causers of This is a bold introduction to a promising newcomer.

Ghostory's an altogether lush affair with plenty for both fans and newcomers to sift through.

Magik Markers stand out from the crowd of Sonic Youth conscripts by delivering an album that marbles its clang with sweet spots.

What the album does do, however, is sets the band on that coveted trajectory upwards.

Gelb and the band make great strides in musicianship, shifting tempos, languages and sounding disjointed, elegiac and hallucinatory all at once. [#12, p.98]

The album's tracks combine heavy electro with underlying roots of hip-hop and vocals similar to that of The Faint to create a solid offering from start to finish.

Other than a few missteps, Sidewalks displays a calmer, more self-assured band that seems to have graduated from a one-note "new-wave White Stripes" shtick.

Hook after hook after string of '60s jukebox melodies. [#12, p.104]

It’s Kasher’s knack for minimalism that moves Help Wanted Nights as it flows in and out, building and falling with intensity.

"Beggars" and "Leave It," are tunes fit for the space age that spans genres so easily that it leaves you wondering what this talented group could create if they grabbed a map and pinpointed exactly where they aim to be going.

Though not perfect, the New Pornographers are getting closer. [#5, p.87]

The collection has aged remarkably well.

Impeccably crafted, Lonesome Dreams sets out into the sun, toward shores far and away.

There's a newfound emotionality here. [#19, p.93]

Port of Morrow is transition time for The Shins.

It’s a fresh thrash of emotion from a supremely talented, if dysfunctional, band.

Every song on Stay Gold is beautifully crafted to feel like a new and complete soundscape--orchestrated strings, rolling drums and airy flutes enhance the Americana guitar riffs--bringing out the vivid imagery of their lyrics.

At times, Nika Roza Danilova’s opera-trained voice sounds overly formal against the string-only instrumentation. But the compositions benefit from her willingness to shed her electro goddess skin.

While not as fresh as Happiness, Love is another strong set of raucous riffage painted over confessions of a lovesick pup.

A bit less slapdash punk and more laid-back vintage California sound, it feels like the wooziest acid-fueled daydreams of Brian Wilson.

It's a joy to hear their sorrowful whispers and swirling, multi-instrumental collages after a four-year absence.

This is an album hard to grasp at first, let alone on second or third listens.

Tre3s feels like an expression of triumph, with a sound that seems to embody the confidence of youth not yet jaded and with nothing but potential ahead.

3 shows a slightly darker side of the squeaky-clean She.

Whichever feeling he aims for--rousing or reflective--this Texan achieves striking authenticity. [Spring 2009, p.102]

This new Air CD bcomes their decade-in, it's-all-about-your-collaborations inevitability. Genuine fans will hardly be shocked that they pull it off with style and grace. [#24, p.89]

What it boils down to is that everything on this squeaky-clean album is carefully calculated, from perfectly placed synthesizers to haunting vocals. The Five Ghosts is something for which it can be suspected fans will be jonesing for some time.

A rare debut, as well crafted as it is likeable.

The electronic-pop of Jon Barthmus once again brings together the upbeat pop and whimsical electronic orchestration that made Nocturne of Exploded Crystal Chandelier such a dynamic debut.

Bleached’s Ride Your Heart blends just the right amount of catchy melodies and guitar fuzz with the rollercoaster ride known as love.

No More Stories... glitters with ethereal beauty and optimism that has been absent on Mew's prior releases. [Fall 2009, p.91]

Their album Eggs was recorded in settings ranging from cathedrals to bathtubs, and has as broad of a stylistic range, evoking comparisons to both MGMT and Billy Corgan. But their grandiosity anchors the record.

On his band’s fifth album, On Oni Pond, the experimental-rock showman sharpens his Frankenstein mash of genres down to a gleaming point and plunges it deep into his carotid artery.

The Big Dream, like so much of his output, seems gloriously unbothered by chronology or even sense of place.

The same wail-filled, guitar-driven dance music of yore, but this time with hints of rough Brit-rock sensibility, vague wafts of pared-down techno and two last tracks that make little sense to the rest of the album. [#22, p.100]

They've got the chemistry, but it seems that Campbell sold herself short when singing parts were drawn. [Holiday 2008, p.94]

Luke Roberts's debut can dig up a well of such intimate, homegrown sounds and songs.

Lighthearted melodies and delicate instrumentations mask Cynic's New Year's darker lyrics, adding a layer of complexity that requires multiple listens.

The results sees The Hold Steady with an in-your-face, rapid fire record that’s arena-ready and their most ambitious to date.

Young Hunger proves that Valley can shine even on the most crowded of dance floors.

A Creature I Don't Know takes Marling even further in her musical career than her efforts have already-and the girl's only 21.

This is a record of painful, plaintive soul-searching.

Philadelphia's kitchen-sink rock quartet Man Man is still howling at the moon on its fourth LP, but the stomping Waits-meets-Zappa blues compositions are given space to breathe under Mike Mogis' (Bright Eyes) refining production.

If one thing's for sure, Penny Sparkle represents an audible dosage of Xanax-inspired dance music, and because none of us are getting any younger, it's spot on.

Though the mood has been lowered since 2006, it’s clear that Midlake can still reach beautiful heights.

Swirling Euro-melodies reminiscent of Depeche Mode, thudding and shuddering synths, and his coolly quavering baritone mark "Burning Sage" and "Confetti" like a pox.

Angus and Julia are, simply, talented musicians—specifically, talented musicians who work exceptionally well together. Nothing has changed there, but what has is a new expansion of their straightforward sound.

The production's click-clack effects and arcade synths often distract and inadvertently undercut the sincerity of Womack's words.

This record is not out to shatter you; its aim, rather, is to fuel your night drive through the dusky electronic corridors of sun-warmed youth.

While combining rock with rap always risks awkwardness, Francis' poetry supersedes Li(f)e's musical missteps. [Spring/Summer 2010, p.108]

At once stoic and graceful, her brief debut is as chilling as it is hypnotic, her lonely, minimalist guitar reeling you in as her hushed, unflinching vocals sing of all the things you'd rather not know.

An occasionally haunting, more often inspiring and riveting collage of the group's complex avant-melodics given more human characteristics by the inclusion of familiar sounds. [#8, p.108]

Not for the fainthearted or short of attention, several of Psychedelic Pill's tracks drag on--wildly and intoxicatingly, of course, so there's little room for boredom to set in.