Invoking the most sunny-day innocence of '60s pop with effortless amounts of homeland lyrics and layers, the overwhelming sweetness has the potential to wear thin for the duration of a whole album.

The result is perhaps less danceable, though a sound that is more recognizably their own.

Barbara and Ethan Gruska return with springtime melodies, dreamy folk pop and R & B-influenced dance numbers.

It's Watson's voice we're missing most from the overwhelming instrumentation, and after hearing the Buckley-esque transcendence that his vocals are capable of, it's more than disappointing to hear them take second chair. [Spring 2009, p.106]

Originally releasesd in Japan, the twelve-track American release is a sonic smorgasboard. [Summer 2008, p.102]

The result: catchy and chilling songs that cling to the corners of your mind and remain with you through and through.

So while Drew’s songwriting roots remain strong, he and the BSS family tree need to watch their creative waistlines, lest the spirited Canadian musical movement they’re responsible for should hit its saturation point too soon.

False Beats and True Hearts is a slo-mo crawl through ghostly harmonies, assured and glacial pacing, and the smoking hot psych guitar of Ghost's Michio Kurihara.

Every instrument, including the vocals, reverberates and interplays with the next in order to create a meandering backbeat that refuses the rhythmic decorum of rock and roll and hip-hop. The girls are onpoint.

With 10 blazing tracks averaging about two minutes each, the Vancouver band’s distinct brand of melodic punk might be too much to take, were it not for Mish Way’s cool command of the mic.

The tracks jump in range between genres, but for the most part you can find a consistent punk sound woven throughout.

While the album-opener 'Aerial' and 'Weekend' are still easy on the ears, it's the all-too-short 'CMS Sequence' and 'Mirrors' that whet our appetite for the band's experimental side, which is achingly absent here. [Fall 2008, p.94]

Barchords is too subtle to change the world, but it will turn your head.

Ambitiously creative though that may be, the results are mixed; while some tracks glisten with Eno-esque ambience, the forced wordplay on others (even delivered stunningly by Mesirow’s Björk-like voice) shatters the mood.

Gimme Some surfaces from more of a basic power trio sound without straying too far from indie-pop roots.

The Inner Mansions succeeds when Jamison forgoes the idea of connection and works on a higher plane of thought and structure.

Dominant Legs' missteps are kept in line by irrepressibly bubbly synths for a smile-inducing listen.

Wenu Wenu is a jubilant seven-track song suite that showcases the genre’s rhythmic and lyrical versatility.

It takes a session of attentive listening to pinpoint it; zone out for a few seconds and it's easy for one track of grit, fuzz and tension to bleed into another.

While [Von] doesn't possess the astonishing complexity of what was to follow, it does evince the same sort of raw, visceral honesty and passion for perception-jarring experimentation. [#14, p.103]

Sure, the original album may still tickle your testes and get you off, but this boxed set is nothing more than a handjob without a happy ending.

Admittedly, these are ideas not groundbreaking except in their delivery, which does have a rare, sobering effect upon the listener--a trademark effect of The Antlers.

Andersson allows her vocals to swim straight to the surface of her latest record. The resulting 12 tracks yield mixed results. [Fall 2008, p.100]

Apart from the live instrumentation, what stands out the most is Kittin's treatment of the synth as something more than aural shellac. [#10, p.92]

These instruments layer in complex, hypnotic patterns that drone in and over themselves, forged together to create less an emotional outcry than the hazy anguish of recalled emotion.

While The Only Place loses much of the simplicity that made Crazy for You such a breezy, fun listen, there's only room for growth in records to come.

A charming if adolescent collection of bubblegum harmonies and none-too-complicated pop. [#17, p.101]

Los Angeles–based Superhumanoids explore life’s dichotomies with the sonically atmospheric Exhibitionists, illustrating the contrast between the masculine and feminine aspects of human relationships through vocals, lyrics and instrumentation.

Winston has grown since the release of her initial 2010 EP; however, it would have been nice to hear her stray a bit from the indie-pop formula that's garnered her a following in the first place.

The overall affect is to transport us back to that pre-9/11 decade when “alternative music” really was an apt descriptor. Thankfully, it’s OK to give in to a bit of nostalgia on occasion.

Still, without the pirate blouses and eyeliner... it's just homage, isn't it? [#12, p.99]

Not the best Quasi introduction for first-time listeners, but there’s plenty for the band’s fans to love.

Backed by friends Leslie Feist, Liam O'Neil and Evan Cranley, to name a few, Millan proves to be an intimate and arrow-like songwriter. [Fall 2009, p.102]

Cohesion will come soon; she's got all the nuts and bolts.

There's simply a gentle swing to Watson's woeful, unavoidably Buckley-esque warble, containing an epic elegance worthy of the most intimate of adventures.

As strong and alluring as she may be, however, the album is a straightforward waltz through Bon Iver territory.

It starts losing its nuance halfway through, creating a distraction from the effort as a whole.

Less produced and certainly less poppy. [#17, p.97]

Speaking if cheese...well, yeah, there's a lot of it on Dream date, with a healthy topping of enthralling production and slick, meaningless rhymes. [Winter, p.102]

For residents of the 21st centurey, the sound is not nearly as exotic [as it was in 1980]....However, what is particularly striking about this album is the players' ease and familarity, both with each other and with their instruments. [Winter 2010, p100]

Tropical, African. Soul, blues. R & B, simplicity. Sylvan Esso blends it all and makes preconceived notions of electronic-driven music parallels to unintelligent dubstep fade away.

Sam Beam’s wily flirtations with girl-group chants and country-politan pageantry entices in fits and starts. Unfortunately, Ghost on Ghost’s midsection suffers from some genre weariness and similitude.

Powers affords himself a more experimental stance, lacing warped warbles and sketchy interludes between the seams of his brand of kaleidoscopic builder tracks.

The album is their most complete work to date.

If Silver Wilkinson is supposed to be a journey, it sounds like Mr. Wilkinson got a little lost along the way.

Despite this dark lyrical shift, the group is still aping sunny surf-rock and collegiate-pop tropes.

We The Common, the fifth LP offering from San Francisco’s Thao & The Get Down Stay Down, offers us a killer collection of infectious beats, bouncy melodies and smart lyrics that you can’t help but move to.

A record with a few inspired moments that is otherwise uneven, incomplete, a little muddled and sonically hollow. [#16, p.86]

Overall, the songs are well formed but lack some of the vibrancy and hooks of yore. [Spring 2008, p.92]

The result confirms there are few bands that can mix past and progress like these fellas.

While fun, some of the foursome’s unique sound is sorely absent.

Despite the album's relentless and, at times, irritating drone and distortion, To Realize is not a static listen--just unforgivably moody.

I must say, raw musical elements aside, as a songwriter his storytelling ability alone wins the day. [Holiday 2008, p.106]

The Knife’s sound and vision--and the members’ unrelenting oddness--seem to slightly buckle under the weight of their idealism.

Doom Abuse is a cathartic slap in the face from a band that sounds completely revitalized after its multi-year slumber.

But unlike Not Too Late, Jones' latest decision to ditch her keys for strings is a poor one. In a way, she had indeed found a different beat to groove to, and if anyone can play in a piano bar without a piano, it would certainly be Norah Jones. [Holiday 2009, p. 91]

Though this may be considered a good album due to its proper rock anthems and memorable melodies, the style goes awry one too many times for the disc to be considered novel. [Holiday 2008, p.92]

The Big To-Do's melodies may be workman-like at times, but flair was always for the flame-outs. [Winter 2010, p.96]

Holy Fire isn’t a straight home run for the Oxford-based quintet.

Ultimately pretends to be more adventurous than it really is. [#8, p.107]

The 33-year-old Owens has funneled his usual druggy, droogy Flaming-Lips-stuffed-into-Beach-House tone into something cohesive and made it into Cali-folk popping and bright.

In this Patriot Act climate, where tear-gassing protesters and tazing collegians have become customary security measures, stirring irritation seems only proper. [Winter 2008, p.97]

Resplendently elegant music for tearooms and trendy furniture shops. [#15, p.101]

Although Total Loss focuses on the deterioration of relationships over time, it's interesting that each track inverts that idea by flourishing with every second that passes.

Sometimes going back to what works can be a crutch and creatively stifling, but for Rodrigo y Gabriela, it’s a welcome return.

No matter how you look at it, tales of love and loss sound better when there’s a voice like Fields guiding you along.

A challenging record. [#17, p.97]

The record is more balanced, but that youthful spark is harder to find.

Dreams Come True finds plenty of eclectic room in a deceptively small space.

Love From London is the newest of the prolific jangle-rocker’s solo endeavors, but he’s still not finished reinventing himself.

Broken Records has a notable ability to convey otherworldly transit to past centuries and places, but unlike those aforementioned Americans, they sometimes take the wandering toward places too far off the beaten track. Summer 2009, p.103]

While not overwhelming or breathtaking, the slower pace and pure countrified nature of this latest release better suits the band's booze-soaked, Southern, small-town storytelling and captivates suitably for the running time.

“High Road,” “The Motherload,” “Asleep in the Deep” and “Halloween” are keepers, but they don’t quite put Sun in the same solar system as past albums.

Bush's return to recorded music is unexpected, sometimes distancing, weird and obdurate.

It's a gritty trip from the barstool to the vaudeville stage...and just about everywhere in between.

Beyond the Neighborhood is somewhere in between, melding studio tweakery with the kind of sweeping melodies that never seem to go out of fashion.

Glacier is a journey.

Two Gallants stand out from a sea of folksy mopesters thanks to their aggressive turns.

Architecture's indulgent heart is the band’s strongest suit--and tracks like the vibrant 'Heart It Races' wouldn’t be half as good if Bird and company weren't willing to risk sounding a bit too sickly sweet sometimes.

The electronic experiments introduced on Little Hells continue to bloom and her character building is peerless.

For the most part, Jay Dee sounds like The Shining's administrator, rather than its sole (and soul) creator. [#22, p.102]

Most tracks feel as if they'd fit neatly onto classics from The Who, The Kinks and even The Band, but none of the Swedes' songs stand out too far from behind their influences. [Winter 2009, p.106]

Even though the record is part of a series, the Swedish duo--comprised of David Lehnberg and Elin Lindfors--travel through a full electronic arc within this album alone.

In the jumble of See Mystery Lights (I can't tell yet if it's the brainwashing taking efffect), I might be willing to commit to whatever they're offering. [Summer 2009, p.98]

When the album reaches its climax at about mid-point, the record changes pace and you’re left wondering, “What was that?” Ultimately, you don’t totally care to know the answer.

A disturbingly precise evocation of its barbarian time. [#12, p.105]

When the lead is the guitar, the result is sometimes meandering but occasionally mind-blowing and never on the wrong side of good. Hand the lead to the vocals and bring on the yawns. [Fall 2008, p.97]

Gibbard has better demonstrated his strength as one of the best songwriters of the last decade in the past, but ardent fans will appreciate the effort here.

Though they may have felt immense pressure to replicate the monster hits that have come to be expected of them, the band have struck proper middle ground between the jaggedy, bluesy Southern rock of their early years with more polished commercial anthems.

While they’re as adept as any duo at infusing world-weary melancholy into every bar, they’re not really raising the bar with this one.

It's no sophomore slump, but it's a little disappointing to see a band embracing city life, backing chugging electric guitars with metered, occasionally mechanical rhythms. [Fall 2008, p.105]

Sometimes you really just don’t feel like dancing--and that’s something the poppy Danish duo Junior Senior doesn’t understand.

Hella's old guard are likely to be wicked pissed.

The vocals veer a bit too far into tunelessness at times, but the music is gorgeously majestic, yet deceptively simple and stark. [#14, p.100]

It's an interesting curiosity, a peek into a developing band (that would clearly get much, much better and become comfortable rallying around their true heart: Berman).

Two songs from the EP made the cut for the album (“Ready For the Weekend” and, predictably, “I Love It”) and though the latter--a Charli XCX co-written club banger--still stands out high above the rest of the album’s tracks, the songs that comprise This Is...Icona Pop are even larger and louder than their predecessors.

This record generally begs your wine-soaked attention on any winsome November night of your choosing.

Julian Lynch’s music lacks the bombast of [Nino Rota’s] works, but is similarly raucous, mysterious and full of whirling joy.