While Cronin’s musical expertise belies his age, the existential struggles about which he sings--fear of the world, distrust of love, lack of self-confidence--do not.

Heavier, headier, and roaring with a kind of rock assault unimaginable from its first, the band lays it all on the table from the get-go. [Spring 2009, p. 91]

Although it may be too early to tell, if the rest of his future solo albums sound anything like his debut, then this scrappy kid definitely has a bright future in the music biz.

The only thing odd about this genuinely explosive record is in how fearlessly it expresses it's passion. [Winter 2008, p.94]

It's heady stuff with plenty of detours and time changes.

It hurts, but like another ferocious beast said, it hurts so good. [#10, p.94]

Most songs manage to name drop Lewis' heart or tears in some way, but despite some melodramatic duds, Confess is still an exciting follow up from an enormous talent.

They remain simple and cerebral. [#7, p.91]

In deadly seriousness, it's hardly an exaggeration to suggest you've surely never heard anything like (III).

Just five tracks, each piece from The Mystery of Heaven resonates the way a film score does--with grandiose, cinematic, room-shaking effect.

It's upbeat even if most of Bulat’s songs dwell on heart-ache and loss. That notion is on par with every singer-songwriter these days but her voice drives these concepts into a feeling that’s genuine. In other words, Bulat can pine with the best of them.

The familiar tenor slips in easily with the woozy horns and smooth pianos, sounding confident and at ease--appropriate for the king of cool.

Though Hutz might be out of whack, this album is surely no loser.

This full-length proves that they’re no one-hit wonder, demonstrating depth, dexterity and a slap-dash genius that’s impossible to contrive.

Fuzzy while never saccharine, Our House on the Hill dispels any notion of a sophomore slump.

It's high entertainment of a sedate rock order, even if nothing is particularly brave or bold here. [#19, p.97]

There's no mistaking the band's sunnier and, well, manlier sound. [#19, p.89]

If they keep churning out albums this enjoyable, we won't ever get tired of the Zutons hanging around. [#21, p.93]

Delicate string arrangements and Jessie Stein's gossamer vocals, at once charming and sinister, build the lush Animator, livening the spirit through both sun and shadow.

It's not that Moms is anything less than a solid record (it's a pretty strong one, even, from a band that has yet to truly disappoint), but it's telling when on the penultimate track, "Don't Mess With Latexas," Seim sounds a bit deflated.

Selections here appear sketch-like, but the artist's roots in post-punk drink amply despite the brevity.

Sit back, listen and enjoy the trip.

Touchdown is the band at its best, most consistent and crowd-pleasing to date. [Spring 2009, p.106]

It’s a throwback, but there are some new twists, from the entrancing (“Listen”) to the goofy (“Inquiries”).

Orcas find a space that floats between velvet vocals and Pioulard's field recordings in a time frozen between dreams and a reality beautifully faded by the sun.

It is both heart-wrenchingly introspective and jubilant.

S-M 2: Abyss in B Minor is as boundless as Rachmaninof and as ethereal as Chopin. [Winter 2010, p.103]

On The Odds, MacKaye and Farina-on baritone guitar and a minimal trap kit, respectively---don't challenge their by-now established conventions, but wreak incredible havoc within them.

The polished sheen on each track dulls any inquisition into what (or who) is behind this music. That said, there is an undeniable human brilliance at the album’s core, and the tension of those aspects makes it an irresistible listen.

The result is a thoroughly cross-cultural album dripping with soul and iconoclasm. It’s fun, too.

The geetars are as crisp as 100-dollar bills, vocals more in-your- face than a protester at the height of a rally; it’s a resounding success, at least from an artistic standpoint.

Appealingly poetic. [#19, p.99]

As ambitious as ever, The Meat Of Life finds Clem Snide moving closer to living up to its potential. [Winter 2010, p.100]

Not content to simply cop post-punk aesthetics, these East London dread merchants are steeped in the sort dystopianism and apocalyptic anxiety that drove the likes of Killing Joke and The Banshees to such dizzying heights of foreboding.

Cool is a fleet-footed concept, and revisiting JAMC--particularly the new content--is a genuinely pleasant experience. [Fall 2008, p.105]

Stunningly bright, impeccably trim and dance-y, the level of song craftsmanship here has garnered Beach Boys comparisons, but Ace of Base might be a more accurate touchstone, with a bit of Christopher Owens' (Girls) deep, bummed-out vocal blur as well.

[Producer Patrick Carney] allows the band to retain their innate sweetness while ever so deftly smudging the edges of their sunshiney sound.

Ferreira’s artfully trashy synthpop is a little bit Ladytron austerity, a greater bit Blondie ferocity, and her songcraft is, well, rather astonishing.

The preambular Wit's End (hopefully he hasn't reached his) primes McCombs for the '10s with piano lamentations marking another well-paced (albeit drowsier) long-player.

What was once so fresh is now a little tired. [#6, p.80]

Diamond Eyes does not disappoint when it comes to strong, powerful and unexpected material.

This is a song cycle for those who like melancholy with a side of melodrama.

It's straightforward, competently balanced, dewily lush art-pop, but it's also a deeply affecting, immersive treat; a fully mature return from a band acting like they have something to prove.

It can be, and often is, dizzying to unpack the poetry, but it’s probably exactly the point from a brilliant, grieving mind full of verses, desperate to release them.

They maintain the patient emotional tone that has drawn fans to their music over the years while refining their sound into something even deeper.

The New Danger's pulse doesn't always support Mos' growing manhood. [#13, p.89]

It's obvious that great pains were taken with the sequencing--starting with the exuberant "Good Looking Man About Town," winding down with Morrissey's twist on Bowie's nostalgic "Drive-In Saturday, " and trailing off with the resigned ode "Because of My Poor Education." The artistry alone is worth the purchase. [Holiday 2009, p.91]

[His] roughhewn compositions shuffle along with a shambolic charm, giving the collection an earthy appeal and conversational warmth. [#16, p.96]

Knowledge of The Golem isn't necessary for understanding Black Francis' latest experiment, but it helps when peeling back the inter-textual layers of his still-impressive lyricism.

The Messenger does not disappoint; it brims with angular riffage, swings with sexy insouciance.

Well into their fourth decade, with the aughts years spent in hibernation, Swans are still making records of brilliance and majesty.

It’s more streamlined than their past work, more ornate while simultaneously accessible and experimental, though that may be partially to their producer’s credit.

This unpredictable first effort is a stirring paean to the golden age of rock.

D-Sides is a worthy investment because of: A) the inclusion of their re-recording of the live-fave 'Hong Kong,' B) their collabo with the Bees entitled 'Bill Murray,' and C) remixes by DFA and Soulwax.

It's enough to get a guy pining for his next ex-to-be. [#24, p.102]

While On the Water may be a slow burn, the album grows only richer upon second and third listens.

The Bird and the Bee don't so much recreate Hall & Oates as they modernize them, taking the strictly adhered-to hooks and coating them in shimmering synth lines.

Auf der Maur builds a strong rhythmic foundation on this record and then proceeds to layer the white powder on top to hook the kids. [#11, p.94]

The mood and music of Metals is somber and poetic-but not always quiet-finally matching the emotional excavation she's written about throughout her career.

To date, this is as close to their masterpiece, The Holy Bible, as they've ever come. [Fall 2009, p.92]

[They've] caught on to what all those indies don't get--it's not just "tension;" it's "tension/release." [#21, p.100]

Though captivating siren Yukimi Nagano needs to turn it loose…watch out once she does.

Repave is not just an album created in the interim of Bon Iver releases, but a project that weaves something together that has been there all along. In that sense, the album is both unfettered and cinematic.

PJ Harvey always explodes possibility when she shreds convention and tradition. Thankfully, she does just that on this Anglo-centric head-trip.

Throughout, group leader Toby Martin accelerates his ascent to bedroom bard of the medicated generation, filling Twilight with Zach Braffian tales of the perils that exist in relationships with girls (“Sorry”) and pills (“On A String”).

The band may have switched the formula, but the solution still adds up.

The dream-pop duo layers together featherweight electronics, '80s beats and island attitude-stirring them into a frothy blend indebted to both The Tough Alliance's harmonies and Air France's hazy atmospherics.

As the group attempts to find their vibe, they test the waters gracefully. Perhaps next time, though, they’ll be slightly more focused.

Freeclouds channels a seesawing mix of Americana and psychedelic electronics.

Dripping with libido and pristine production, False Priest follows Barnes as he sows his oats from a variety of angles, some of them brand new, and with multiple partners to boot.

Winston Yellen’s debut Country Sleep builds an intangible place you’re immediately delivered to upon first listen.

Borrows the Afghan Whigs' ballsy romanticism, Velvet Underground's late-night cool, Peter Gabriel's raw passion and a few post-punk riffs for good measure. [#17, p.100]

Business Casual is the sound of Chromeo having wholly realized its vision. The only question is where does the duo go from here without becoming a tired party trick? Chromeo just might want to get out while the getting's still good.

Not everything on Present Tense is a success, but the highs are truly high, even when they’re sad.

Drenched in echoed vocals and layered synth lines, Howlin maintains an incredibly optimistic, carefree tone.

This barebones form is less than accessible, but Krug took the risk and consequently produced the most authentic collection of music he’s ever created.

Remiddi is able to successfully channel trippy psychedelia of beyond.

This sort of sincerity is what makes a good album, and it's what too many records these days are missing. [Spring 2009, p.100]

Although the lyrics are slightly repetitive, the hypnotic rhythms more than make up for it, transporting the listener to a world void of the 9-to-5 mundane.

Best of all, there's "The Sun and the Sea and the Sky," an unreleased take from one of pop's greatest achievements, 69 Love Songs, that makes Obscurities worth the admission all by itself.

It's not oblivious as what Fridmann's achieved with Flaming Lips and MGMT, but OK's new found raunchiness is still dreamy, and Kulash manages genuine soul-boy vocal points through the angular groove of "WTF?" and the sweetly-swaying bump of "White Kniuckles." [Holiday 2009, p.95]

Hung on the haunting vocals of frontwoman Sarah P, At Home is no mere retread, but a full-fledged genre renaissance.

Committed psych, folk and early metal music crate-diggers could probably reference a vast and rich collection of LPs from the '60s and '70s that Eternal Tapestry's work fits nicely alongside.

Supported by a new cast of musicians and soaking up the atmosphere, Ounsworth has crafted an album that transitions seemlessly from ballads to more frentic tracks with a straightforward sound that lets the songwriting and hooks resonate without being over-produced. [Fall 2009, p.100]

With Harlem River, Morby shuffles forthright, his sanguine tone assuredly focused on the cathartic inertia of travel.

A welcome noise to these mandolin and Simon & Garfunkel–influenced days, Lost Songs is anything but: muscular songwriting, enviable melodies, ferocious playing, dazzling production.

The Head and the Heart deliver plenty of both [Americana and chamber pop] when it comes to sing-along meditations and winding Appalachian roads.

The twinkles of music past have been removed, and in their place, gravel has been thrown across the guitars--darkness creeps forward and the album builds and crashes with fervor.

The lurching rhythms, slick hooks and stomping choruses are still everywhere you turn, but the Fraz lads have branched out, with seemingly mixed results. [Holiday 2008, p.90]

Thirty years in, Mann continues to charm, a hidden glint in her eye.

While he doesn't exude happiness throughout all 12 tracks, there's a feeling of contentment with his newfound solitude. Clearly, Lytle's time away has recharged him, even if it's in a way that reflects a more mellow life. [Spring 2009, p.92]

The result is a sophomore effort that deserves to be played loudly--and often.

While Turn the Lights Out may be missing some of their past piss 'n' vinegar... the love of good ol' fashioned guitar rock is still their calling card. [#24, p.94]

"Son" was a hushed wonder, full of digital loops, whispered lullabies and surround-sound chill. Its dizzying template has mutated nicely on Un Dia. [Fall 2008, p.97]

Zinzi Edmundson and Jesse Kivel’s follow-up, Kids in L.A., really jump-starts the DeLorean ride.

Love Letters may not guarantee that Metronomy are the kings of their sound, but they still have a seat at the table.

Event II is a satisfactory sequel, if not quite a gem on its own merit.

Memoryhouse push their indolent, Sunday morning music as far as possible into the depths of recollection.