Ranaldo and his band are unparalleled musicians but have fallen prey to a disaster that normally besets younger bands--a great sound and nothing said.

Where's the NoDoz? Chillwave may have officially become too chill, bros.

You want to praise them for their attempts to define a unique voice, but a unique voice isn't necessarily an interesting one. [#11, p.96]

Unfocused and uninspired, Machineries lacks the sprawling majesty and well-forged hooks of earlier efforts.

Gone are the fun hooks of [Nixon], and the genre jumping majesty of 1999's What Another Man Spills. [combined review of both discs; #9, p.108]

It may sometimes sparkle, but it never shines. [Spring 2008, p.102]

The Sword akes the safe, oddly paradoxical decision to stay off the cutting edge. [Winter 2008, p.97]

Back To Forever strives for mainstream acceptance, and in doing so dilutes Lissie’s strengths.

Five of the songs don't feature Lanegan's vocals, and when Willy Mason shows up to sing two of them, it's a wonder why Hawk wasn't more truthfully labeled as "Isobel Campbell & Friends." Thematically deficient throughout, this is an outtakes release at best.

Modern Art remains behind the veil, smoke and mirrors of nostalgia-not wholly accessible to audiences, modern or otherwise.

The Soft Moon's sophomore album Zeroes is an experimentation in industrial sound that doesn't fully hit the mark.

A high-pitched punky mess. [#16, p.103]

Instead, the religiosity that infuses the music recalls the forced eagerness of modern day evangelicals and the predictable plainness of suburban mega-churches. Only dedicated fans need ascend.

A double album slough of easy listening instrumentals. [combined review of both discs; #9, p.108]

While bombastic and ambitious as ever, Tao suggests that Trail of Dead have once again lost the taste for subtlety and texture that's past served to elevate their sound from the prog pack.

We've heard this swaggering, fumbling funk before from Kool Keith's gazillion other alter-egos. [#21, p.98]

Not one drop of Dracula is dance-friendly. In fact, it sounds just as disparate as the last Nurses effort.

Chris Martin’s voice is unremarkable but inoffensive on the non-instrumentals, and while some of Cosy’s tones are satisfying, they don’t redeem its shortcomings.

While Senior is sometimes reminiscent of Royksopp's stellar 2001 debut Melody A.M., it also feels like a poor man's attempt at an Air record.

Weller unveils an indulgent 21-track, hit-or-miss collection that has a scope, ambition and jazzy undercurrent which suggests Pete Townshend slumming in Vegas. [Summer 2008, p.98]

Listening to this record, made me feel like the Andy Rooney of dance/electronic music. [Winter 2009, p.92]

A touchy-feely orgy better left spooning in its afterglow 10 years previous when the feeling was still fresh. [#21, p.96]

Feathers isn't a bad album, just one without a discernable look--or hook. [#14, p.99]

Amos said she wanted to reclaim the songs from religious appropriations, but in the end, she just barely save us all from complete shame. [Holiday 2009, p. 98]

Nothing sticks on the LP, and the disc feels recycled, pedestrian and a bit exhausting--at best.

Ultimately, this collection is a series of album nearly-rans. This shouldn't undermine the songs, but it should reiterate how strong Weezer's records actually are (for the large part).

A disappointing product of the partnership betwen party boys Modeselektor and space cadet Apparat. [Spring 2009, p.106]

Precious and self-indulgent, this disc is bound for the sale rack at Starbucks.