Mastodon's most accessible album to date finds the ATL-iens as unfocused as ever--and out of gas.

While We're New Here is spooky, it's more chill-out mix than futuristic minimal-rave, and comes as a less interesting culture-clash than, say, The Dirtbombs doing covers of Detroit techno songs.

The lyrical chops are intact but the production is far too dated.

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

The updated duo offers lollipop anthems that do not fit airy reverberations and methodical nuance of '90s era Hi Tek. Luckily, the suporting cast offers diversity to the sometimes misguided and underwhelming album. [Spring/Summer 2010, p.110]

Pedestrian Verse is an album made up of melodies, lyrics and verses that are completely, well, pedestrian.

There's not nearly enough of Aesop living up to his impressive talent.

Cyclone might lack the raw beauty of her last project, but Case's emotional honesty is surely a sign that more meaningful transformations are in store. [Winter 2009, p.92]

Blessed certainly isn't a curse, but it doesn't exactly leave you feeling a higher power, either.

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]

Get Color may not be as revelatory as its predeccessors, but its slight merits gradually ooze into the wounds it so fiendishly creates. [Fall 2009, p. 102]

The best song is track 13, "Apology in Advance." It is still not that good. [#6, p.86]

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.

Special moments are few and far between. [#8, p.109]

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

For all of the thought required, the album is still very natural and accessible.

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]

The peaks aren't as emotionally devastating as his studio work, but there's a hushed desperation here that gradually leaches into your pores.

Not as good as their first.

[Class Clown is] like all GBV releases, a mishmash of melodic, A-side-worthy compositions and half-formed snippets.

Inoffensive to the nth degree, this is a sleeping pill, not the double espresso we ordered.

There are no distinguishable hooks or chorus lines anywhere on Coming Apart; instead, it’s just Gordon and Nace simultaneously subverting and creating musical forms that will surely polarize listeners who want to “get it” and those who refuse to.

The two marry sounds of melodrama and sheer polyphonic weirdness for a result gone (sometimes) wonderfully awry. [Fall 2008, p.98]

The reality is that Bitter Drink, Bitter Moon is the musical equivalent of a grape soda--it tastes familiar, but it's just not quite a grape.

The altered states of Cameron Stallones' latest Sun Araw effort Ancient Romans are an acquired taste.

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.

While there's magic in Darnielle's always-blissful eye for detail--takes the kaleidoscopic, blood-red sun on 'San Bernadino'--far too often the album works up a head of steam only to wander into unflattering territory. [Winter 2008, p.95]

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]