With In the Grace of Your Love, The Rapture show the newbies how it's done.

Although Mice Parade is typically regarded as a solo project of Pierce, it is clear the concept of community compels him. And this is where his biggest strength lies.

there's an overwhelming sense of intimacy hanging over the album's 43 minutes, thanks to lyrics heavy on introspection and a sound served well by a new studio packed with vintage and analog gear.

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.

Air is as essential as ever, and has succeeded in writing another album of inspiration, tantalizing music. [Fall 2009, p.91]

Ambitious. [#16, p.88]

Gone is the blissed-out sunshine of earlier Vines releases, and instead rampant paranoia comes to the fore. [#20, p.91]

Mixed Race brims with well-formed songs played and sung with clear-headed emotion.

The record's informality causes it to stumble a bit-Warren Spicer's words occasionally work better as quips than they do as lyrics--but its faults are more than overwhelmed by its sense of communal grandeur.

It’s not bad--after all, the bands he works with are pretty good--it just might serve him well to forge his own path.

Blackout Beach songs ultimately tremble in the sun of lyrical exactitude--abstractions are their safe house after raking flight. [Holiday 2008, p.92]

Big grooves, smart beats, it's all technically on-point, but it lacks an original pace or narrative-pretty much neutering any melody or songcraft from the get-go.

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.

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]

The heavy chords of the album-opening title track are a surprising jolt, yet maintain the same breezy Laurel Canyon harmonies for which the band later became known.

Goodbye follows in the same muted patterns as 2003's "A Strangely Isolated Place," but layers on the vocals (in thin, gauzy, washes of course) over his treble-heavy, misty backdrops of beats and synths.

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]

This is the musical equivalent of a Volvo wagon. [#22, p.102]

Without the warm, human touch that made CYHSY’s previous releases so inviting, the ten (or really nine considering “Impossible Request” appears twice) tracks on Only Run feel cold and calculated.

It’s an interesting collection that lends itself equally well to both intellectual deconstruction and simply listening.

Here and there the noodling is drawn-out and the point could be gotten-to quicker, but this mishmash--reggae, rock, and jazz, for instance--shows Hammond exploring and stretching his own bounds as a songwriter and drummer Matt Romano as producer. [Summert 2008, p.96]

The band's third self-titled album deviates not an inch from the brutal style that's served them well since 2002. [Holiday 2008, p.92]

The result is his best and most kinetic solo album yet.

Bettinson's vocals can be a little... sweet, but the dark atmospherics sustain a palpable level of foreboding throughout.

Although the Oakland, California-based outfit bookends the record with lo-fi charm--the free-spirited “Solitary Gun” and stripped-bare “All That Remains”--Permalight also uncharacteristically departs into euphoric yet contrived electro-pop.

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

The album is overflowing with modern day punk-pop anthems, dressed up with technological marvels and justifiably bleak outlooks. [#5, p.89]

It’s hard to tell if the band wants us to revel along in their psychosis or throw up our hands with disgust.