This album has a vibrant crosscut of all GBV’s personalities, and for that they deserve applause.

The songs are mostly strong, but by the end, your legs stop kicking and your butt stops shaking.

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

[The Ravenonettes] help to remind us what makes harmless romantic music like Bobby Fuller and the Ronettes so perfectly dark. [#6, p.88]

The sparkling solo project of multi-instrumentalist Adam Pierce, Mice Parade specializes in chilled indie arpeggios that swell with craftsmanship. We can now add to that description "crunchy sunshine," in the case of Pierce's third effort What It Means to Be Left-Handed.

"Beggars" and "Leave It," are tunes fit for the space age that spans genres so easily that it leaves you wondering what this talented group could create if they grabbed a map and pinpointed exactly where they aim to be going.

Fair Ain't Fair offers more humanistic, good-humored songs than his previous records, and expansive numbers such as 'More Clouds' and opener 'Roots of a tree' reveal a man who is letting his talent breathe. [Spring 2008, p.103]

It's the band's most fractured album to date, folding art-garage conventions into themselves instead of working them into song structures.

Welsh rock trio The Joy Formidable gives us a roar that makes things of the '90s seem modern again.

Natural, their first album of all new material since 2002’s Oooh!, is more of their brand of sparse, postmodern folk that will mostly appeal to their already devout niche of fans.

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.

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]

Pure and unabashed pop bliss. [#21, p.102]

The words would be perhaps somewhat unremarkable without the grandiose sweep of sonic majesty that surrounds them.

Whether making us dance or encouraging us to think, Kelis is always out to fatten us up with her musical menu.

The pair balances out the other's weakness, bringing you finely crafted storytelling set to diverse musical influences rooted in good ol' folksy rock.

At times the lyrics come across as naïve and disconnected.

It doesn’t hurt that Bill Reynolds of Band of Horses produced the five-song EP, and though it clocks in at a brief 20 minutes, it’s worth repeated listenings.

There are crisp and slow electro beats, echo-drenched vocals and an absolute well of soul that touches immediately, deeply and profoundly. Whatever these guys think they're doing, the music is heavenly.

These post-punk/new-wave tracks rumble by with a forcefulness not heard since the ’80s. Soak up the gleaming destruction.

Turner is clearly a sensitive, thoughtful and probably pleasant man whose musicianship is way less pretentious than is being advertised.

Smooth gems like “Airs” and “Who Buries the Undertaker” offset it with a relatively taut, clean sound that sometimes even recalls major-label-era Guided By Voices.

The stark contrast between frontman Ellery Robert's guttural, yell-sing vocals and the squeaky-clean instrumentation not only works harmoniously, but also creates a distinct and commanding sound.

You can call it emo or you can call it hip-hop, but you have to call it some kind of wonderful. [#25, p.94]

The group's fourth album, The Chaos, demonstrates that it has lost none of the infectious enthusiasm that made 2004's self-titled debut such a pleasure to hear.

They’ll get major points for pouring Bleach all over your Nevermind, but don’t miss the trance-and-release rush of the title track.

With Tomboy, Lennox valiantly accepts the responsibilities he once invoked on Prayer, now seeming to possess answers to some of the questions as well.

I’ll Follow You is a pleasant enough halfway point for a respite.

Stereolab don't stray too far from their formula, and for once that's a really good thing. [#10, p.88]

Unlike other bands in the Woodsist family, the handmade quality has become less perceptible and more meditative with Sun & Shade, allowing noisier elements to puncture subtly through the foursome's songcraft.

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

It's hard to imagine that fans of Radiohead will be all that disappointed by The Eraser, and it's miles better than a dozen or so other solo projects that come to mind. [#21, p.93]

I Know What Love Isn't is a master class in, if not getting over it, then getting on with it.

Something is a huge leap of cohesive maturity.

Though the sultry Southern flavor his fans love him for is still very much present, Adams remains an artist who refuses to put out the same record twice-and considering his pace, that is certainly something special.

If the next James Bond film needs a soundtrack, those in charge should look to the latest from Florida-based trio The Postmarks. [Fall 2009, p.106]

Missing the debased lo-fi fuzz of its previous 7-inches, Best Coast's first LP is still a clear good vibration in complication amour, resonating through hot, stoned days of West Coast love and lonely, sleepless nights of unanswered phone calls.

The juxtaposition of an earnest attempt at a spook with what otherwise sounds like super-weird children's songs is at least genuinely interesting, falling short of fear-inspiring, if that's what they were after.

It’s the aural equivalent of sweet syrup—slow, molasses-y and utterly satisfying.

No surprise, this first solo record from arch-seraph Jon Thor Birgisson brims with moments of aural salvation.

While Berglund still seems intent on taking a sideways swipe at pop culture, his sophomore album Wonderland is full of elegant contradictions, bridging the gap between bratty and Balearic.

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.

The best element... isn't the driving guitars or relentless percussion, it's the ability to step up and actually better their sound. [#5, p.91]

The fuzzy grooves on the record stand out as sicker and more focused than anything the United States of America or Morricone ever splattered onto a canvas. [#21, p.93]

P.O.S. takes a page from labelmate Aesop Rock, but with less verbosity and more purpose, more swagger; the record starts slow, but good luck putting it down.

Not as good as their first.

In its first full collection of songs, Weekend splashes a thin, shimmery veil of Psychocandy nostalgia over a mess of noise rock, transforming a seemingly schizophrenic cacophony of guitar wails into something melodic, foot-stompingly powerful and entirely enjoyable.

It's really Duvall's unique, calm and ready vocals that sets Onuinu and his promising debut apart.

While tales of the life aquatic are at the heart of this record, there is no denying that they are kept afloat by the youthful earnesty and composure of Moore's vocals.

Frontman Tim Booth grapples with emotional instability and alienation, a lyrical content the band has layered over an appropriately modern and very British rock sound. One can't help wishing, however, that the band would have released a proper full-length instead of an admittedly disjointed and ultimately less-than-ideal collection.

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

A slice of the Onlys' fanbase will miss the uncooked power of the group's early days, but this is an intrepid course that deserves sponsor.

While certain tracks such as "The Animator" And "What It's For" seem to get a little lost in themselves, most tracks triumph in the end, becoming thoughtful and often foot-tapping experiences not to be missed. [Spring 2009, p.92]

Falling Down a Mountain may be the band’s most tuneful effort, or at least their peppiest.

Apollo Sunshine has finally created the audio beast we've been waiting for--a feast of emotions, sounds and additional weirdness. [Fall 2008, p.98]

Though it lacks the immediacy of Furr, Destroyer of the Void’s surface ripples with a steady, concentrated drip—confident in the strength of nuance’s eclipse.

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

Gonzalez has crafted an admirable paean to fuzzy memories, nostalgia, melancholic rumination and pop experimentation, imploring the listener to become the stories and places that populate dreams.

With Myth Takes, [!!!] cleans up from trying to get people to trip balls and instead tries to make them just dance really fucking hard for like an hour or so... while tripping balls. [#24, p.96]

There's an underlying transcendence in McCombs' work that acts as pure poetry, but it also can come across as direct storytelling when taken at surface value. [Summer 2009, p.96]

If you’re not bothered by the doom and gloom, Obsidian is just over 43 minutes of imaginative and spacious electro art--at times a bit jarring, but mostly beautiful.

Random Spirit Lover even crushes "Beast Moans" at points, its arrangements meatier and more satisfying, with an off-kilter Disney otherworldliness and kudzu-dense overlapping keyboards.

This witchcraft is far better in theory than it ever will be in practice. [#24, p.96]

The Montreal quartet has their fingers in many pies, and the combination of noise, space, art and good old rock come together in a mix that creates its own gravitational pull.

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.

The seasoned professional executes discipline on a record that seems entirely natural--layered to the top, but never giving in to excess. [Winter 2008, p.92]

While Grass Geysers…Carbon Clouds shows that Schmerse is still refining and fucking with his most primal pop tendencies, it’s most impressive because this time around, it’s not just Enon that makes the record special.

Portner has long oozed an anarchic and, at times, gloomy essence as Animal Collective's alpha songwriter, and Down There feels quite content wallowing in this murky bath.

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

La Radiolina emerges as a delicious bouillabaisse of gypsy punk, reggae and countless indigenous sounds, expertly stirred by a band of brawling pirates who plunder each port for musical spices and then add them to the cauldron.

It's the post-apocalyptic sonics, the industrial-strength bombast and buzzing bondage-core that mightily sustains its frightening 16-track, one-hour run-time.

Almost everything about this album is fragile and beautiful. [#24, p.94]

Austra do a stellar job of navigating a sea of vintage synth sounds and applying them tastefully and appropriately so that they sound at once both retro-cool and strikingly forward-thinking.

All Things Unwind is a cohesive trek that leaves the listener enraptured by Worden's talent and undeniable magnetism.

For the most part, he sounds fresh-faced and ready to charge back into the fray.

How can Scots with such a wry sense of humor make you believe they are so very, very serious? Sometimes the song titles speak for themselves, almost seperate from the music. [Fall 2008, p.94]

Disturbing, intense and emotionally stark. [#5, p.89]

Fans may take a while to warm up to this new material, but turning down the volume isn't always a bad thing.

Part romantic, starry-eyed shoegaze pop and part paranoid explosions of sound. [#14, p.96]

Welcome to the Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain of our modern indie times. [Filter Mini, Oct 2005]

Texas-based group This Will Destroy You is somewhere past the breakers, floating on a body of layered soundscapes and ambient atmosphere.

I can already sense the love-it-or-leave-it polarization for listeners over Michael Angelakos's dizzying falsetto range, but one thing's for sure--it's a match for the far-out music he's making. [Spring 2009, p.97]

The Besnard Lakes have nonetheless continued to hone a pre-apocalyptic sound with their latest, Until In Excess, Imperceptible UFO.

Textured as it comes, the album drips with heady shoegaze, and meaty bass lines prevail in a melodic, rewarding sonic endeavor.

One can make out here and there traces of American roots music, but those are alas, buried within the breathtaking bluster, ’cos ultimately, you can’t separate The Men from the noise.

For all of the exploring, Shearwater is at their most affecting when they stay at home.

Attack & Release is a great accomplishment for both The Black Keys and Danger Mouse, who have proven good things can not only last, but sometimes, actually get better. [Winter, 2008, p.91]

This record doesn't top 2001's All Is Dream, but the bliss of "In The Wilderness" and "The Climbing Rose" were definitely worth the wait. [#14, p.98]

It's Cabic's soft-sung delivery and chiming acoustic harmonies that give Vetiver their charm. [#21, p.96]

Magik Markers stand out from the crowd of Sonic Youth conscripts by delivering an album that marbles its clang with sweet spots.

Her tragic musings finally receive the perfect accompaniment. [#14, p.105]

Beauty & Ruin might be the most realized example of the Mouldian aesthetic, and combined with the heartfelt poignancy of the subject matter--the aging rocker acknowledging his years earned and the years left at the wheel--it soars to contention with the rest of Mould’s formidable oeuvre.

The good thing about an album like this is if one song isn't quite your style, the one following it just might hit the spot. It doesn't say much for consistency, but such is the story when dealing with one David Sitek.

Wilco (The Album) adds yet another chapter to the story, and if this band's relevance is to continue going forward, then let the resilent closer 'Everlasting Everything ' score our impending sunrise. [Summer 2009, p.90]

Russell brings a touch of the old South to all he surveys. Same here.

Somewhat less emotive than its well received junior, A Cross The Universe jaunts through the subgenre that it is actively creating with each flippant mesh of damn near everything through almost all of its 18 tracks. [Holiday 2008, p.100]

James' lyrics, forever a sticky mixture of high-minded spirituality and cultural slang, keep up the theme; nearly each of Circuital's 10 songs is concerned with the relationship between the past and the present, the development of the individual character, and the quest for something beyond human.

Its tracks are beautiful storms for restless times.