The only drawback is, of course, that the songs that do this best are better than the ones that don't...but there aren't many of those.

Lerche croons and swoons between styles like a prophet of postmodern pomp.

Hats of to the Buskers has a few top-notch tunes up its sleeve, but it generally fails to match the thrilling energy and shambolic charm of the [Libertines]. [#24, p.94]

This is merely alright, but it will surely need to burn slower to penetrate the heart.

The fact that this album doesn't fit as neatly with their most popular album, The Con, is a good sign--the girls aren't yet ready to rest on their laurels, and instead continue to push their music dynamically forward.

Fans will love it; hipster kids can hear what the Strokes would sound like if they suddenly had the subtlety bludgeoned out of them. [#21, p.100]

José González’s smooth, honeyed vocals and nylon-string plucking are more timbres than lead presences, and to great success.

With earnest piano, pulsing atmospherics and windswept vocals opening the album, the title track signals what's to come and lets you know that, had there actually been a film, it would have certainly been a drama.

Kim and Kelly Deal have delivered their strangest record to date. [Winter 2008, p.91]

It's still rebellion without destination. [#25, p.89]

Dungen's sound is equal parts pastoral and wildly raucous. Skit I Allt digs deeper into these patchworks with an ear of layered precision that would make even J. Dilla proud.

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

Upon first listen, Austra's debut album Feel It Break comes off like a cross between The Knife and a gothier version of Florence and The Machine.

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.

An electric moment for Lilys. [#19, p.96]

As strong and alluring as she may be, however, the album is a straightforward waltz through Bon Iver territory.

Celestial Electric can feel a little freewheeling and exploratory at times, but it also hints at great potential in future collaborations.

It feels less like an overly ambitious second album, as might be expected, and more like a pivotal and dramatic step forward into relevance once again.

Compared to the relative intensity of its opening numbers, precious few other moments on BIB escape the intertia of your average campfire bray-along, which is too bad since the sexy new studio sheen validates the Mates' many virtues. [#19, p.90]

At times, Nika Roza Danilova’s opera-trained voice sounds overly formal against the string-only instrumentation. But the compositions benefit from her willingness to shed her electro goddess skin.

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.

The results sees The Hold Steady with an in-your-face, rapid fire record that’s arena-ready and their most ambitious to date.

The band members’ talents rise to the top, making Nothing Is Real a serious mark for Crystal Antlers, if it’s not their high-water.

Every instrument, including the vocals, reverberates and interplays with the next in order to create a meandering backbeat that refuses the rhythmic decorum of rock and roll and hip-hop. The girls are onpoint.

Throughout, this is gorgeous; every tune swelters in a setting sun, his voice honeyed in harmonies. Essential.

K'Naan is one of the realest cats going, and although Troubadour feels somewhat derivative, you should at least agree when he notes, "It's OK to feel good." [Holiday 2008, p.100]

Simply put, Themes is Pink at his most vivid.

Some of the band's signature buzzsaw sound has been traded in for clever production.

The mood is undeniably American, and Bonnie (or Oldham) seems incomprehensibly at peace with his hallmark solitude. [Winter 2009, p.91]

God bless Tunng for making what is otherwise one of the more obnoxious genres of music (Folktronica) so damned delectable.

Perkins is joined by a three-piece ensemble of multi-instrumentalists that do a great deal to boost his soulful ballads with circus-like arrangements, while putting a little extra pep in his step. [Winter 2009, p.96]

When Mouse on Mars are able to fuse their exasperating experimentation with a headstrong beat, it's like the best party you've ever been to.

If you're a fan, As Is Now will probably fulfill all your medium-level expectations. [#17, p.105]

It's lightweight stuff, as easy to wash off as a day of surf and sand. But it's difficult to deny the buzzy delights of her aggressively rough-hewn pop.

Put it this way: the Raveonettes have got one serious retro fetish. [#15, p.95]

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]

Much more organic and live. [#25, p.100]

This record might be a challenge for fans of the band’s hit-filled history and at times drifts dangerously close to the dreaded adult contemporary of your local Gap store, but give Challengers some growing time and it proves to be the New Pornos’ prettiest record yet.

This album requires less listening and more feeling for one to get the message, something that most of us could all use a little more of.

The trio establishes catchy lyrics and feet-tapping rhythms, but the words are plain and the beats sound too familiar to reach dance ecstasy.

Murs' spitball rhymes and thick beats have always showcased a proclivity for stardom, and they bear fruit on the soulful piano galumph of 'Time Is Know.' [Fall 2008, p.102]

This is the best Grandaddy record thus far. [#19, p.92]

While the band still has its head in the clouds, or beyond, it has made its finest, most listenable album to date. [Spring 2008, p.98]

By not making sense as we know it, cLOUDDEAD creat music that is open to interpretation. [#10, p.96]

I still think I'd rather have a chat with him than listen to his music. [#24, p.90]

The 1990s just may replace Franz as the dancefloor fillers of choice in Glasgow.

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.

What unifies the record is Beal’s ability to create concrete images within his abstract menagerie of sounds, which he then animates through his oddly charming and less paternal Screamin’ Jay Hawkins persona (also a good thing).

You'd be right to uncover this one.

It’s a fresh thrash of emotion from a supremely talented, if dysfunctional, band.

Bird stays true to his whimsical and intricate style while embracing the limitations of recording an acoustic set circled around a single microphone.

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

Even though it's more than good, you eventually find yourself thumbing through your CD piles in search of that first record. [#7, p.87]

There's more meat on this album's bone than on the laughable Fatherfucker. [#21, p.99]

Xiu Xiu’s Dear God has at least three memorable post-punk anthems, including album opener “Gray Death.” For the most part, though, the album is a series of challenges.

To say that this disc is merely great "psych-folk from Sweden" would be to ignore its more, um, intimate qualities.

Although the super group’s vocals blend well across genres, too much sweetness, as in opener “How are you Doing,” seems saccharine.

Lyrically, the songs revolve around topics of drinking, women, forgiveness...stuff that could pretty much write itself at this point. It's nothing new, but it's nothing bad, either.

It's haunting in spots but ultimately fun; there's no sign of a sophomore slump for these guys.

The nitro-powered esoterica of his New Pornographers days has faded, though, in favor of a more restrained beauty.

The singer's quivering tenor is still fixated on death and a dystopian future....It'd be scarier if it didn't follow a song about a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles costume, but that's VanGaalen's charm. [Fall 2008, p.98]

Freeclouds channels a seesawing mix of Americana and psychedelic electronics.

Electric Arguments makes a gravity defying leap from his supine position atop past laurels with an album showcasing incredibly raw rock, complimented by totally-not-cheesy electronic production. [Holiday 2008, p.98]

The songs are accomplished and take surprising turns, shot through with a mellow fury that's endlessly appealing.

While the album may not push these strengths far enough, it definitely doesn't suck.

Ultimately, the only thing stopping Planet of Ice from being the band’s best work is that they seem to so desperately want it to be, lending a strange (and too serious) heavy-handedness that nearly buries these slow-to-mid-tempo burners.

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]

Over the course of the 38-minute album, these nouvelle cuisine portions amost add up to a satiating whole. But it's good enough you'll be hungry for more. [Winter 2010, p.94]

Although there are moments on the album that, despite its ambition, simply feel like fool’s gold, others—like the honky-tonk-slash-futura-disco of “Phantom Rider”--shine like veritable gold flakes.

The band managed to keep the self-recorded Wasted Years crisp and orderly without editing any of the performances.

The same wail-filled, guitar-driven dance music of yore, but this time with hints of rough Brit-rock sensibility, vague wafts of pared-down techno and two last tracks that make little sense to the rest of the album. [#22, p.100]

Explode[s] with musical vitality. [#15, p.97]

The self-titled album is Maricich’s wobbly reboot after a seven-year absence, and if nothing else, she’s certainly learned the power of the bass.

Effortless pop with an undenaible solo-era Stephen Malkmus quality that just makes you want to go on a long drive. [#22, p.100]

On its third album, the group doesn’t so much tone this down as weave these elements into a more elaborate and adventurous record.

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.

At 74, one of American music's patriarchs sounds as sprite as ever, kicking off with a great honky-tonk anthem, the joyous title song.

II is the perfect 21st-century escape from so much banal guitar music.

Blak & Blu proves that an outstanding talent isn't predicated on having a signature song, and that the 28-year-old is worthy of the hype thrown his way.

Out-and-out rockers “A Mirror” and “Tired & Buttered” provide some much-needed lucidity, but as a whole, Held in Splendor may be a bit too tranquil for its own good.

The Acorn hit a spry pace here, as chiming guitars, violin embellishments, and burbling electronics coalesce into a harmonious melange.

Dear Heather, while slow and deep like all of Cohen's albums, carries its own rich surprises. [#13, p.95]

Not the best Quasi introduction for first-time listeners, but there’s plenty for the band’s fans to love.

Yet another collection of crafty, drunken stories of manhood devouring youth. [#14, p.101]

Her new environs are distinctly different to the basement recordings of her past, but the friends she brings along preserve some of the intimacy and spontaneity of the dramtis personae that earns her the adjective, "Spektorian." [Summer 2009, p.91]

Exercises, is a downcast and reflective paean for the '70s underground. The chamber-piano infused into these eight experiments is sometimes utterly heartrending-those pulsating synthesizers sound like they could pump blood and breathe oxygen.

Through and through, fans will be happy to see their former drinking buddies up to their old antics.

Shipping News may have taken years off, but it seems determined to make up for it in sheer, rewarding noise.

Longtime fans will relish the return as Greg Dulli’s voice--full of longing, sex and anger--has never sounded better; new listeners will marvel at the drama that was so prevalent in bands from the ’90s, and that can be so lacking now.

Sure it's louder, but it's too self-disciplined and too well-arranged. [#19, p.96]

As a whole, Eagulls is a refreshing, unrestrained album, a cool drink of insta-nostalgia for the best of the late ’80s, early ’90s rejecters of the mold.

The duo has not lost their touch for writing memorable tunes. [#16, p.92]

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.

Despite the '80s tag and influences worn plainly on sleeves, Phoenix always come across strangely earnest and never cheesy. [#11, p.98]

What was once enjoyable as a one-off now seems forced. [#25, p.89]

Enigmatically beautiful, yet stinging with bitter cold. [#10, p.90]

Piramida's faults lie in the gaps. Each track stands on its own; they begin slow and end long, which isn't an issue until it becomes a pattern.

This makes for an important sophomore release that is even more sweepingly seductive than "Fort Nightly." [Spring 2009, p.92]