Powers affords himself a more experimental stance, lacing warped warbles and sketchy interludes between the seams of his brand of kaleidoscopic builder tracks.

For the most part, you never really know how much you love something until it's gone. But every now and then, it comes back and you're allowed to love it like you should have the first time around. 13 & God came back. You know what to do.

The flows may be lacking in precision, but precision isn't always necessary when you've got a bazooka growing out of your grill. [#7, p.88]

Music for smoking and looking bored has rarely ever been this decisively brilliant. [#10, p.98]

Touchdown is the band at its best, most consistent and crowd-pleasing to date. [Spring 2009, p.106]

Gimme Some surfaces from more of a basic power trio sound without straying too far from indie-pop roots.

Worst-case scenario: that initial dreamlike spell wears out its welcome long before the album's 38 minutes are up. Best case: you've had a stressful day and True really hits that sweet, relaxing spot.

The electronic-pop of Jon Barthmus once again brings together the upbeat pop and whimsical electronic orchestration that made Nocturne of Exploded Crystal Chandelier such a dynamic debut.

Though “subdued” is a dirty word that’s thrown around a lot, in the case of the collection that comprises Get There, the duo shines bright when they pick up the pace.

Whereas Widowspeak suffered a touch from homogeny, Almanac casts its entrancing firelight in a variety of attractive bearings.

Remiddi is able to successfully channel trippy psychedelia of beyond.

A bit less slapdash punk and more laid-back vintage California sound, it feels like the wooziest acid-fueled daydreams of Brian Wilson.

As pleasant and consistent as Every Step's a Yes is, one can't help but feel that A Band of Bees could still push their music further into the mystic.

This full-length proves that they’re no one-hit wonder, demonstrating depth, dexterity and a slap-dash genius that’s impossible to contrive.

The worst record [Homme's] name has ever graced. [#10, p.89]

Those of us disenchanted by genre specificity may give up on proVISIONS upon the line, "It was there in Galveston," and its accompanying played-out, imitive Western guitar line. [Fall 2008, p.97]

Volume Two sees the return of She & Him and with fantastic results. Any shyness surrounding Deschanel’s songwriting on the first record has melted away, and here she is unabashed, graceful and poignant. Ward has followed suit, fleshing out the production canvas right along with Deschanel's ever-growing gusto.

Drones with the grit of a band that means it this time. [#9, p.103]

Uncharacteristically lazy beats, chintzy instrumentation, ambiguous "sexy soul" vocalists and third-grade lyrics. [#22, p.96]

Rolling Blackouts features less of lady rapper Ninja's double-dutch rhymes and a wrecking-ball brass attack, a welcome evolution that shifts the focus towards songcraft and away from the squealing sheets of instrumentation.

Cloud Nothings' self-titled debut displays Baldi's feral chops in natural light.

The music on this explosive new album is as tightly coiled as early Sabbath, but their terrifyingly detuned guitars, brickbat rhythmic chaos and contributions from Lungfish’s Daniel Higgs imbue the proceedings with an overwhelming air of apocalyptic doom.

The album marks the first time Black Lips’ unconscious bar anthems have sounded completely, well, developed.

If you're not a devoted fan, don't lose any sleep over missing this one.

Pinback is particularly good at harnessing a laid-back vibe that ultimately soothes much more than it disappoints. [#12, p.101]

Doesn't offer enough lyrical depth to ensure the album's ultimate longevity. [#14, p.104]

While there are a few slow points on The Trial Of The Century... the album is leaps and bounds away from One Time Bells, production and songwriting-wise. [#10, p.96]

Ultimately pretends to be more adventurous than it really is. [#8, p.107]

They remain simple and cerebral. [#7, p.91]

Dominant Legs' missteps are kept in line by irrepressibly bubbly synths for a smile-inducing listen.

As if the Everly Brothers channeled Norma Desmond, Observator is the sweet sound of summertime sadness.

The result is a sophomore effort that deserves to be played loudly--and often.

Their first for Atlantic (and sixth overall) is a carefully crafted collection of 11 songs that don't stray from the band's alt-psychedelic formula, yet are a refreshing step forward.

Much like Begin to Hope and Far, this record generally continues to juggle the same genres Spektor has inhabited up to this point.

Clinic sounds far from the garage and closer to the amphitheater. In places, the album seems nearer to the cinematic swoon of Tindersticks than the usual curt jangle.

For Now I Am Winter is filled with widescreen ambitions that deliver on every count.

In both theme and effect, DiFranco's latest is about the reassurance in chronicling minutiae. [#14, p.100]

Sure, none of us can tell the past dozen or so GBV albums from one another. But we wouldn't trade any of 'em.

Not since Thee Headcoatees has English retro sounded so cute. [#25, p.92]

It seems they’ve found land for their sea legs, regaining footing with a more profound focus by the likes of Cambria Goodwin, whose vocals nod toward Régine Chassagne’s sadness and the haunting of Victoria Legrand.

On Shootenanny!, they take a solid first step toward crafting their opus a la Yankee Hotel Foxtrot or Soft Bulletin. [#6, p.81]

Apart from the live instrumentation, what stands out the most is Kittin's treatment of the synth as something more than aural shellac. [#10, p.92]

Resurrecting ghosts of endless summers past, Allah-Las are modern surf and psych-rock at its best.

Irresistible. [#22, p.93]

Thirty years in, Mann continues to charm, a hidden glint in her eye.

Captivating to its core, it will undoubtedly soundtrack countless mushroom-fueled spirit quests and soul-searching walkabouts for light years to come.

The consistency from past to present is resolute and the drifting more uplifting than heard before, but the moments of poignancy heard on earlier records still ring truest.

Paracosm is a beautiful, beautiful album.

The Else finds the band still firmly grounded in their tongue-and-cheek eclecticism, combining humorous tracks about shadow governments invading public libraries, a “cap’m” that doesn’t actually drive a boat, and numerous off-center topics into a mish-mash of musical absurdity.

If you liked Embrace, You'll like Fever. If you're looking for something novel, you might have better luck at a bookstore. [Spring/Summer 2010, p.107]

On his band’s fifth album, On Oni Pond, the experimental-rock showman sharpens his Frankenstein mash of genres down to a gleaming point and plunges it deep into his carotid artery.

Housecat isn't exactly reinventing the wheel; he's dusting it off and spray painting it electric blue. [#9, p.102]

Barfod has taken a great debut and made it into a stellar sophomore record that delights the most.

As assured as it is unfinished. [#21, p.95]

Feels exactly like a dance-less, British-not-Scottish Franz Ferdinand who have been deeply infused with Sgt. Peppers' '60s pop whimsy. [#16, p.90]

Brian Oblivion’s knack for delivering ’60s and ’70s guitar riffs and singer Madeline Follin’s slender voice shine through the dissonance at the most unexpected and welcome moments.

While the album-opener 'Aerial' and 'Weekend' are still easy on the ears, it's the all-too-short 'CMS Sequence' and 'Mirrors' that whet our appetite for the band's experimental side, which is achingly absent here. [Fall 2008, p.94]

The Information is a truer return to the Odelay mentality--and surprisingly, the sound as well. [#22, p.92]

Warmhearted and epic, Instinct aims for the moon--and sticks the landing.

FOMO shows Finn heading in an exciting direction, paradoxically stretching out his vision and ample talent while delivering a more cohesive record in the process.

They never fully submerge themselves into new territory with this album, which becomes both the band’s main strength and weakness.

The progression into synthetics and New Order-isms seems so natural, it's almost hard to imagine the Dandys could ever have made music any other way. [#7, p.86]

Not since Cornelius' Fantasma has the element of surprise manifested itself as fully as on this record. [#9, p.110]

It's ultimately a pop album, reflective and thoughtful, and these songs are just that: songs. [#12, p.97]

Track-for-track, Herren's stuttering production and Technicolor glitch madness turns the whole thing into some insane dance party. [#15, p.93]

The Harzards Of Love is an unbelievable show, but its director should have spent more time on the script and less on the pomp and circumstance. [Winter 2009, p.90]

But unlike Not Too Late, Jones' latest decision to ditch her keys for strings is a poor one. In a way, she had indeed found a different beat to groove to, and if anyone can play in a piano bar without a piano, it would certainly be Norah Jones. [Holiday 2009, p. 91]

Like Brock and even Andrew Bird, Sam Jayne can slipstream between genres without missing a heartbeat. [Spring 2008, p.96]

It’s easily the most-realized project from the guitar-wielding freewheelers, shy in the right spots but also unafraid of boogieing down in a dive bar.

Peer Amid is the ultimate soundtrack for fighting your way to enlightenment.

The production work throughout provides a head-bobbing, arm-waving backdrop to Kweli’s lyrical genius, exactly as it should.

It's an immediate, utterly engrossing collection of hook-laden, distinctly modern rock songs, as vibrant as anything being turned out by the hipster kids.

No, this is the real shit--classic lightning riffage, hearkening dub rhythms, and a perfectly insane H.R. and Co. following the great spirit to hardcore heaven

Dr. Dog is a fun, energetic and entertaining crew, but it speaks volumes that fish tacos still come to mind.

A glowing psychedelic pop opus. [#21, p.102]

Take out the organ, slow down the drums and you might confuse a few songs with Bay Area band Sleep's legendary Dopesmoker album. But it's the things that prevent easy comparison that make Wooden Shjips the kickass band they are.

Lyrics form twisted stories as each song becomes more mysterious and sultry than the next, making Holly a fitting soundtrack for creeping the streets at night.

Throughout, there are pieces that defy the term "song" and exist more as sonic collages--intriguing bits of paste and mortar between tracks--providing ethereal contemplation and occasional abrasive interludes before returning to the more traditional song structure that is anything but traditional. [Winter 2008, p.100]

Although it toes a dangerous line of resounding too imitative of its own influences, the young producer is nonetheless well on his way to fully embracing his identity.

With Afterparty Babies, he proves he truly belongs on the other side of the speakers. [Winter 2008, p.105]

This is a minor stumble at a major plate, but no fear. The high here do well in drowning out the lows. [Fall 2009, p.92]

Though the songs and tone may be different, there is a distinct, familiar sound that makes this undoubtedly a Black Mountain record-and that's a wonderful thing.

A continuation of the trio's lovelorn, earnest pop. [#17, p.99]

As soon as the first bright notes of An Object wave you over to the album’s distorted incandescence, you realize that something is going on.

Wilco has constructed their most straightforward release in recent memory, which relies heavily on the inspired intricacies of a full-hearted band.

Slide guitars and steel drums seduce the listener into a world of gentle pain, making for a sophomore album that is, like its predecessor, a beautiful collection of songs and images seemingly constructed upon repulsion and ennui.

Julian Lynch’s music lacks the bombast of [Nino Rota’s] works, but is similarly raucous, mysterious and full of whirling joy.

[Mudhoney] are as furious, as weird, and as tuned-down as ever. [#19, p.101]

Mesmerizing

The duo of Pete Nolan and Elisa Ambrogio are back with John Shaw (enlisted as permanent member) and holy flaming feedback does this album take off--simultaneously into deep space and murky waters.

[Happy To You is imbued] with a new coherence, grandiosity and ambition that totally overshadows the quite well-developed debut album.

Here, they iron it out into something more epic and exploratory. Strange basslines float under guitars that riff on high-life note-picking and fractured, heavy rhythms.

While Pleasure and C.U.T.S. evoke the nature of the dream, Angel, obsessive and occasionally trite, tends to tell rather than show.

The Men have always had the chops to hang, but it’s their emerging maturity that has begun to justify the bravado of the name.

The British quartet masquerading as a Japanese duo is back with its fourth full-length, Ventriloquizzing, bringing along a signature slinky groove and wordplay that borders on the absurd.

As strong as his previous records may be, on Gloucester County Smith sounds as if there's nothing left to prove. And so there's no longer any reason to doubt.

Love Letters may not guarantee that Metronomy are the kings of their sound, but they still have a seat at the table.

On their latest release since 2004's "Love and Distance," they seem to have figured out that it might be more effective to highlight the subtlety and grace of writing and arranging. [Winter 2008, p.96]