None of the songs on Get Behind Me Satan is bad; all the songs together, however, fail to meet the Stripes' criteria that all you need is two. For these tracks, you need four, five, six musicians -- not to drench the proceedings in a Scott Walker deluge, but to fill the spaces, the former job of White's guitar and Meg's drum bashing.

Without the first disc, the double disc Cold Roses wouldn't be half bad.

It is Finn's particular gift to be able to set the listener smack in the middle of his songs, seeing what he sees, caring about the lives he chronicles. It is the listener's reward to find these stories scored by big, fat monster hooks, and effortless piano-driven melodies.

One of Beck's most admirable traits is that when he tries on a new culture, he makes fun of his effort louder than anyone else can.

Many of these songs have about as much sonic bite as a warm cantaloupe. When you compound this with Doe's more meandering songs, the results sound anemic.

It's a beautifully produced album, textured and performed with such energy that her least satisfying lyrics (and the lyrics are usually the main problem on a DiFranco album) are muted.

The best production values a major-label budget can buy make everything on Crimes as clear as a bell, which helps. This clarity elevates what could have easily been a sonic muddle into an album that bears repeat listenings.

As the songs unfold over multiple listens, though, what becomes clear is that R.E.M. still has plenty to say, and plenty of interesting ways to say it.

This album is stunning.

On Antics, Interpol is less indebted to its influences, creating a distinct sound from the distinguishing characteristics that drew those comparisons in the first place.

No matter how the sounds are made, it is with captivatingly sincere intent that they are never boring and, above all, always enjoyable.

A deeply flawed final effort.

The powerful melodies are impossible to shake, and grooves compel you to move, giving the album the authority of a greatest-hits collection.

For even the most ardent Low listeners, this box set (in all its packaging design perfection) will overwhelm.

An adrenaline rush of an album that firmly cements their status as one of rock's most exciting new acts.

Porcelain neither builds on the promise of Wiretap Scars nor cashes in on the band's gifted heritage.

If approached with a substantial amount of skepticism and wariness, The Cure is not a complete disappointment. In fact, it's often surprisingly good and sometimes even great.

It's in the mournful, captivating, meditative, exasperating, pretentious, masterfully constructed experience of A Ghost Is Born that Tweedy and Wilco become true iconoclasts.

Banhart ceaselessly entrances with his brilliant combination of John Fahey-esque pickings, absurd and sometimes profoundly resonating lyrics and the craft to convey both kinds with equal candor.

It's no departure from any of the band's previous combinations of shuffling beats, spacey blips, dramatic strings and squeaking, soughed vocals; such a delivery of old comforts is precisely what makes the album so dull.

The album is something of a wash, packing a less potent dose of Makino but an extra kick of Pace.

There are half-considered melodies, vague nods to alt-country and a general cheerlessness that often makes listening a chore.

Listening to Xiu Xiu, we become nosy neighbors with our ears pressed against the wall separating us from lives infinitely more fascinating and tragic than our own.

There's nothing new under the sun in the world of Stereolab. Diehards will enjoy Margerine Eclipse simply because it exists and isn't lousy.

Showcas[es] low-key numbers that draw on many of the influences that made Adams' Whiskeytown and early solo work so strong. [combined review of 1&2]

The problem, however, is that the new album is too clean. It lacks the mess of the original, and the mess is honest.

Stripped of arrangements, the songs are mostly brooding ballads, shadowy blends of folk mixed with traditional country that highlight Adams' shaky voice and caustic songwriting. [combined review of 1&2]

Though there are quite a few slinking, introspective tracks on Transatlanticism, there are also a fistful of songs that have the left-field appeal -- not quite punk, not quite rock, not quite pop -- that brought a song like Jimmy Eat World's "The Middle" to the top of the charts in recent years.