[Disc 1 is] a revealing, if not quite essential, portrait of the artist.... [Disc 2 is] an inventive, rewarding look at the Pixies esteemed catalogue.

As hit-and-miss as its 2003 predecessor.

The harmonies aren't as blissful and the songs more conventional than those of previous releases.

Adherence to stock chord progressions, interminably chugging guitars and a dearth of new ideas since 2000's The Sophtware Slump gives the impression that Sumday is Grandaddy-by-rote.

The songs are likable, but lack a core.

Lead bat Eric Johnson is a talented songwriter but his '60s lite-psych melodies and scruffy acoustic backdrop are not just tired, they're nearly dead.

George has an indistinct voice somewhere between Suzanne Vega and Cat Power. Her lyrics are not mind-blowing, but not at all banal.

Impressive despite its occasional lack of maturity.

As grounds for our own wandering imaginations and protesting voices, Horses' six songs are not as fertile as what's come before them.

As a hip-hop record, Headset's Space Settings fails to hit the mark of its influences, but it is successful in its own right.

The punk dominates more than it ever did on its electro-tilted predecessors.

A set that flat out refuses to be ignored.

While the structured nature of [Looks At The Bird] is likely to hold your attention longer than the static and hum of Brokeback's last release, Morse Code in the Modern Age, the lack of challenge often detracts from the fulfillment that comes with a difficult listen.

All in all it's not the noise rush we were craving - and no, it's not as good as Source Tags - but did anyone really think it could be?

The album feels underwhelming.

For the most part, Outside Closer fails to separate itself from the pack of glitch-rock albums it now must share the market with.

As you're listening, the songs begin to sound more and more like play-acting, as if Malin's trying to sound like his heroes more than he's trying to create anything that's all his own.

The tunes hop as often as they whimper, with stand-up bass, slap-happy drums and wordless vocals fleshing out the reverb-rich arrangements.

The production is crisp and idiosyncratic as usual, but many of the songs fade into the background.

Otto Spooky is designed not so much to be enjoyed as to be a spectacle.

It's endearingly all over the place, but depressingly self-referential.

This is an ambitious album that aims high but falls short.

When the compositions behind the words are as dull and lifeless as the album's core ("This Bum's Paid" and "Hair Dude, You're Stepping on my Mystique") the results are utterly disastrous, relying too heavily on tried dissonance over unimpressively staid tempos.

To be sure, there is nothing on Often Lie that is revolutionary - for the most part Dalley delivers straight ahead power pop.

Does it replace the originals as the definitive Gang of Four collection? No way.

Because every note is perfectly placed, and the contemplative mood sustained throughout, it's hard to notice the lack of originality and occasionally pedestrian songwriting.

It's funny and smart and a little annoying in large doses.

Two tracks focusing on guest vocalists are stand-outs.... The other eight songs are more hit-and-miss, often depending on whether Bip's headed toward rock (the blah "Eyelashings," which sounds like a mediocre U2 song, without vocals or a chorus) or hip-hop ("The Move," a nice piece of synthesizer and vibraphone chemistry).