The whole affair is polished to such mirror-like perfection that I have to dim all the lights and cover my eyes when I listen to it.

Plays mostly as a digest of fairly enjoyable if not particularly memorable shaggy-haired rockers in the Kinks or Small Faces mold with little material to rival Sunshine's radiant highs.

Despite its slowcore pedigree, Fall Back manages to stand solidly on its own haunted ground, forging a yet-to-be-realized level of tender creativity.

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.

Cave proves himself to be a continually fascinating and vital songwriter.

Even the most hardened, poker-faced purists will crack a smile at AIH's ridiculously catchy, hook-riddled dance-pop.

Slice Thrills up into its individual pieces, and Ellen Allien's third studio record is flawless.

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

The advantages that The Capitol Years have over many of their compatriots are the excellent voice of lead singer Shai Halperin and swoon-inducing harmonies.

Resilience is laid-back Kid 606.

Unlike Rogue Wave's timid debut, Vultures blazes forward with the kind of assured bravado not usually seen this side of U2.

More a sketchbook than a fully-formed statement of purpose, Jay Farrar's second solo release is nonetheless an excellent addition to his oeuvre.

An unpleasant record to listen to.

It's one thing to treat your influences with reverence, eyes and goals fixed on a past that brought them to you. It's another to fold them into the present, into the elusive omnipresence of the moment. And how Dead Meadow pulls this off on Feathers is an amazing thing to hear.

While Spektor possesses an intriguing voice, she uses it in such a cloying, affected manner as to be almost entirely off-putting.

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

There’s a consistency in quality throughout the record, but nothing stunning enough to send you running to your stereo to hit the repeat button.

It's still very plainly the Dulli Show, placing his cigarette-stained voice and oversized heartache front-and-center.

More often than not it's stylish, adventurous and damn fun.

A near perfect record that will have The Rapture,!!!, and every other dance punk band looking over their collective shoulders.

The smart pop hook chops displayed on So Much For the City make it clear that this is one retro-minded band that may just make it to the future.

Delightfully pushes boundaries.

And though the album is full of promising leads and sharp-witted initiative, it's hard to shake the feeling that this album is a collection of unfinished ideas, presented with no pretensions to the contrary.

Though the dark atmosphere can weigh Cavelight down on extended listening, it is the record's most lush, emotional moments, like the operatic "Sunday Séance," that are most suggestive of Blockhead's potential.

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

There is little personality amid the speed and distortion, and no tricks or treats to keep fingers off the fast-forward button.

Whiskey Tango Ghosts is a quiet meditative listen, yes, but those who haven't followed Donnelly's career trajectory closely may find it difficult to reconcile the contrast between her old and new selves.

Broder puts art before music -- as if he's recording an audio version of a painting.