I can't remember the last time a popular punk album sounded this simple, lean and ready to conquer anything in its path.

There are no apologies necessary for this wonderful debut album.

The icy joylessness with which Bulmer humors her band's recordings doesn't ruin everything, shockingly enough.

Easy Tiger is his most consistent effort since Gold and his without doubt his most assured ever.

Boys Night Out and producer Lou Giordano (Sunny Day Real Estate, Paul Westerberg, Taking Back Sunday) still have taken a fragile overarching concept and pulled it off, delivering one of the strongest rock releases of the year.

At 48 minutes, Icky Thump has enough genre-hopping, rip-roaring tunes to get even the 70s rock purist nodding his head again.

For the better part of an hour, the trio's experimental pop melodies create their own breeze that, in a very Zen-like manner, becomes one with the surroundings of the listener.

So when Era Vulgaris comes as a bit of a disappointment, well, that's all relative, since it still rocks mightily.

Easy to hate and easy to love.

There's something captivating about the project, and you will find yourself returning to the album over and over again.

In short, Maths + English is an ideal sellout.

Boxer is another accomplishment for The National; more understated than Alligator, yet just as alluring, and right on target.

If the Flaming Lips mated with Marilyn Manson and ate Underworld for breakfast, the end result might sound something like Battles' debut album, Mirrored.

[An] enjoyable, if slightly inconsistent, album.

Well worth the wait.

Release The Stars swoons and sweeps until the final curtain and Rufus Wainwright has delivered music perfectly suited for the elaborate set of the world around us.

It may seem disappointing to those looking for further progress in one of the best American bands of recent times, but in the end it all comes down to the songs, and most of the ones here are little gems, perfect for a summer morning.

For every hit, there exists a miss.

At once soothing and energetic, ferocious and effeminate, beautiful and ballsy, No Shouts, No Calls is a passionate, confident effort.

Everybody might be less than lustrous in their own catalog but tops most group's bests.

Although Mice Parade isn't necessarily the group's paramount album, it certainly makes their stock soar high.

The creative engine has stalled on Baby 81.

Lambert promises on the album's stellar title track, and if that isn't a warning to all of Nashville, from a woman who has compiled one of the year's finest releases, it should be.

Woke On A Whaleheart is a pleasure, and aside from the intro to the song "Footprints," every moment on this record is immensely listenable.

Favourite Worst Nightmare finds the band getting louder, more aggressive, and, as a consequence, losing some of their youthful charm.

The album is loud, visceral, and messily human, and should be regarded as an essential chapter in Cave's considerable discography.

A delirious fever-dream of an album that continues to impress with each consecutive listen.

I'm prepared to defend this as hip hop's frontrunner for best album of 2007 thus far.