The album is singularly focused yet emotionally visceral, refining and sharpening the band’s rousing sprawl.

Rubies was such a well-tooled formula that fans should be glad to have a worthy, likeminded successor: another hearty dose of musical-theater vocals, incandescent guitar solos, long swelling arrangements and jarring enfilades of exploding drums.

This Stupid World, the Hoboken trio’s first proper full-length in five years (not counting the ambient lockdown quickie We Have Amnesia Sometimes), is very good indeed, a dreamy and reflective song cycle that welcomes us into Yo La Tengo’s private world while leaving ample mysteries unexplained and secrets untold.

Easily [Clearlake's] most eclectic and least calculated [album]. [Feb/Mar 2006, p.96]

Even with a sprawling lineage that weaves The Wipers in with the output of labels like Slumberland and K, the Vivian Girls’ vintage aesthetic is employed here not as a crutch, but a compelling battle-cry for the disappearing art of rock ‘n' roll pith.

It’s a headier album, but one rife with significance.

Dear puts his imprint on a variety of styles: a clip-clopping Spaghetti Western feel on 'Fleece on Brain,' poppy minimalist techno on 'Neighborhoods,' robo-funk on 'Shy,' gleaming New Wave on 'Pom Pom'--all rendered cohesive by elegant, immersive production.

Adventurous beat-mining producers like the aforementioned West could very well be using bits of several of these tracks for a Common beat before the year is finished. But even if that doesn't happen, keep this collection close: Someone's definitely going to try to steal your copy.

Achieves a slinky grandeur surpassing that of its terrific debut. [Sep 2006, p.75]

That’s ultimately what makes Chapter and Verse unique--it’s not necessarily the Springsteen songs that soundtracked our lives; it’s the ones that soundtracked his.

Green is at the top of his game. [Apr/May 2005, p.128]

The confessions on Older Than My Old Man Now can be startling.

It’s a confidently eccentric album, never quite settling on any one approach.

The best compliment it can be given is that it doesn’t sound like the band took a decade-long hiatus: Rainer Maria’s songs feel as natural as anything else in the band’s catalog.

10 songs, no filler, that won't necessarily knock you out of your seat, but rather leave you wanting to lean back and stay a while.

Liars might not be as singular as the band’s past albums, but even a relatively normal outing from these guys is still a puzzle that takes time to solve. Rest assured, it’s time well spent.

The highlights are very high indeed, demonstrating just how wrong received wisdom in pop music can be. [Mar 2007, p.64]

Madeira's Mercyland offers an ecumenism that reaches across subgenres to coalesce a community bound by both faith and music.

23's mannered downtown aura and etched elegance are sustained for its duration, marking it as one of the prolific band's finest to date. [Apr 2007, p.55]

As pretentious a concept as that might seem, Green Day pulls it off brilliantly.

There is neither a misstep nor a daring leap here. [Feb 2007, p.59]

Though it’s his third album, Miami Memory feels like we’re meeting Alex Cameron for the first time. This is the real him, not a perpetuated version masked by character. While unexpected, it’s not jarring in the least bit. It’s a warm introduction, one filled with familiarity with help from Cameron-world mainstays Roy Malloy, Kirin J. Callinan, Holiday Sidewinder and more.

Jubilee is their best album yet, and may very well be remembered as the most sincere release of 2013.

VanGaalen stuffs these frequently breathtaking songs with death and paranoid visions of dystopias and bad dreams. [Oct/Nov 2005, p.125]

Though I Can See the Future marks a new phase of Mandell's life, and, in turn, her songwriting, she is still as adept as ever crafting compelling storylines, as well as using her voice's versatility and nuance to breathe another dimension into her songs.

Even as the songs triangulate the nexus of Marc Bolan, Iggy Pop and Doug Sahm, the album never sounds beholden to rock history. It’s more of an autobiographical undertaking, as if Escovedo is taking stock of his life, his career and his record collection—which are all essentially the same thing. As a result, each song sounds like a new chapter in a larger story and Real Animal like a new installment in an ongoing epic.

It's deliciously painful. [Aug/Sep 2005, p.111]

Caroline Rose’s portrayal of a new beginning during the first three tracks of The Art of Forgetting is visceral and guttural. ... The tracks remarkably set the pace and atmosphere for the entirety of the record.

Lacking Wilco's tender drama, Loose Fur proves its own beast, content to roam subtle vistas, noisy archipelagos and amber waves of feedback. [Apr/May 2006, p.113]

From its beats to its rhymes, Mo' Mega is a wholly solid release. [Aug 2006, p.96]

In spite of the infamy, however, she has delivered a remarkable and assured album.

Lushly orchestrated, tenderly lyrical and often rapturous. [Apr/May 2005, p.135]

There aren't specific songs on Anything in Return that function as stand-out moments, as much as the whole album functions as one long moment that stands out for its post-modern, semi-nostalgic originality.

The kind of album that might not make year-end lists, but just might make your year. [Feb/Mar 2006, p.109]

Arguably, Ohms is at first blush nothing new for Deftones. What it is is an engrossing refinement of what they’ve become over years of risk-taking and experimentation.

The record as a whole projects an expected self-awareness, yes, but the songs are refreshing enough for even the most discerning of Earlimart junkies.

There aren't many instantly identifiable bands that can mess with the familiar recipe while somehow also honoring it, but that's precisely what the Strokes have achieved on Angles, an album as warm as it is cool.

If there are any complaints, it’s that the arrangements are so elaborate they distract from Berman’s droll verse, but for anyone who’s wondered what Berman might sound like working with a full sonic palette, Tanglewood Numbers provides a definitive, satisfying answer.

It’s a listening experience that’s as satisfying and rewarding as those aforementioned records. With a band as assured and stylistically unique as Future Islands, a choice to stay in their lane can only mean more good things.

The disc remains infectious throughout. [Jun/Jul 2006, p.131]

Making up for lost time never sounded so good. [Aug 2006, p.88]

Propulsive choruses, a musical cacophony that whirls and a melodic sense that secedes nothing to the rhythms, the scrappy quintet’s third album is a focused, frenzied affair.

Oddly enough, it’s in the moments where the duo get separated—or neither appears at all—that we get to hear just how fruitful their creative bond actually was. ... There’s no denying the effort that went into this material, and the elegant presentation of this box matches the music’s tone and character perfectly.

Black Mountain indulges that old-school rock ’n’ roll craving.

Even as Bazan sings about returning as a stranger to a place he once knew intimately, he’s doing it by way of a musical persona he has reanimated. There’s an appealing symmetry there: even if you can’t quite go home again, you can always come full circle.

Almost 40 years on, Tom Petty has been kind to his mind and his voice. And the Heartbreakers have been kind to Petty. Hypnotic Eye is all the proof you need.

The trio delights in creating songs just to tear them down and rebuild them again in a different way, giving the album a dissonant, experimental edge.

Le Voyage is, given its origins, a small wonder all on its own.

The highpoint is perhaps Allen Reynolds’ jewel “Dreaming My Dreams With You,” a bittersweet waltz that harvests lives lived in songs, hopes and the love of one who could never quite be. When the pair’s voices merge in an ethereal “ooooh” over the bridge, the potency of their shared history enters a sublime realm beyond words.

This tender collection of stories and songs float and flit, at times reaching the grandiosity of a movie score, but they also suggest the kind of calm we crave in the midst of this hectic existence. Korkejian is a folk magician who knows how to harness the genre’s long history of acoustic storytelling and fold in something entirely her own. Her second studio effort does both, majestically and intelligently so.

There's an understated drama to Night of the Furies, one that has more to do with its razor-sharp songwriting than its belabored conceptual framework. [May 2007, p.64]

On Don’t Do Anything, she succeeds beautifully by doing nothing more than being the best possible version of herself.

In other world they might be drenched in sorrow, but here they're nice and introspective, like strategic resting points to make the glide that much more beatific.

A woman who's hovered on the brink of the purist Bonnie Raitt/Tracy Chapman range truly comes into her own here.

His sinister Americana is understatedly cruel and sublimely dolorous, with a kinder view of nature than humanity. [#16, p.135]

They've been freaks; they've been lover-boys. Now they're spaced-out romantics.

Although some tracks may blend together on initial listen, PHOX ultimately serves as a colorful debut from a promising young band.

The result is a batch of songs that are as direct and deeply personal as they are fist-pumpingly universal.

Turns out she gets the balance just right on All I Intended.

Leo’s vision has crystallized. The songs are shorter and tighter than anything he’s seared onto tape, and his complex melodic phrasing arrives pitch perfect.

The fourth album shows the band pushing the barrier of mainstream music and aiming for a breakthrough outside of the Canadian market.

The Odd Couple rewards repeated listens, revealing intriguing new sounds each time, from heavenly organs to cartoon noises.

On her solo debut, Williams goes beyond all expectations to create an experimental and multifaceted picture of pain as she opens up the door into a new decade of her life.

Body Faucet is an improvement over Oblangle in nearly every respect, but it's definitely not as surprising as that lovely little EP.

Having led such a big life, Kristofferson serves us a small but welcome comfort in the great unknown.

The Furries are super once more. [Oct/Nov 2005, p.144]

Real Estate are never going to be the band to surprise with a major musical left turn, but subtle changes on The Main Thing lead to breathtaking results.

It's a nuanced, artfully constructed record that gets better with each listen and crawls its way out of any box you might choose to put it in.

Good Souls Better Angels is proof that even legends like Lucinda don’t just leave their best work behind them one day: They keep writing and making as long as they can, challenging people to listen to their newest music with the notion that it could be some of their best.

Don't Be a Stranger is out-of-sorts in the best way, as Eitzel forever plays the outsider looking in.

With The Lady Killer, Cee Lo Green is out for blood. Track after track, he triumphs.

A personal manifesto, WWRS falls somewhere between the Pogues at their most urgent and Tom Joad-era Springsteen at his most feverish.

Though Oakley Hall's songs aren't catchy enough to be instantly familiar, I'll Follow You possesses a sound rich enough to warrant listening until they are.

While the band is ferocious and tight, Pearl in particular has attained force-of-nature caliber formidability, not just in the burgeoning mastery of her commanding rapid-fire squeal, but in her frankly sexual gaze and world-devouring disdain for all things not awesome.

Offers is a delectable batch of baked goods, and an improvement upon their comparatively undercooked debut.

What You Gonna Do When The Grid Goes Down? is mostly Public Enemy doing what they’ve always done—offering insight about what’s happening in the world around us and prodding folks to wake up and do the right thing. It’s a space they’ve held for over three decades, and one where they’re always welcome.

This is a beautiful nightmare with no referent in pop and few in recorded-music history. [Jun/Jul 2006, p.131]

Suffice to say, then, if you’ve enjoyed the increasingly accessible path The Hold Steady’s taken over the last four years--and, frankly, if you like raising beers, pumping fists and yelling out choice phrases, how could you not?--then you’ll find Stay Positive nearly flawless.

There’s no con on Total Freedom—just a welcome progress report from a musician who took the time she needed, and returns stronger and wiser than she was before, with a first-class collection of songs to prove it.

Mostly she's reaching into the dark places, teasing pain from the wreckage and holding it up for all to see.

On 21, she sounds refreshed and poised to attack.

These are musicians totally in command of their sound, devoted to every specific artist and genre that influenced it, but there remains enough levity that it never gets bogged down by perfectionism—sometimes just caring is enough.

On these nine songs, Mount Kimbie pulls off sonic and structural changes in a seamless way.

It’s a textbook case of hiding in plain sight, pirouetting gracefully from one style to the next and deftly eluding precise meaning.

It nudges toward a slightly more experimental sound--lulling without being tedious, compelling without diddling into pretension, and always perfectly mesmerizing. [Jun/Jul 2006, p.114]

On the poignant and powerful Total Loss, he's finally invited us all in.

As a vehicle for Berman’s words, just as much as a follow-up to his 1999 poetry collection "Actual Air" would be, Lookout Mountain is a volume to be consumed in one’s own time, filed on the shelf, and eventually taught in seminars as an example of form and poise.

Here, her wise brand of rock music blooms into something even more palpable, relatable and beautifully messy.

In the grand scheme of Japanese noise Melt-Banana’s the most playful but also perhaps the most refined.

The band doesn't vary its approach much for record number two. [Mar 2007, p.63]

The Fool, which took nearly six years to finalize, incorporates coastal psych and voluminous noise-pop with a dash of Spector-flecked harmonies.

Tuscaloosa showcases Young’s full range, which makes it a rare glimpse of a now-iconic performer at a moment when he was working to find a balance between satisfying himself and pleasing his audience.

On Ellipse she presents mini-symphonies of herself, with vocoders and Auto-Tuned versions of her helium-filled voice floating in and out of songs that glide--the amazing 'Canvas,' the magic patchwork quilt of 'Earth'--more than they drive.

For the rest of the world, the album is just another notch in the man’s long discography that you can cherry-pick some favorite moments from and compost the rest.

The album may be the loosest of his career, an unfussy, shuffle-mode assortment of blues-infused jams and steel guitar-haunted ballads that abandon the structural perfection that shaped his canon.

At this point, it's no trouble for the Roots-with Legend or anyone-to train their never-sharper skills on the dark side of the street at night, and on the sun-kissed side in the morning.

The concept behind the music can only be as moving as the music itself, and, thankfully, Protomartyr delivers. The band’s knack for meaty percussion and jagged guitars continues.