Cage Tropical is an elegant ghost that slips into your dreams and leaves you with only vague memories of the experience. That would be fine if Frankie weren’t so close to doing something really haunting.

While the same pared-down, consistent groove that makes Little Barrie such an immediate grabber might play them out quickly, it's a tasty, gristly flavor of the month. [#16, p.126]

Weezer has always had heart, and OK Human shows the value of taking time to record instead of filling the silence with countless tours and albums. Weezer is finally taking risks outside of the formula that has worked so well, and they still have a lot of mileage left in them.

Individ maintains that energy and precision throughout its 40 minutes--adhering strictly to the band’s core approach, offsetting a lack of surprise with sheer sturdiness.

Hills End is an impressive debut for a group that originally began mostly as a songwriting collective than a performance act.

It’s not the band’s greatest, most spirited or unifying; it’s not The ’59 Sound or American Slang. Rather, Get Hurt represents the exorcism and the catharsis that needed to transpire.

Hysterical definitely boasts more strong moments than weak.

Sov doesn't sound quite as explosive here as she did on her legendary demo tracks, but there's no containing her charisma. [Oct 2006, p.75]

Recorded in July of last year, Live in Liverpool is an unpolished document of The Gossip’s raw power.

They are still committed to immaturity; all these songs have a special affection for youth and fittingly incorporate threads from hip hop.

At best you could call Food and Liquor II a slightly above-average rap album.

Parallel Play ends up being a fan’s record: one whose economy and intelligence will delight the Sloan faithful but probably won’t change the band’s fortunes or alter its trajectory with a generation raised on American Idol.

Screwed together with fuzz-tone bridges, rhymes scan monosyllabic even when they’re not, and are resolutely and nostalgically pre-postmodern in their references.

Mando Diao has one-upped classmates The Hives and Sahara Hotnights with its superior songwriting and musical depth. [#14, p.109]

It is when the band—and Watt—evoke Pearl Jam’s stunning capacity to rage at the injustices of the world, invoking personal grievances in equal measure, that Dark Matter is at its best (see “React, Respond” and “Waiting For Stevie”), while less on-brand tracks like “Upper Hand,” which enters on a synthesizer intro, embrace novelty with mixed results.

Imaging you're listening to a radio play and let the story engage you, and you might find yourself hooked. [Dec 2005, p.108]

Overall, the album--self-produced, four years in the making and the band’s first for its own label--isn’t as catchy as “Geeks,” but works reasonably well.

The chops are there but not always the songs. Still, it’s a committed rock album and, generally, a fun one--excellent fuel for the summer festival dates Harper has booked.

Mid-record gems and unexpected collaborations make certain songs worth a save, and whoever stands at the intersection of the operatic pop and Americana fandoms is surely rejoicing today. It falters toward the tail end in its own self-seriousness, but Wainwright would be hard-pressed not to create a gorgeous musical landscape wherever he goes.

The songs here are cohesive but never awkwardly uniform.

Cowbells and organ chords set the frenetic pace for this crazed and eerie take on surf music that namechecks the godfather of ambient in its punkest track.

For the most part, though, Shout Out Louds match their musical grandeur with emotional grandeur. And messy romanticism is their natural milieu.

For an album that, like every other Modest Mouse album, rattles on at an extended length, Strangers to Ourselves can desperately afford to trim the fat.

For the most part, bar italia have nonchalantly leveled up on The Twits. The noisy songs are louder, the edginess is more precise and, when bar italia tone down the bite, genuine creativity bubbles from the calm.

As elegant as it is addictive. [Jun/Jul 2006, p.131]

Fake Sugar picks up where her book left off. It bridges the gap between love and loss and taps into her Southern roots to create a record that fully encompasses the person she’s become.

A worthy sequel to the pure pop bliss of 2002's Let Go. [Oct/Nov 2005, p.125]

There are stylistic nods to hip hop (rapper Sammus spits a verse on “Coming Into Powers”) and jittery electronica (“Krampus”) along the way, some more successful than others. But nothing fits as gloriously as fuzzed-out garage rock.

When Krauter occasionally abandons the nebulous for the concrete, Full Hand leaps forth with full potency.

On Jukebox, some of the eyes-closed magic is traded for dim lights, but the readings are just as stunning.

'Think Tonight' is only one of several strong numbers on This is Not the World. In fact, it’s easy to imagine the Futureheads as just a classic tune or two away from breakthrough status.

While Wondrous Bughouse may not be for everyone, it certainly pushes new barriers.

Widow City covers so much territory so quickly that it can actually give you jetlag, and its geographical diversity is mirrored by its hallucinatory, irreconcilable lyrics.

A grandiose pop album that applies certain ToD formulas to the ambitious agenda taken by bands like Mercury Rev and Doves. [Dec 2006, p.97]

Whereas her first album had a more bare-bones acoustic feel, this one takes on a more produced sound—and in this movement in a pop direction, it feels like Sparke could have worked to make her sound a bit more dynamic, pushing further outside of her comfort zone than she did. While Dessner’s production fills out her sound nicely, it also blurs the boundaries between her songs, allowing them to bleed into each other if you’re not paying active attention.

MacLean and his collaborators have mastered some but not all of the familiar DFA bag of tricks.

Enigk's refusal to confine his work to the ghetto of Contemporary Christian Rock gives it a universal appeal, one that showcases not only his throat-lump-inducing vocal gift but also the messages woven into the songs. [Oct 2006, p.78]

Bonds and connections that seemed soul-deep and vital tend to dissipate with nothing more than time and distance, but before Owens can grapple with that truth in Lysandre, it's already slipped away.

It’s this friction between the worldly and the cosmic, the erotic and the angry, that gives these songs their unique spark.

The music never seems to come from a place of desire to convey something true or honest from within DeMarco, but instead it paints variations of past emotions, interpret others’ honesty, gives a distorted remembrance of the past for a more entertaining present.

Although it shines a giant and unmistakable signal toward the direct and poppy approach the band would undertake on their next few albums, Pageant still retains the mumbles of Murmur, the jangles of Reckoning, and the rustic tones of Fables of the Reconstruction.

Ultimately, Yuck is more pop balladry that successfully distances itself from the seemingly defunct Aussie synth-pop movement, and that serves them well.

Like a Fellini movie, filled with rich textures and intriguing characters.

It's not the mindblowing masterpiece the critics are so dizzily carping about, but as a milepost of the current state of world electronica it remains strong throughout.

It’s a slim volume to add to the Timony collection--never ambitious but absolutely fun, a record from three women who feel comfortable with each other and just want to play loud.

Fuzzy atmospherics crash in, overpowering some of Romance’s most brutal quips, forcing the band to struggle at making its musings rhythmic and begging for its earlier punk-twee punctuation.

For the most part, Jacksonville City Nights is well paced, with enough uptempo songs spread throughout to balance the sluggish, pensive balladry that bogged down the too-long Cold Roses.

Shapeshifting is an album that grows on you, as repeated listens reveal the nooks and crannies of these charming elecro-pop tunes.

As a whole, No Gods No Monsters reads as an album about deep societal frustrations. Yet it manages to feel light and airy in moments, like the humorously titled, Pet Shop Boys-adjacent “Flipping the Bird.” The emotional texture of each track is what makes it rise above a collection of empty, sloganistic statements.

AB/AP is more intriguing when the band follows their wackiest instincts.

While the results are neither as energetic and original as the peak Sun Records or Columbia recordings, nor as darkly compelling as the Rubin albums, they’re still a lot better than anyone might have expected.

This wild pastiche demonstrates why Madlib is one of the most talented heads in hip-hop. [Apr/May 2006, p.103]

While the band and management are careful not to peg Sonic Highways as the soundtrack to the cable television series, the Foo Fighters’ eighth studio LP certainly remains a concept album and requires that lens to be appreciated fully.

Despite all the influences blowing through the ether, the resulting songs lack the dynamic range of their most obvious inspirations, each charting a familiar trajectory through a slow build and release of cacophonous guitars and caterwauling vocals that gets old around the five-minute mark.

Black Hours illuminates Leithauser’s individual abilities for sure. And once he firms up what it is he actually wants to say or at least how he wants to say it, the result will surely be worth leaning in on to process.

Only takes a small step forward. [Dec 2005, p.108]

The group's albums tend to not make a strong impression the first time through. Fortunately, Full of Light and Full of Fire amply justifies the effort. [Feb/Mar 2006, p.105]

Packed with plenty of oddly memorable moments. [Apr/May 2006, p.101]

An esoteric, wonderfully eccentric psychedelic record. [#14, p.123]

If his old songs sounded like Neil Young’s shattering on the floor, his new material finds him carefully, almost apologetically, reconstructing the pieces.

Despite its uneven spark, the best bits sting like cigarette ash in the cornea.

Most poignant are the songs that offer something a little different from standard, because these are the instances where you can hear the makings of the band proper.

Everything Not Saved Will Be Lost – Part 2 doesn’t quite live up to the lofty benchmarks set by Part 1—or really any Foals record to date—but that doesn’t mean there’s not a lot to enjoy here.

The band’s sheer tenacity gives the tracks a dizzying exuberance, but they don’t quite have the chops to deliver their generation’s “Summer in the City”; tracks like “Dream City” and “Bang Pop” are delightful, but as disposable as cheap plastic sunglasses.

Frontman Taylor Goldsmith experiments with R&B-style falsetto on songs like the title track, and the plaintive piano songs of yore now lean more heavily on keyboard synths and textural effects.

If the album has a weakness, it's too much sedate, midtempo consistency and not enough power in the power-pop; many tracks blur together, and the production ensures that tasty instrumental moments....Still, the pop landscape is littered with folks who wish they could deliver one or two tracks as good as the dozen found here.

Filled with dreamy pop gems. [#14, p.105]

Covers, of course, are always fraught with peril, and at times singer/guitarist Matthew Caws’ inflection has a way of fermenting the source material’s latent cheese.

The resulting EP is powerful, but also a bit slight.

Falling somewhere between the full-on gloom of their debut and the peppier follow-up, Antics, this new disc may not be their Sgt. Pepper, but it’s still filled with morbidly catchy treats.

They're both excellent, similarly imaginative, fully realized efforts. [Sep 2006, p.75]

Ready for Confetti creates that bridge between the romance of gone and the reality of knowing what one does well.

The sound is very much mid-’60s Beach Boys/Byrds pop stuff.

Hardwired… To Self-Destruct is the best Metallica record in 25 years, but it’s not going to blow minds.

For all its efforts to dazzle, Rogue Wave's music rarely engages the emotions the way it ought to. [Dec 2005, p.124]

Combinations takes on topics you’d expect from kids whose ages range from 15 to 23: heartache, rebellion, love. It is, almost literally, a sophomore effort. The DuPrees have become better musicians since their debut, and they want to show it off.

To call Heza, the third LP from the New Orleans-based duo, more opaque would be an understatement.

It's difficult to remember what happened, though you're fairly sure you enjoyed a great deal of it.

The discontinuity gives Jura a sense of spontaneity and pays homage to an old musical community, but also makes the album feel more like the one-off, just-for-fun, conceptual project that it is.

Part of what keeps the sweetness from becoming cloying is sthe music's awareness and subtle humor. [Apr 2007, p.55]

Good songs make for good Cowboy Junkies albums, and the ratio here tilts in their favor. [May 2007, p.60]

As a whole, there’s a loose sort of freedom to Lost Girls, as if Khan was able to summon the atmosphere and mystery that so often suffuse her music without sweating over it as much as usual. Her past work has sounded more rooted in the British Isles than Southern California, but she does the L.A. transplant thing with enough confidence that the presence of bloodthirsty vampire bikers doesn’t even sound like that much of a drawback.

For guitarheads, Como Te Llama makes for a nifty Fender Stratocaster tonal demo. For more general fans, it’s a relaxingly unfocused but usually enjoyable effort.

On their journey up and down (and up again) this gamut of human emotion—from anger (“Blowback”) to confusion and disillusion (“Addict,” “Can I Borrow Your Lighter?”) to misery (“Catch A Hot One”) to love and gratitude (“Herbert”)—Spiritual Cramp sound exceptionally tight. This may be the best-sounding record I’ve heard this year.

Wickedly infectious and eerily nostalgic. [#16, p.129]

Let’s Bottle Bohemia is a triumph.

The songs fail to insinuate themselves melodically, rising into choruses that are merely workmanlike rather than hooky. [Dec 2005, p.114]

It's more than a little precious and fluffy for those without kaleidoscope eyes for the stuff, but if this is your bag, you'll know it (and love it). [Apr 2007, p.60]

Classics presents these songs faithfully and inoffensively, and She & Him cover them with the best of intentions.

The first half of Hey Venus! is the band’s most sustained barrage of hooks and video game psychedelia in years. However, the album soon descends into epic overtures like the ponderous “Battersea Odyssey” that lose some of that creative spirit.

Kasabian dutifully makes good on the grand tradition. [Apr/May 2005, p.136]

Even if Heavy Ghost doesn’t feel fully unfurled--or if it unfurled for too long, with all those years spent gestating--Stith still continues to demonstrate his symphonic talents and deep care for texture and timbre.

If Turbo Fruits are trying to shed their partying ways and reputation, No Control undoubtedly represents that conscious effort. However, its execution doesn’t stray too far from the established maturity narrative.

There’s a bit of guilt in sneaking a peek, a bit of unnecessary personal fluff and a few deeply held secrets that are gifts to receive. Ultimately, what’s most impressive about In the Seams is that Jones chooses to portray Saint Saviour in this way and stick with it throughout the entire record.

Finds Plant in fine form. [#16, p.127]

Isbell shines most when he’s not channeling; tracks like 'Chicago Promenade,' 'Shotgun Wedding' and tasteful protest ballad 'Dress Blues' (which smartly chooses empathy over proselytizing) find his sound evolving into an alternately rocked-up and quietly satisfying maturity.

While this record lacks the canonizing tracks like "Jesus Christ Pose," "Black Hole Sun," "Spoonman" and "Burden in My Hand," Soundgarden deserves to be commended for recapturing the feeling of grunge and reintroducing it today.

One can't help but miss the days when his buoyancy sounded less strained. [Dec 2005, p.116]