This is not easy listening; on the contrary, it requires a real commitment from the listener. But it’s a commitment that’ll be amply rewarded.

A unique, remarkably ambitious 22-song cycle. [Aug/Sep 2005, p.114]

A masterful sophomore disc on which every weak rhyme, guest and beat has been ironed out through months of hard work and several blown deadlines. [Oct/Nov 2005, p.120]

This sense of loneliness haunts Kozelek’s best work, and it’s in full force throughout April, arguably the finest album of his career.

Third is far and away the best, most punk thing in the Portishead catalog: a deeply transgressive album that bears a passing similarity to its predecessors but leaves most of the baggage behind in favor of a full-blown reset.

This is top-flight stuff, and not just because I needed to glancingly reference the band’s name before signing off.

Full of lush harmonies, grandiose orchestrations and poignant lyrics, these ambitious songs have lost none of their innocent melancholy over the last three decades.

We keep hearing that rock and roll is a feeling, right? The Stones inhabited that feeling seamlessly here, mainly because the murk fizzed and fused those seams together.

They've constructed something beautiful.

As a remastered package, the Butch Vig-produced Gish does deliver for both hardcore fans and casual listeners. What's so unique about the package isn't only seeing the band's first attempt at a full-length recording, but it also fills in the space between Gish and the amazing jump that is Siamese Dream.

The standout package here is unsurprisingly Siamese Dream, which is filled with an abundance of demos, alternate b-sides and acoustic versions of songs. One needs to look no further than Corgan's newfound onstage confidence in the "Live at the Metro, 1993" DVD included in the box to see that the Smashing Pumpkins have gone from a band with great ideas to a band with great songs.

In an era of hype and hyperbole where such a word has lost its meaning, Old Ideas is in the truest sense a masterpiece.

My Bloody Valentine successfully followed up a decades-old classic with m b v, an album that stands as confidently, beautifully and masterfully composed as its predecessor.

On Dark Twisted Fantasy, West surrounds himself with gruff collaborators like Pusha T of Clipse and Raekwon of Wu-Tang Clan.

Barring some future set that includes vials of the musicians' blood, sweat, and tears, this will stand as the definitive version of Icky Mettle-an answered prayer to new and old fans that makes these songs sound startlingly present.

Here, he dresses his music in full regalia--with whistles, horns, organs and marching-band drums--and it’s exquisite.

The production overall is impeccable and the sequencing shrewd; the tracks feel visceral and visual--you can almost see them as they hurtle by. The album’s overall effect is less deafening than blinding.

While it’s certainly still working for him now—This Is Happening is, in all respects, LCD’s best album—it doesn’t take much to imagine the act becoming a tired gag a couple more albums down the line.

Treats is just a whole goddamn lot of fun to listen to. It's a supremely raw and visceral pop masterwork, one appropriate to rocking out with headphones on, windows-down bumping on car stereos, four-A.M. warehouse dance parties and countless other summer moments that'll soon have soundtracks courtesy of Sleigh Bells.

Kiss Each Other Clean has the potential to please longtime fans and generate plenty of new ones.

It's just so utterly satisfying.

From the first sung note of Hummingbird, Local Natives are frank in their presentation of a serious album, challenging listeners to heal along with them; cognizant that investment is proportional to remuneration.

Powerfully, the evolution of the songcraft on Muchacho doesn’t arrive as a random left turn but instead progresses directly out of Phosphorescent’s own canon.

Don’t blink--no mere mid-career album, Monomania registers as an absolute impact event, a massive dirty blast marking the moment Deerhunter’s steady trajectory spins out of control.

Little Honey finds Williams in celebratory mode, with raucous rock, bluesy testimonies and tongue-in-cheek twang.

With Fire on Corridor X, All the Saints seem less interested in renovating the house that noise built than burning the whole thing to the ground.

This is a marching band that’s veered way out of formation, and is making utterly original music.

Like "The Pirate's Gospel," her cruelly unheralded 2006 debut, To Be Still is a staggering meditation on the idea of home in its many forms, and shares its predecessor's knowing heart--young, but already familiar with the tugging weights of time, family and love.

The result is a nearly flawless, organic LP.

Not every song is perfect, but perfection is boring. What we need in these weary times--and what Passion Pit brings--is exuberance. Manners delivers the elusive feeling that everything will be alright. Or, just maybe, that everything already is.

It’s his most ambitious undertaking to date, and while it presents no obvious singles or easy entry points, he pulls it off without it feeling pretentious or ponderous.

The joy of The Promise: The Lost Sessions of Darkness on the Edge of Town for any serious Boss employee is the notable twinkle of notions that would later grow into classic rock staples.

The authenticity that appeared in patches throughout his last record, The Sun Is Always Brighter, steers his latest.

Fade is just 10 distinctive, beautiful songs in 45 minutes meant to show their languid new peers (Real Estate, Beach House, Grizzly Bear, what have you) who's boss. It shouldn't work. It's to that roaring 20-year streak's goodwill that it does.

Okkervil River itself performs here with an organic ease that’s dramatic without reaching for histrionics, continuing to tattoo its rough folkish flesh with Motown horns, power-pop overdrive and chugging New Wave bass.

Elegiac by intent, the record is awash in poignancy, radiating from the deeply felt guitar and vocal performances of the 83-year-old King and his supporting band (anchored by drummer Jim Keltner, bassist Nathan East and pianist Dr. John) and from the carefully chosen material.

Both anxious and anthemic, the third most famous band from Leeds, England (behind Gang of Four and the Mekons) lobs social commentary as sharp as drummer Nick Hodgson’s ties, and tackles subjects as brainy as evolutionary biology ('Like It Too Much,'), the tenets of self-help ('Tomato In the Rain') and gender politics ('Remember You’re A Girl'), all at breakneck speed.

Nine albums and eight years in, it’s time to stop trying to figure out what the hell Animal Collective--vocalist/guitarist Avey Tare, percussionist/vocalist Panda Bear and knob-twiddler Geologist--is, and just enjoy the orgasmic rush of danceable rock.

Their new record Blue Lights On The Runway has the potential to turn X1 into a stateside #1.

Andy Votel’s encyclopedic liner notes and a Gainsbourg interview make this version the definitive reissue for the as-yet unsullied.

The young band has learned a great secret: It’s possible to make a massive, commercial, go-for-the-gusto Rock Record while still holding on to dark idiosyncrasies and seriousness of purpose.

Underneath the orchestral flourishes and children’s choirs, beneath even the frequent textural shifts and melodic detours, are a set of melodies that find new ways to cut straight to the listener every time.

The singer/songwriter takes the back seat and lets the college kids channel their inner Folds, and they successfully do so--often stealing the spotlight away from Folds.

This is an album that knocks you over at first. But when you gather yourself, get back on your feet and listen again, you'll want to hit the play button a second time.

The official release of Nirvana’s headlining performance at the 1992 Reading Festival feels at once indescribable and quaint.

This unrelenting but beautiful melancholy forms the glut of Courage. Beauty is key here, especially with a song like “Bring Down,” where an otherwise depressing dirge is given liftoff by Smith’s sweet harmony and a twittering flute.

"The enemy is everywhere" is The Monitor's twice-invoked refrain, the central thesis of an album that's both uncompromisingly bleak and impossible to ignore.

Jack and Meg careen from riff to riff, idea to idea, clinging for dear life as they dig their spurs into the mythical rodeo beast of rock ’n’ roll. Their lean guitar-and-drums approach allows them to turn on a dime, following any stormy muse they please.

The ArchAndroid is a fully immersive, theatrical experience. It's a near-perfect R&B album; hell, it's a fantastic hip-hop, psychedelic, neo-soul, dance and orchestral album too.

The album is saturated with high poly-harmonies, finger-snaps and hand claps, but the Charles Atlas-invoking title communicates Wavves' real agenda--"nyah-nyah" pop sucker-punches, sunny smiles so forced they come off as sneers, intense self-deprecation as psychic body armor.

The production is bright and clear, and the arrangements showcase the star.

There is distinct pastoral element at work in the Tallest Man on Earth's songs. He invokes the elements and the myriad forces nature: rivers, islands, rocks, clouds, birds, meadows, rainstorms, hail, forests, weeds, lilies and wheat.

No song seems out of place and every single one will be your favorite the moment you listen to it because of extremely quotable songs.

Everything combines to enrich, enliven and add texture to the band's wild aesthetic, which is unlike anything else you're going to experience this year.

This album is pure, 10-bandaided-finger combustibility--the notes need room to breathe, like a freshly uncorked keg of moonshine, each pluck of each string hitching a ride on the cool, Allegheny mountain breeze.

Tomorrowland is like a good, ol' fashioned rock anthem of kiss-my-asschaps autonomy.

On II, Bad Books have proven that they are more than Manchester Orchestra with Kevin Devine or vice versa by dropping any ego and making a cohesive record. Thankfully, all of us reap the benefit.

It shouldn’t work--they went all or nothing. They got all.

She’s in perfect form.

Musically dynamic and emotionally complex. [#13, p.132]

Unabashedly grand and inspirational.

Björk weaves into Medúlla a palpable longing for a simpler world--a world predating smart bombs and collapsing towers, a world in which life revolved around the expressive raising of one’s voice, both solitarily and in concert with others.

Sounds like a mostly live interpretation of... The Avalanches' intricate party collages doubling as three-minute music history lessons. [#13, p.118]

Songs like “California” and “Walk Into the Sea,” by far the sunniest, poppiest material Low has ever produced, shatter the mopey mold the band has so carefully cultivated, and to thrilling results.

An eminently pleasurable album that reveals more with each spin. [Apr/May 2005, p.148]

A particularly powerful collection from a consistently brilliant artist. [Apr/May 2005, p.128]

What makes the album so amazing is its ability to balance poignancy and fun.

Like Wilco’s Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, Quit +/or Fight flirts with perfection, a cohesive collection of all-too-fleeting pleasures.

Wonderfully askew. [Feb/Mar 2006, p.96]

A vivid document not only of how far Wilco has come, but also of how distinct its vision has been all along. [Dec 2005, p.112]

She combines a formidable voice with a rarefied command of phrasing. [Feb/Mar 2006, p.106]

The only thing about Destroyer's Rubies that might shock existing fans is that Bejar's execution, ambition and passion have been buffed to a high shine. [Apr/May 2006, p.102]

An efficient 33 minutes, Broken Boy Soldiers supplies the summer's most gas-conscious road tunes. [Jun/Jul 2006, p.128]

From beginning to end, it's as heartwarming and heartbreaking an album as you're likely to hear this year. [Aug 2006, p.86]

What makes the music so compelling is not its frame of reference... but the flair and originality with which it's put across. [Sep 2006, p.70]

At last, Will Oldham as Bonnie 'Prince' Billy has given us a record of cryptic romanticism to complement the silver-rimmed bleakness of his 1999 masterpiece I See A Darkness. [Sep 2006, p.73]

The album becomes more intoxicatingly hermetic with each successive song, taking you as deep as you dare to go. [Nov 2006, p.79]

The gentler surroundings encourage Finn to calm down and sing with a lilt of compassion. [Nov 2006, p.80]

A study in elemental force that rides the line between thrash and plod with enlightened originality and compositional skill to spare. [Dec 2006, p.89]

Legend has grown by leaps on this disc, delivering a richer sound and more adventurous experimentation. [Dec 2006, p.88]

Living With The Living rocks so much harder, spits more venom and cuts closer to the bone than just about anything else out there today. [Apr 2007, p.50]

Such arty, at times enervating, digressions highlight Icky Thump’s curious weight; whereas Elephant’s dinosaur-rock stomp got cut with fragile acoustic turns, there is little reprieve here.

There is much to be excited about here and virtually nothing to poo-poo.

The resulting album is as lean, rambunctious and snarling as its predecessor was stately.

Beam has managed to tweak and in?ate his signature sound without sacri?cing any of its considerable charm.

This cosmopolitan quartet has streamlined ska, post-punk, chamber music and Afropop into a glorious ultramodern groove.

Slim’s range and depth are on full display this time out--with Langhorne Slim, he has painted his first near masterpiece, marking himself as a true artist whose work should be followed with a careful ear from here on out.

Despite a surprisingly visceral first listen, Chemistry reveals itself to be expertly crafted record with hidden subtleties at every turn.

Saint Dymphna is a dangerously sane blueprint for producers trying to capture what "futuristic" sounds like right now.

Though Microcastle is hardly straightforward, it’s an aggressive step toward the mainstream that sacrifices none of Deerhunter’s woozy adventurousness.

The innocent appeal of Milagros’ tiny voice, though, is universal. And so is Aterciopelados’ music, which transcends all language barriers.

Live at Canterbury House, the latest in a series of live recordings from his archives, is pretty simple-left track is voice, right track acoustic guitar. Simplicity, as is evident here, serves him quite well.

Amidst blistering tritone riffs and arpeggiated chords is a group keener to explore sonic harmony than crank the distortion. Crack the Skye is an epic trek across the space-time continuum, entirely on Mastodon’s terms.

Eagle is the ultimate cohesion of Callahan’s singular storytelling and bewitching delivery.

Whether soft or loud, these 12 songs are exquisite.

The controversy nearly obscured the resounding triumph of the album itself; written and produced by Burton and Linkous, it's a breathtaking set of atmospheric ballads (plus a few rockers) that explore cosmic concerns, from the self-destructive trap of revenge to the possibility of spiritual renewal.

It’s a remarkable work, and while Moby may find himself once more providing the soundtrack to every trendy restaurant and automobile ad for the next 18 months, what’s best about this record is that it’s just that: an album, meant to be consumed the old-school way, front-to-back.

Although meant to honor?father Johnny’s musical tastes, The List better serves as an exquisite reminder of Rosanne’s own history of artistic rebelliousness.