While there's nothing here as dense and biting as the Ministry slams of Bush Sr. in the '90s, Jourgensen can still pile on the jackhammer beats and clever samples.

Keep Your Eyes Ahead maintains a dense soundscape with electronic tinges, but adds a fresh, succinct tone, trimming songs to four minutes tops.

Well respected for sparse, plaintive bummer folk since his 2004 debut, LaMontagne gets a bit more expansive here, gently juking his earthy rasp with Stax-y horns, guitar twang, and lilting lady backup vocals.

Velocifero's grinding soundscapes (honed in part by Alessandro Cortini of Nine Inch Nails) are easy to admire.... Too bad there's rarely much of anything going on below the surface.

Body Music, the full-length debut from British duo AlunaGeorge, could have made an excellent EP.

The debut album from this London quartet, founded by laptop folkies Sam Genders and Stephen Cracknell, lulls you along with its sparsely melodic tinkering and blippy slow burn. [July 2008, p.92]

At times, the results are a bit aimless; even a cute kids' chorus can't save "My Generation" from Joss Stone's wailing or Lil Wayne's awkward motivational turn. When the two principles catch a groove, though, it's impressive.

In 2018, as it becomes more pressing than ever for artists to use their platforms to speak out, Love Is Dead pursues clarity, both in production and politics, with mixed results.

A clear attempt to re-create their most commerical sound--which works well on the ingrating antiwar titile track and the glistening time capsule 'Oh My Heart.' [Nov 2008, p.96]

Misfires aside, it’s tough to dispute that although Born in the Echoes may not be a great album, it is generally a competent one.

While Decemberunderground sounds terrific, at times Havok's dear-diary lyrics are so awkward they're almost laughable. [Jul 2006, p.81]

As a memorable exploration of the intersection between hip-hop and the blues, it ain't much.

Gradually, he surfaces along with the band's worldly identity, but the sentiments behind the histrionic symphonics often remain obscured, and the band's desperation lacks focus.

Their songs excavate new depths of frivolity. [Aug 2003, p.119]

The writing still can be vividly evocative, but the uninspired, folky arrangements make her words too easy to ignore.

Though Crosswords’ lackadaisical pleasantness is by no means offensive, there’s no compelling reason for this EP to exist.

Seedy, feel-bad music. Half-dead, sometimes gorgeous, and willfully dumb beyond repair. Call it alienation porn. Sound awful? Well, it is kind of awful--and rivetingly so.

It's not White Blood Cells or Icky Thump, but at least they no longer sound like they're producing records in a Black Keys factory.

Peñate sometimes goes astray--'So Near' finds him breezily slinging dopey cliches (“Love is not a game”). Fortunately, his natural exuberance carries the day.

The results range from sublime ("Remember") to so-so ("Safe Tomorrow"), while the beat-broken "Move On" and the oscillating breakdown of "Future Tense" keep things inventive.

Never mind that they still haven’t quite figured out the right formula; for all of their renewed gumption, improved production, and flair with the pen, Pity Sex remain limited by their narrow emotional range and over-reliance on their influences.

The arrangements are so ponderous, the vowel-masticating vocal languor so excessive, you almost wish he'd go whole hog and cover "Ave Maria." [Nov 2003, p.117]

Bliss isn't the Boss' bag. Without anything to push against, one of rock's most eloquent lyricists is in the awkward position of having little of interest to say.

Blends the furious muscle of 2001's God Hates Us All with the more melodic experimentation of their post-Reign work. [Sep 2006, p.112]

These tunes dig deeper than the musings of, say, Michelle Branch, but none are groundbreaking or revealing enough to suggest that Pink has learned to navigate the space between fluffy and toughie. [Jan 2002, p.108]

Vanderslice is tortured and diffuse even by Death Cab standards. [Sep 2005, p.109]

Despite numerous cameos from his mates, Drew still sounds orphaned and adrift. [Oct 2007, p.96]

Frontman Adam Olenius lobs his bon mots over tunes that borrow from Beck, the Velvet Underground, Bright Eyes, and the Cure. But when Olenius waxes roantic and serves up yet another ace, it's hard to complain. [Oct 2007, p.110]