She's more convincing as a moper, but the album's alternately punchy and slinky conclusion is heartening proof that's she's no quitter. [Nov 2008, p.102]

From grandiose opener "Pink City" to the haunting mixture of reverberating voice and piano on the title track, it's evident that singer-songwriters MJ Parker and Charlie Cokey have closely studied Veckatimest's artisanal harmonies.

>>> succeeds about half the time, but too often the band sounds conflicted between marching forward as the old Beak> and committing to a new direction.

Only in the fire-hydrant-ready title cut, where an around-the-way girl reminisces about bodegas in Bed-Stuy, does Coppola seem like more than a confessional folkie playing funky dress-up.

Though it manages to be both lovely and adventurous, too often MCIII sounds like Cronin falls back on the string beds instead of utilizing them with the same fervor he used to reserve for crunchy, just-this-side-of-DGAF riffs.

You start out rooting for Lucas when his ex keeps his Pretenders album. But the more mean-spirited he gets, the more his melodies fail him.

Too bad inconsistent vocal performances from Prince Po to MED, tempt you to switch the dial on this hour-long jam. [Nov 2008, p.96]

His interpretations seem both timid and presumptuous. [Oct 2004, p.120]

While his guitar remains ulceric, songs such as 'The Ballad of Charley Harper' stew rather than combust.

The journey is less emotionally fraught than her best work, but just as revealing.

This sophomore set from the Swedish acoustic troubadour is undeniably pretty but ultimately doesn't hint at much more. [Oct 2007, p.102]

A stark, erratic, and perversely back-loaded collection. [Mar 2006, p.96]

With nothing fresh to moan about, it's like a seventh James Bond movie without any new gadgets. [12/2000, p.223]

More of the same, really, and what same is that anyway? His beats, hooks and musicality tread slightly above water.

Even though the lyrics stay hippy-dippy, there are hard-earned moments of musical release.

It's more ideation than practice, which is why the too-cluttered American Beauty/American Psycho won't be this band's American Idiot.

Though Benson’s fourth solo album is less distinctive and more finessed than the work of his money gig, it still puts his secondhand fame in perspective.

The first album under his own name is stranger and more varied, a psychedlic/psychotic kaleidoscope worthy of early Animal Collective. [Oct 2008, p.114]

For all its languid rookie charms, In Heaven might be best remembered as the harbinger of a more consistent sequel.

Drunk on ringing guitars, crashing drums, and swooning harmonies, singer Ross Flournoy and crew try to compensate for their shortage of fresh ideas with boundless enthusiasm -- and almost pull it off.

Idlewild grasps for a distinctive sound, departing almost entirely from rap per se. [Sep 2006, p.99]

Across two epic, messy tracks, the pair go around the world: classic ambient house, dated trip-hop, thundering drum loops, weird dub, even down-home picking, yet stay nowhere long enough for anything to really take hold.

He's reworking his own territory. Which is why we expected the song about sweaty illegals to have a better twisted ending than "all of is are immigrants," and the tune about meth addiction to fell, well, lived in. [Oct 2007, p.100]

Four years on, Night Work finds the band mimicking Eurodisco on the cheeky title track, the Cars on "Skin Tight," Kraftwerk on the stiff "Something Like This," and Animotion's "Obsession" on pulsing first single "Invisible Light," just a step behind the times.

A sideways step in the right direction. [Nov 2006, p.97]

It's all quite mesmerizing, until you notice the overworked lyrics, which weakly describe heartbreak in terms of weather, stars, and, uh, hearts. [July 2008, p.100]

The former Fugee throws hip-hop, reggae, synth pop, and heavy metal into his trademark melting pot with little worry that the results might not blend. [Jan 2008, p.98]