That patented caterwaul is in fine form.

The songs justify further replay and analysis just because the group knows how to deliver consistently smart, compelling imagery.

Good News is the sound of a gifted writer declaring his humanity in all its filthy, fucked-up glory.

[It delivers] 55 minutes of pit-in-your-gut tension from two of bass music's foremost masterminds.

The album itself--melodically inventive, melodramatic, and incredibly rocking--sounds about the same as it did when it was first reissued in the '90s.

They were unadulterated shredders, too, as Capitol's extensive reissues of Siamese Dream (1993) and its predecessor, Gish (1991), remind us in bountiful fashion.

They were unadulterated shredders, too, as Capitol's extensive reissues of Siamese Dream (1993) and its predecessor, Gish (1991), remind us in bountiful fashion.

The trick to El Camino is how steady it runs; whereas past left turns have been distractions, this is what happens when the pedal is floored.

Throw on those headphones and head heavenward.

Albarn's work here with visual director Jamie Hewlett and a rotating cast of collaborators--Dan the Automator, Danger Mouse, Lou Reed, Snoop, etc.--is as remarkable as their 2001 debut selling six million records.

Every so often a bright, nerdy, nasal-voiced and infallibly catchy male songwriter appears to less critical notice than he deserves for his remarkably concrete lyrics and thoughtful melodies.

The Stones mined its [sessions] results for years to come, creating little else of value otherwise and entering the nostalgia-act phase of their career, effectively making Some Girls the last gasp of credible new music by the self-proclaimed World's Greatest Rock and Roll Band.

You're still way better off listening to the studio version.

It's Bummer Time, and in 2011 there is no better soundtrack for banging your head to oblivion.

There's so much going on, all of it so intricately plotted and clean, that you're left to wonder: by the time the rest of the electronic community catches up, what will Sepalcure be onto next?

Their stuttering, airy synths would serve as an appropriate soundtrack to a nightclub in Heaven.

Part of Caveman's appeal, other than having the coolest debut album title in recent memory (a respelling of the moniker of the '80s WWF superstar), is making the complicated simple.

Musically, the septet are as colorful as ever, only more resonant and with fewer xylophones--plus a newfound emphasis on rhythmic muscle.

True to its title, Violence Begets Violence is the Philly powerhouse's most aggressive effort yet, a morally polluted playground that no sane unarmed person should dare to frolic in.

So Outta Reach isn't so strong that I'd recommend it above its predecessor [Smoke Ring for My Halo], but its songs are very much cut from the same cloth.

Here Mega Dave isn't even that annoying. Perhaps it's because the music is so strong, or maybe it's that he's giving exactly what you expect and doesn't try to be anything else.

Yet even when relying less on atmospheric synths and playing with a full-band set up ("The Shakes"), Parallax misses early rock's tautness and grit.

Only the nuttiest of fans will find any new details (the more-present backing vocals on Agaetis Byrjun stunner "Svefn-g-englar," or the beefed-up church organ swirl in "Ny Batteri"), even if the band's live majesty is captured in full-force.

Harding sounds invigorated and in great humor.

It's kind of cool, kind of confusing, and kind of boring.

One must reconcile with the absurd fact that Lulu exists before realizing how genuinely brilliant it is--when it's working.

Bad as Me, his first album of new material in seven years, is a tour de force of wise ol' swagger and new-century blues.

Justice never lose sight of the big picture, aiming to blow your minds and sub-woofers with equal determination.