While the rest of the album flirts with the shivering, uncomfortable mood found on 'Since I Came,' it infrequently equals it.

The overriding element of Natural is the band’s sense of experimentation, merging punk with semi-transcendentalist folk.

What makes The Historical Conquests Of... a great album and not just Ritter’s foray into stylistic versatility is the integrity of his musicianship. The album is thorough; it is complete.

The most egregious offender is Planet of Ice's last song, 'Lotus,' which clocks in at close to nine minutes, thanks to clumsy feedback inserted somewhat inappropriately between the beginning and end of what must have started out as a fairly straightforward rock song.

Broder’s voice adds an extra source of dynamism to the mix. It all adds up to a sound that revels in rock’s limitations while working to redefine them.

Although one of PE’s three focal points, Terminator X, is gone, Chuck D and Flavor-mother-fucking-Flav still have vitality pumping through their veins, enough to elevate a two-decades-old rap institution above the level most hip-hoppers reach once they hit middle-age.

Longer listeners will be impressed with the band’s evolution but will inevitably be let down with the lack of charm in these new recordings as opposed to their looser demo cuts.

Throughout Emerald City, Vanderslice uses his celebrated producing talent to control feedback and mold it into an instrument as vital as the guitar and piano that are so central to his music.

And the mixing problems extend far beyond Corgan’s voice. The Band of a Hundred Murderous Guitars has turned into a modern-radio-rock band.

Our Love To Admire isn’t even a contractual obligation to push off without care. But boy does it sound like one; a band phoning it in, out of steam, and running on a few lingering fumes and smoldering coals.

Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga is Spoon’s finest release since 2001’s "Girls Can Tell" and fills me with a happiness rarely delivered in a genre filled with groups that never improve upon their debuts.

T.I. vs T.I.P. is mercifully light on the requisite skits illustrating its dichotomy, but you almost wish there were more of them to explain the album’s weird alchemy of simultaneously overwrought and undercooked production and flaccid, self-absorbed lyricism.

Easy Tiger’s not his best, but it’s got focus and a lot of heart.

If nothing else, Astronomy For Dogs should be heralded as a step in the right direction after six long years of wandering.

If you’re fond of the curious, Icky Thump is the choice White Stripes album.

The depth and craft in these songs keep The Sun interesting and make its inspired moments that much better.

It's the kind of music any fledgling music lover deserves to remember.

Its sharpness in wake of modesty might make it The Cinematic Orchestra’s biggest accomplishment to date.

The tunes sometimes lack a punch or vigor — not to say they aren’t catchy; I’m just not shocked when they’re misinterpreted as stale.

Greyhound lacks the raw immediacy of their first three albums.

A real slog to get through.

Mirrored is a marvel, dastardly and wholly original as it is, and one of the year’s finest.

I find myself disappointed with Plague Park despite its elusive initial luster. The good news is it’s an easy fix: Hire a band.

While the elders will rejoice this sober, satisfied, and craftily subdued effort, the younglings of the bunch, with their abbreviated attention spans, iPod shuffles, and demand for instant gratification, will declare the album a boring and lethargic affair.

It doesn’t break any new ground, but it’s not a retread. It’s just good, for you and your soul.

Volta is Björk’s best album yet.

God Save the Clientele is more of the same for the group’s fans, who will find the record near-faultless.

The band returns to The Power Out’s playground equipped with the chops their latest personnel lineup displayed on Axes. The album only benefits from it, becoming a more-than-worthy successor to both previous releases.