The only thing Arcade Fire’s Everything Now is about is Arcade Fire, which is its most pernicious and pathetic quality. Arcade Fire are no longer Orpheus and Eurydice, lovers doomed to tragedy; now they are Narcissus, the Greek hunter who lost the will to live after staring at his own reflection in a pond for too long. They ask their listeners to participate in this cynicism as they grasp so falsely at explanations for why “we” are like this.

The timing may be off, but Total transcends trends to be one of the year's best dance records, and a likely cult classic in the making.

It's pretty much all the same synth leads, bang-bang beats, and tired rhymes as every other Aftermath related project since The Eminem Show, which wasn't that great either.

With 13 songs to sit through, it all sounds like the same riffs, verses, choruses, and rhythms in slightly different contexts. It also sounds like a big disappointment from a band that roared out of the gate with several nice 7-inch cuts and a strong debut album.

This album has been done before and lacks the originality or quality of songwriting to merit repeated listens or set it apart from the scores of others playing this type of music.

Savage Imagination, the duo’s second full-length album, arrives little over a year after Toropical Circle and represents a remarkable upgrade to their shared sound, blasting their day-glo explorations through a mosaic approach to sound source layering and live multitasking

SZA remains a captivating, interesting singer, but the focused singularity that made S such a rewarding listen is largely absent here.

These United States sidesteps what could have easily been part of a superfluous boy-and-his-guitar genre by folding classic standards and varying its instrumentation and pop arrangements enough to create a warm and subtle structure, making for an altogether fresh and uniform interpretation of railroad folk introspection.

Outside tastes like having returned to my favorite bar to find they've redone the menu. Only this time, all the improvements are positive ones.

The reinventions that fare best are the ones that come from the minds and hands of producers who dare to alter the attitude of the original compositions.

Overall, however, Money is hit-or-miss. The less structured tracks often get lost in the shuffle, resulting in stretches of floundering in between the more highly developed tracks.

Ask The Night is a dose of a kind of southern comfort that my doctor might actually approve of.

The harsh truth makes itself clear: overdubs and studio pre-meditation trivialize Johnston’s music.

Despite her best efforts, the non-instrumental tracks still suffer from a kind of sameness that causes them to run together.

By any other band's standards, Winchester Cathedral would qualify as a strong to very strong effort. However, the feel of sameness prevents the record from surpassing the sum of its parts.

This is easily the biggest disappointment of 2006.

Oblivion Hunter recaptures missing pieces of the Lightning Bolt jigsaw and reconfigures them in a new context, painting a broader picture of the band's roots while giving us the sense that it might not be a singular instance of "lost" material being pulled back from the edge of eternity.

The recording captures the irrecoverable magic of a first meeting and encapsulates it.

Year in the Kingdom suggests whatever band he’s drumming for is ultimately inconsequential; this backwoods wanderer seems fully capable of detailing his wreckage on his own.

It's the clingiest and most needy record I've heard in a while.

The result is an experimental pop album that's easy to appreciate, but difficult to fully connect with.

Despite the pristine texture, though, many of the melodies find themselves veering into the frankly repulsive world of adult contemporary.

Earth Junk’s parts are greater than their sum.

The more you listen, the worse it gets.

Even if it's derivative, Red Bedroom is very catchy.

The Bedlam in Goliath is an exhausting and overwhelming effort that fails to leave any tangible impression.

I sense a more natural sense of songcraft here. Banks is still trying too hard, seemingly attempting to write songs he thinks people will like rather than songs that, whether simple or arpeggio-filled, he and his mates like.

Dirty Gold feels like a statement, an arrival.