The songs all sound pretty much the same; this could be Avril Lavigne, Sheryl Crow; hell, it could be Christian Contemporary.

On this new album, it's not so much a problem that they remain stuck in the 90s politically, but more that their music seems so irrelevant sonically and willing to wallow in a mid-tempo techno-metal goth-night ghetto.

Like all things retro, Faunts find themselves stuck between nostalgia and total recall, unable to determine the criticality of their appropriation.

With the exception of a few standout tracks, on one hand we are not engaged with memorable melodies that would lean the album toward the poppier side of 80s synth and its contemporary revival; but on the other, there is not enough complexity here to engage the deconstructive pleasure characteristic of long-form dance music.

It’s a difficult album to love, or even like. But, for all its faults — and there are many — there is enough here to make one think that maybe, just maybe, Bloc Party are capable of making, with their third LP, the kind of challenging yet highly accessible pop album they think they’ve made here.

Relying heavily on posturing and tired song structures, lacking the incisive commentary and pointed humor that it strives for, Music's Not For Everyone is a record that fails on many fronts.

Props are due for not recycling the same album over and over again--something he could probably do for awhile before anyone would call him on it --but, unfortunately, the new approach results in Bianchi’s most banal album yet.

It’s the endearing uniqueness of this coupling that give Catfish Haven an edge over the plethora of contrived Americana wanna-bes currently littering the musical landscape.

His legacy is confirmed and almost nothing he does could harm that, but it also seems as though the young bucks of the music world are progressing the framework more so than he.

Comets on Fire, 90 Day Men and No Doctors all released albums within the last year that proved classic rock to be relevant in today's music community. The difference between these bands and Black Mountain is that it doesn't sound like the members of Black Mountain had to crush their souls to write their songs.

Some of these beats are really interesting and unique, almost flawlessly incorporating subtle elements of jazz, folk, psychedelia, and the boogie-woogie rhythm of J Dilla, whose two appearances on the album are characteristically powerful. Too often, though, DOOM and his guests offer inconsistent, barely-there performances.

There are no embarrassing stabs at pop crossovers, no bitter jabs at the record industry. Just tuneful and accomplished, if somewhat anachronistic and faceless, BIG MOODY ROCK.

While it’s clear that the album harbors a sign of affection, there’s just no room for the audience to revel in the appreciation that makes it so.

They've got all the right footnotes and they know their way around a hook, but A Thousand Heys doesn't carve out a distinctive enough place for itself amid this year's crop of guitar-wielding miscreants.

The style is, in fact, so far from themselves and close to Smith that I'm going to assume this is a one-off mourning effort. If it is, it's worthwhile for anyone moved by Smith's death; but if they make another, it'd be extremely blasphemous.

Trans Am's Liberation is one of those rare albums that combine great musicianship, irony, sonic diversity, and originality. And to top it all off, the album rocks.

In essence, it’s an improvisational nightmare that leaves you feeling extremely uncomfortable for an entire hour, while concurrently having you wish you could lie down to listen.

It is Moby’s right (as well as his wont) to repurpose the same songs, the same structures over and over again. It is my own right, however, to choose to listen to something else entirely.

Far from the naval-gazing, self-conscious banality one might expect from such a young artist, Moondagger is filled with moments of philosophical prowess and intelligence.

I'm all about brevity when it's effective, but S-M 2's patchiness makes its 38-minute length feel much longer. The record isn't unlistenable or even awful, but it's filled with lackluster songwriting, ripe with pastiche, and drenched in a wall of effects that do nothing to mask these flaws.

They play a very recognizable breed of avant-rock or indie-rock and are doing something that has been done over and over again in New York City.

Its problems arise not out of any dearth of talent or skill, but out of its unfiltered sincerity and relentless positivity--qualities that are hardly problematic in themselves.

Unfortunately, the inspiration and vivid imagery don’t sustain, leaving you stuck in the middle of a boring anecdote.

Gallery is an effort by a young artist who stylistically manages to be consistent yet not sophisticated, involving yet not affecting.

The only downfall to Sahara Hotnights evolutionary sound is its middle-of-the-road attributes.

[A] gleaming, polished gem.

There's nothing inherently wrong about writing songs about enjoying booze and drugs, but this isn't something I'd put on under the influence of either. Just imagine what it sounds like sober.

It maintains the headstock-nodding guitar work, the coherence between players, and the alternating structure, but it winds down the pace and pokes some air holes in the top of their sound.