Tell Tale Signs is awash with evidence of his staggering mercuriality, his evident determination even in the studio to repeat himself as little as possible, re-takes not merely the occasion for refinement, the honing of a song into static finality, but serial re-imaginings.

Smart, cocksure and as cosmopolitan as New York itself, Live At Shea Stadium deserves a place amongst the greats.

It features tracks recorded with rock outfits like The Flying Hearts which recall Jonathan Richman and Lou Reed; minimal, folksy miniatures that sound a ltttle like John Martyn or James Taylor; and a string of delicious, whimsical synth-pop songs that are as good as anything in the early-'80s canon. [Dec 2008, p.115]

Where Manu Chao might have smoothed off some of the rough edges during his spell as co-producer, this album positively celebrates those grungier moments.

Sugar Mountain is a fascinating snapshot of Neil Young at a transitory moment in his long career, for which it also provides an indelible template.

This slice of weird-rock from a more contented American decade is playful and preposterous in equal measure. [Feb 2009, p.89]

It feels like one of the landmark American albums of the century so far. [Jan 2008, p.86]

There is much, meanwhile, to recommend the O’Brien remix, or “deconstruction” as he puts it. What O’Brien has mostly done is strip away the more ornate layers of the Palmer mix and cutting back on the album’s moments of more florid melodrama.

As a State of the Union address, this bold and often brilliant record is less inclined towards optimism than, say, Springsteen’s admirable "Working On A Dream."

The album’s a gas, a riot, a hoot.

With Spoils, Alasdair Roberts has delivered his finest work to date. [May 2009, p.95]

There’s more, too much more, to come, but for now, Volume One will do just fine.

A world away from their ladrock roots, you might say.

What's in here finds the band inventive, unfailingly tuneful, and, rather belying the title, mellowing magnificently with age. [Aug 2009, p.87]

This is an excellent album that manages to be both a mature summary of an artist’s career and something completely fresh and new.

Here, his luxurious voice, weathered and warm, sits atop intuitive improvations from the likes of Christian Fennesz and Evan Parker. [Nov 2009, p.106]

My Dusty Road is facinating as an archive set. [Oct 2009, p.120]

What's absolutely consistent is Young's almost alchemical ability to mesmerise with the sparest of tools - his reedy quaver and sturdy but unflashy accompaniment providing the only embellishments to his elliptical lyrics and aching melodies. [Jan 2010, p. 120]

Audacious cybernetic pirouettes such as "Poison Lips" and "Flashmob" bear the hallmarks of a musician enjoying a purple patch, who is able to caress from his machines a spectrum of emotion that leaves the listener purring with pleasure. [Oct 2009, p.119]

Hubble bubble! From weird sources and high ideals comes a spooky, sensual piece of pop sorcery. And it's bewitching. [Dec 2009, p. 91]

There is an unassuming brilliance to much that they do and, as ever, We Used To Think The Freeway Sounded Like A River is a-bristle with finely-tooled detai.

The Brewis brothers may be at odds with the modern world, but in this stunningly realised double album, they've created the ultimate sanctuary.

To devotees, however, it sounds very much like a second masterpiece: a different kind of epic to "Ys," and one with enough hooks and charms to ensnare at least a few Newsom agnostics. [Apr 2010, p.82]

The Big To-Do, it's pleasing to report, rocks as hard and loud as anything they've previously done. [Apr 2010, p.78]

Exile itself remains the tour de force it's been since release in May '72. [Jun 2010, p.104]

American Slang delivers spectacularly on all expected fronts. Everything that was great about The '59 Sound is here, but the sound is even bigger, epic without getting blustery.

Tin Can Trust is a masterful album from an undeniably great American band, at the peak of its considerable powerers. [Sep 2010, p.88]

Not since Lennon howled "Mother" have there been songs as naked and fraught as "Mama Here, Mama Gone" and "March 11 1962." [Jun 2010, p.88]