Overall it's a great promissory note to the world, and a view of what's to come in the dance world. If anything, all I can hope for are more divas and fewer bros dominating the scene.

Her eponymous debut is the closest thing to “Betty Davis Eyes” or “Stand Back” recorded for our generation, and yet it isn’t nauseatingly retro.

T3's iconistic delivery and Elzhi's endearing and logistically strong raps hold it down, and collaborations shine brilliantly. [Jul/Aug 2004, p.126]

Eyes at Half Mast is music for self-reflection, the perfect soundtrack to those long, introspective drives through silent city streets.

The signature post-rock and cleverly monotonous Stereolab aesthetic is still present, and continues to be refreshingly innovative.

The Bachelor is quite a journey with a clear direction and theme. Wolf is going through an inner struggle and seeks to find a resolution.

In small doses (songs, verses, lines), Aesop's latest is a brutally great argument that hip-hop's new-new-new-new-new-school is as creative as its oldest. [Nov 2003, p.88]

An album that masks its bite with sounds of familiarity and demonstrates Thibodeau's uninhibited emotion with full-scope 20/20 vision

Standing on Top of Utopia is a strong album, but utopia also means “an illusion”–a non-existent place–and sometimes it sounds like too many moods under one cover.

Luckily he counteracts offbeat, sad sucker storytelling with endearing Casio tones and token indie rock chords. [Mar 2006, p.123]

The real beauty lies in how Iceland's dynamic conditions are mimed in minimalist clicks and cuts, and overlapping swashes of snapping drums, sparkling piano and acoustic guitar. [Jul/Aug 2004, p.124]

Drawing on ’70s disco and ’80s electro pop for the 12 tracks that make up The Fame, Gaga writes deluxe ditties that compel the listener to “Just Dance.”

The band is crisp and tight, with daring songwriting and arrangements. [Mar 2004, p.111]

Depeche Mode have produced another album fit to fill headphones and stadiums, leaning more towards a muted commercial than perverted side, but for 30-year veterans there’s really nothing wrong with that.

A simple pop prettiness mated with all lovie dovie. [Apr 2006, p.97]

Talib seems to be coasting just a bit on this cut-and-paste session. As in, from a pure musical standpoint, outside of a few of repeat-worthy tracks, Gutter Rainbows, is no cure for your current cabin fever.

His throaty, gnarled vocals--best showcased on the meandering, Dilla-esque Cloudlight--lend his music a gothic mood. [Nov 2010, p.109]

For the completists. [Apr 2002, p.120]

Sensuous goes so far beyond the borders of radio-friendly melody that it's hard to recognize the Cornelius of bygone days. [May 2007, p.93]

This is a considerably more ominous and hardnosed sound from former Can man Czukay than we've had in a while, and La Luna is more than welcome for it. [#77, p.126]

As sophomore albums go, Atlas is far from sophomoric. [Feb 2004, p.79]

The whole album is a spacey trip, and it acquires several listenings to be on their side. They're definitely not stagnant, but it's still a step back from their debut--not in time, but in appeal.

A curious but highly enjoyable mix of experimental beats and good old-fashioned guitar rock. [Jul 2003, p.92]

The Return shifts from the dusty, foreboding ambience created by Dan the Automator on Dr. Octagonecologyst into a contemporary world ripe with analog melodies and crisp, programmed beats. [Jul/Aug 2006, p.125]

Although the vocals initially may spark fears of self-indulgent been there’s and done that’s, the musical beast which duels with the lyrics stays on point and goes beyond the point in miraculous fashion.

The Prodigy was never about subtlety, but Howlett is stepping more carefully this time. [Oct 2004, p.104]

The result is in the vein of popcraft performers Phoenix, Air and others who occupy a great deal of the Astralwerks roster. [Jul/Aug 2006, p.132]

A fantastic reminder of the visceral power of hard-stomping, neck-snapping techno. [Jul 2002, p.100]

Like flicking through '60s AM radio's intermittent channels. [Sep 2006, p.138]

The Arctic Monkeys are not a bad band; they're just a band with catchy lyrics, summer blues riffs and an arsenal of runaway hits. [Mar 2006, p.112]

Campy, kitschy but always cool. [Mar 2005, p.119]

An album that hardcore fans will appreciate but isn't likely to help garner any new followers.

More distinctive than the arrangements, though, are Topley-Bird's utterly unique vocals. [Sep 2004, p.117]

Starfucker has crafted a solid, catchy, well-produced pop record that should have the hooks and emotional resonance to compete with most indie-rock contemporaries for lovesick teenagers’ iPod disc space.

Nothing lyrically spectacular or hip-hopfluential happens, but this release shows the sometimes troubled Sov finally putting the pieces together.

The Nashville crew's sound has slowly aged from alt-country to Stax-styled soul and now brooding ballads. [Jul/Aug 2006, p.122]

Come With Us will doubtlessly electrify their legions of fans and just as effortlessly enrage the condescending cognoscenti that loves to hate them. [#90, p.120]

An album as colorful as his stage show. [Apr 2006, p.96]

This UK duo's second album has lost some of the poppy jangle found on their debut. But it is replaced with grander harmonies and gauzier production, making this smooth as John Oat's bare upper lip these days.

Techno-oriented tracks like “Fire” and “Divebomb, while serviceable forays into the genre, sound out of place and disrupt the lilting momentum of the record. However, these slight missteps are are not enough to ruin a solid first effort from a band that is an undoubtedly promising addition to the dance-rock canon.

He finally seems to be combining alll of his varied interests into a complete package more substantive than his earlier, smark-alecky adventures. [Mar 2004, p.108]

Kozelek can make even the most lively of songs one strum shy of a death rattle. [Jan/Feb 2006, p.103]

Sometimes the '70s feel gets feeling hella silly. [Mar 2007, p.96]

Compared to 2003's Living In America, the disco-punk is less explicitly Blondie-biting and actually noticeably more weary, but no less propulsive and vamping. [Mar 2006, p.119]

The record falters only when Ace recounts a gangster parable about shady dealings with a certain Fats Belvedere. [Sep 2004, p.116]

There's a quality of randomness on The W that prevents it from cohering as an album. But even if it's just a collection of songs, The W is undeniably impressive, packing the kind of gritty, aggressive anthems that have been notably missing from most of the recent Wu solo albums. [#82, p. 148]

If you're over 25, then expect to find yourself peering at your old teen angst like some sort of barely remembered dream. [Jan/Feb 2005, p.95]

The result is a sound of un-epic mopeyness, more surface than interior and arguably more truthful because of it. [Apr 2006, p.84]

Lyrically, Khan really cuts loose, switching from everyday matters to sinister fantasies, often during the same song, and all with extraordinary confidence.

One answer, really...bass. Or, lack of bass. Having tested the disc on several systems, I can only determine that someone at Daft Punk central, or Virgin Records decided to master this disc like a pop record, the mids jacked to high heaven while the sub-bass, the stuff that actually makes you move, is completely erased.

More! is filled with playful, soft and dynamic production, but instead of having a fluid album format, it feels a little inconsistent. And an unnecessary and dated vocal feature from Yello on "Divine," weakens the whole flow and picture.

Tecnicolor Wall of Sound confections. [Apr 2006, p.96]

It drifts like trade winds, which is good for followers and merely intriguing to the casual listener. [May 2005, p.84]

A lush, relaxing listen. [Jan/Feb 2006, p.103]

Too often we get ill-fated experiments in electronic circa 1997 and overly polished replications of their biggest hit to date, "Electrify." [Sep 2004, p.116]

For those who used to throw parties, but now have dinners, Kings Of Convenience will bring desert and a bottle of expensive red wine. [Oct 2004, p.103]

Like many bands before them who similarly created magic with their debut albums, this Brooklyn trio can't quite harness the same level of energy for their sophomore effort.

Listeners hoping for a radical departure from previous outings may be disappointed to find that the disc doesn't necessarily break new ground... [Sep 2001, p.152]

The record is a winning release, if not entirely novel, and the sound of a likable band honing their sound while refusing, somewhat obstinately, to alter it.

A diverting listen. [Jun 2003, p.94]

Berlin's long-running tendency toward grit-glitz, which musicians from Bowie to Peaches have channeled in their work, is the inspiration for this fourth record of functional fun.

Beatwise, Playtime culls Wiley's best dubs from the last year, with tracks like 'Bow E3' and '50/50' flexing textbook mastery over grime's sludgy polyrhythm.

Despite the fact that the album is largely a deconstruction of masculinity vs. feminity, Yo Majesty isn’t afraid to tone the sex down to hop on the progressive tip. 'Never Be Afraid' displays the cosmic gospel of Jwl B. However, this retreat into tamer territory isn’t indicative of weakness; chalk it up to what is actually a significantly well-rounded and versitile rap duo.

Predominately shimmering and languid, at its raciest Divine Operating System achieves a poppy, disco canter that trades ass-slapping soul for sleek sensuality. [Sep 2002, p.104]

Ecstatic may not be the warm follow-up some people were expecting, but it's an equally fascinating, engaging album. [Jun 2005, p.78]

A big, heaping spoonful of bland. [Mar 2007, p.96]

Earnestly sung lyrics in the vein of Jack Johnson or John Mayer, 80s-style instrumentation (percussion, guitar licks, synths), and constant rhythmic switch-ups are elegantly crafted. This album isn't boring, it's just too polished for the raw sounds and styles it draws influence from.

Another befuddling album that offers what seems to be a gigantic middle finger bookended by disrupted toe-tappy pop numbers. [Oct 2002, p.96]

We Can't Fly is over the top, trying to embrace everything Vito De luca ever loved about radio, or all the music he ever loved, period. It's a cosmic mess of styles and guests. People who are fans of his DJ sets will not feel at home in this setting, with no crowd pleasers except for the title track.

Everything Goes Wrong is not a brazenly experimental album, nor is it rootless and shifting for cohesion.

Despite some other choice cuts, there’s no cohesion to hold it together.

Taken as a whole, the album does have a certain cohesiveness that’s lacking in most dance “albums” but many of the tracks fail to break new or interesting ground, and it leaves one wishing their potential of last summer could’ve been realized.

Distracting at times is Thomas’s voice--he seems to take pride in being purposefully off key--but breezy opener “Girls FM” and later the low key “Eyes Music” calm his shrieking affinity and keep him just where he needs to be; melodic.

Trash, Rats and Microphones is tailor-made for the contemporary electro-crazed (dance like tomorrow ain’t promised) landscape.

With partner Panda One, they unleash a concoction of soul, electronica and disco that’s occasionally bizarre, but consistently funky.

Japanese Motors’ debut is a solid dose of garage pop, but chances are, it won’t change your life.

Certainly a nice full-length, though it would be interesting to see what a vocalist could add to their formula . [Jun 2004, p.86]

A few of these tracks feel more like unfinished sketches than completed songs, but if it's sparse folk-noir you're after, why? delivers the goods. [Aug 2003, p.90]

A sincere winner. [Mar 2006, p.123]

Sol-angel and the Hadley St. Dreams boasts Thievery Corporation at the production helm, giving little Knowles' album a sophisticated sonic texture of jazzy pop, lounge inflections, and brassy drama.

For those who've wondered what The Who's rock operas would sound like if rerecorded by Captain Beefheart and Stevie Nicks, it's time to break the rules. [Oct 2004, p.103]

No boredom here. [Jul/Aug 2005, p.108]

The album certainly excells when the faux-accent is beaming British. When it isn't, the album can grow monotonous but overall, Brain Thrust Mastery keeps the trash smelling absolutley delightful.

It's a mix of contemporary hardcore and vintage Squarepusher where he never lets things settle, scrabbling away with sublime and obnoxious results. [Sep 2001, p.152]

It’s a welcome return to “vintage” Stills, after an attempt at stylistic departure (2006’s "With Feathers") was met with lukewarm critical reception.

All in all, it seems like the diva needs a little drama to get it percolatin'. [Mar 2006, p.123]

If nothing else the lyrics are rich, although it gets tiresome to hear song after song of psychedelic fairytales over spaced out chimes and strings.

Having waited four years for this new record, Faint fans anticipating a return to the throbbing mechanical heart of darkwave and disco will not be disappointed.

What may be most surprising here is that the Allstars have dipped their toes into the previously uncharted waters of pop songs. [Mar 2002, p.116]

In the clubs, Baby Monkey will find a welcome family. [May 2004, p.87]

A strangely satisfying pop record. [Jan/Feb 2006, p.92]

[Contains] scattered but affecting shots of brilliance. [Oct 2006, p.117]

Maritime won't be able to distinguish themselves from others, but they have an amazing ability to create songs like "Tearing Up the Oxygen," which as a pop-play on words with a sense of realism. [Apr 2006, p.97]

It's unfortunate that "Interscope Jackson" spends so much time here trying to ply believable tough talk--highlights arrive when Fiddy embraces his current, lavish lifestyle.

Like all exploratory trips, sometimes he has prophetic visions and sometimes he just rolls around a lot. [Oct 2002, p.94]

Yet Jamie T is a pop nihilist, to the degree where his lackadaisical lyrical knack, indolent hooks and skeletal beats give the listener a peep into what it truly means to be the average, youthful bloke.

Orbital's swan song is a welcome addition to an epic, if uneven, catalog. [Oct 2004, p.104]

A few tracks bump, but for the most part, Lord Jamar's production couldn't make punks jump up, much less get beat down. [Sep 2004, p.114]