The search for the perfect stand-alone song leaves a ragbag of unrelated ideas. [May 2008, p.77]

Thanks to a sneaky sense of emo self-awareness and shambling, expansive instrumentation, they avoid cute overload. [Apr 2008, p.80]

He lacks [Daft Punk and Justice's] wit or personality, and the album turns into a sucession of flashy vocal cameos and samples. [Apr 2008, p.81]

Odd touches, from the choir that materializes halfway through 'I Got Mine' to the sonar ping keeping time in 'Oceans & Streams,' add texture yo these impressionistic tales of ramblin' and being done wrong, without ever sacrificing the Keys' raw power. [Apr 2008, p.76]

Their 14th studio album is a fierce nostalgia­fest full of cascading jangle, candied power chords, lonesome harmonies, Southern-gothic protest poetry and roundhouse drum bash.

Their weaponry is wrought from comedy gold.

Best enjoyed in the privacy of home. [Apr 2008, p.76]

Panic's cherry-picking yields several good songs, and a few brush up against greatness. [Apr 2008, p.76]

On the harder-rocking half, Duritz is nearly emo-esque in his self-loathing.... The disk's Sunday Morning half, is more acoustic, quieter, reflective. But after the epic bender that precedes it, it's also just kind of a drag. [Apr 2008, p.78]

The introductory kiddie voice and opening guitar scrape establish this second album as White's show; mariachi-style brass fanfare, Appalachian-hoedown fiddling and plenty of Roman-candle solos soon follow. [June 2008, p.76]

The quintet’s debut LP often plays like a low-budget male companion piece to Amy Winehouse’s throwback hit 'Back to Black.'

Most of their songs gallop by in a minute or two, erupting with new beats the moment they start to itch. [Apr 2008, p.83]

The world's second-best co-ed lo-fi blues-rock duo are as sunny and merry as they've ever going to be, and that's not very sunny or merry. [Apr 2008, p.79]

Dan Bejar is in "If it ain't broke, don't fix it" mode: He's made an album that sounds nearly identical to the one before it. [Apr 2008, p.78]

Lively and ingenious combinations of glockenspiel, theremin, tuba, accordion, strings and mariachi horns promise more emotional depth than Nick Urata's world-weary tenor warble delivers. [May 2008, p.75]

He has nimble delivery and a pleasing Nelly-esque hiccup to his voice. [May 2008, p.78]

It's one big, horny wink--halfway between charming and totally sleazy. [Apr 2008, p.78]

If this is soul, it's soul for 21st-century sociopaths. [Apr 2008, p.77]

The quartet throws itself into these vintage gestures with so much verve and dumb-fun exuberance that the songs, even with their simplistic, catchphrase lyrics, are hard to resist.

The West Coast stalwart's ninth album doesn't entirely make good on 'Seduction''s wacky promise. [Apr 2008, p.82]

On album two, his focus switches from coke to cash as he booms about his fleet of Maybachs (on the soaring T-Pain synthfest 'The Boss') and prepaying his baby daughter’s college tuition.

His calm articulation and clean beats never waver--where once he copped to vices and joked about dirty asses, now his “naked funk” is all about a craft that won’t quit. That’s impressive. But it’s also limited.

The stiff, weirdly disengaged, single-note guitar solos and Kidman’s monochromatic death screams don’t make you want to keep dragging yourself through the record.

A handful of tracks--the shuffling 'Fill Me In,' the swinging 'What It Is'--work an assured swagger, but Wood never quite nails his role model’s tomcat growl or sly nonchalance.

Many bands sound like this, but few do it so well, or with such dorky haircuts. [June 2008, p.77]

It’s a very rare, wondrous thing: prog-rock for firesides and fuzzy-slipper Sundays.

Not surprisingly, their debut tends toward brooding, bluesy rock—a worthy soundtrack for those dark, whiskey-soaked nights of the soul and the regret-filled mornings after.

The title song is killer, but built of such familiar musical materials that when it comes around the third time, it’s plumb tuckered out. The track is one of three standouts that run over five minutes, and all three are too long.