The album is overflowing with modern day punk-pop anthems, dressed up with technological marvels and justifiably bleak outlooks. [#5, p.89]

Disturbing, intense and emotionally stark. [#5, p.89]

One of the most successful sonic experiments this side of "Let there be light." [#6, p.82]

Delivering a disarmingly beautiful mix of vocal harmony pop alongside blippy electronic beats, Epstein and Zott honor the melodic tradition of The Beach Boys (the two included an amazing cover of "God Only Knows" on their EP) to create one of the best debuts of the year.

Like Brock and even Andrew Bird, Sam Jayne can slipstream between genres without missing a heartbeat. [Spring 2008, p.96]

Good music transcends throughout time, and The Sea and Cake is one of few that do it right.

Of the three Stephen Malkmus solo albums, this is the one that sounds the most like Pavement. [#15, p.91]

Sun Kil Moon's Mark Kozelek revels in the succulent melancholy of sad autumn evenings in the backseat, garlanded with the shadow words of life's heaviness, clearly woven by a master of spiritual spelunking.

It's cosmic Americana as once charted by Mercury Rev in the druggier days of yerself Is Steam and Boces. [#17, p.101]

This album requires less listening and more feeling for one to get the message, something that most of us could all use a little more of.

Ruff Draft is live, and you need to play it loud enough to wake the dead. [#24, p.98]

Despite the '80s tag and influences worn plainly on sleeves, Phoenix always come across strangely earnest and never cheesy. [#11, p.98]

The Morning Benders have grown from playing taut three-minute melodies to sophisticated chamber pop with a focus on ambiance and layered harmonies.

Many songs here warrant praise, but those spontaneous wild riffs have sadly been sacrificed, along with a bit of singer James Petralli’s gnarled, impassioned bite.

We still have a band trying to blow your mind with pure musicianship and experimentation, while having the balls to show restraint and even unabashed posie-sniffing beauty.

The band has seized upon that sloshy saunter that we love and turned it into an elaborate dance. [#20, p.94]

Solo, Ramsey doesn't need suspense to conjure beauty; just riff like The Byrds and sink serenely into the grass.

The singer's quivering tenor is still fixated on death and a dystopian future....It'd be scarier if it didn't follow a song about a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles costume, but that's VanGaalen's charm. [Fall 2008, p.98]

Wilco (The Album) adds yet another chapter to the story, and if this band's relevance is to continue going forward, then let the resilent closer 'Everlasting Everything ' score our impending sunrise. [Summer 2009, p.90]

Butler and company have crafted a brilliant tribute to the glorious euphoria of getting down in the big city. [Summer 2008, p.96]

It's sprawling, ambitious pop music. It's just not perfect--not yet. [#20, p.92]

Even when you can't quite understand what she's on about, you are happily lured into a world where classic myth yearns for modern ritual, and you're quite happy to be in a place nobody will quite understand. [Winter 2009, p.106]

A basement-made bundle of hypnotic unpredictability, this one looks to be a grower.

Make no mistake, Kveikur is another brilliant addition to the Sigur Rós canon; it’s just not, you know...different brilliant.

In both theme and effect, DiFranco's latest is about the reassurance in chronicling minutiae. [#14, p.100]

A choice specimen of audio sophisitication. [#9, p.106]

With honeyed vocals and the tender touch of acoustic guitar, he is already showing signs of songcraft perfection on his second LP. [#9, p.109]

The tunes are almost more like short stage scenes than mere songs about people, but the band does well to prevent them from coming off as cheesy allegories so that even the illiterate boors out there can enjoy their downright pretty moments. [#15, p.101]

Exploding Head is another raucous ode to My Bloody Valentine meets The Jesus and Mary Chain shoegaze. But that’s what’s indicative about this band--although its references are often cited; Exploding Head has that passion needed in reinvigorating a sub-genre.

Dear Heather, while slow and deep like all of Cohen's albums, carries its own rich surprises. [#13, p.95]

Lovers of perverse pop, rejoice! [Summer 2008, p.92]

The Monitor finds the New Jersey band swimming ina similar cesspool of whiskey and shit, with nothing but a proud hangover--and one hell of a record--to show for it. [Winter 2010, p.98]

Apocalypse is Bill Callahan's newest cryptic journey into the heart and art of this American life.

Feels exactly like a dance-less, British-not-Scottish Franz Ferdinand who have been deeply infused with Sgt. Peppers' '60s pop whimsy. [#16, p.90]

Sure, the societal spying and corruption Reznor forecast in The Slip has played out, but Hesitation Marks is a triumphal I-told-you-so, still whispering for rebellion.

Something is a huge leap of cohesive maturity.

Beck produced Morning Phase himself, and while that makes for a cohesive listen, consulting with another trusted producer could have coaxed out some of the freewheeling unpredictability that once characterized his music.

St. Vincent is buoyant in the way that the Hindenburg was—it floats along steadily and excitedly, but with a decisive coldness that suggests that something unexpected might happen.

Another resplendent nonpareil from Eno (and a collaborative improvisation with Leo Abraham and Jon Hopkins), this is veritably a spontaneous soundtrack to an inferential film, one that is essentially revealed in the imagination of the listener.

The results is a mix of creep and fabulous dance hits that will neither change the world nor excite you to start any fires. [Spring 2008, p.97]

Their most triumphant mix of fuzzed-out fury, face-melting fretwork and merry-but-messy melodies.

Chock full of indie anthems that possess the straightforward bravado of early Oasis singles, the punch of Ash's finest moments and Kurt Cobain's ear for a pop hook amidst the noise and confusion. [#19, p.101]

These touches of color set this album above its pasty-skinned, post-rock cronies and prove National Anthem of Nowhere an apt title. [#24, p.92]

P.O.S. takes a page from labelmate Aesop Rock, but with less verbosity and more purpose, more swagger; the record starts slow, but good luck putting it down.

Infectious. [#11, p.98]

This is the closet Dulli has come to replicating the genius he displayed with the Whigs, but it's not a retread. [#20, p.100]

Open Season opts for simplicity, its plainest moments being its most transcendent, and for the most part, it carries you along. [#15, p.92]

The collection is over too soon, but not without a perfect conclusion. [#14, p.103]

[Van Dyke] Parks' masterful touch transforms the Thrills from barroom favorites to starry-eyed chancers with a shot at the big time. [#12, p.105]

The group's music is ghostly and ethereal, creating a sonic wall that is set against some of the lovelist, shimmering retro-electro-disco you've ever heard. [Spring 2008, p.102]

[Kasher's] storytelling is still right up there with the very highest of Saddle-sitters. [#21, p.97]

Warmer than previous efforts. [#25, p.102]

No explanation needed--it's just great. [#25, p.96]

The rare album that works smoking alone, engaged in a postprandial conversation, or sharing a cigarette and scotch with a friend. [#14, p.101]

There was always a sense that, if given wings, the songs would soar to empyrean reaches. And this live, symphonic recording with the Danish National Chamber Orchestra bears that out to dazzling and devastating effect.

[It] transcends sonic genres with a mature exploration of a global village too distracted to notice it's shorting itself.

Slide guitars and steel drums seduce the listener into a world of gentle pain, making for a sophomore album that is, like its predecessor, a beautiful collection of songs and images seemingly constructed upon repulsion and ennui.

The challenging but exceedingly rewarding Biophilia is at its heart a deeply moving, mind-expanding tribute to how that most ineffable of human achievements.

The Argentinian electro-folkie has kept her sense of play and lusty experimentation intact while mulling over time (“Eras”) and tides (the title track), in both English and Spanish, with a rusty (not as in unpracticed, but of the oxidation process), organic vibe brushing against its wheezy, clean sequencers.

APTBS's newest, the relentlessly brilliant Worship, seems designed to drive the listening public violently to their knees.

Like all good things—especially good byes—it comes to an end. And with that, Mr. Murphy goes out on top.

It's simple, easy listening. [#11, p.98]

Awash in trippy reverb and surf-rock riffs, Arabia Mountain is further proof that the Lips have matured.

Throughout, there are pieces that defy the term "song" and exist more as sonic collages--intriguing bits of paste and mortar between tracks--providing ethereal contemplation and occasional abrasive interludes before returning to the more traditional song structure that is anything but traditional. [Winter 2008, p.100]

A Nordic slice of pop heaven that ranges from electro-Calypso bizarrity to hand clap-driven electro anthems about "Breaking It Up." [Summer 2008, p.102]

Just enjoy the ride and don't ask any questions. [Spring 2009, p.97]

Ramblin' Jack Elliott has teamed up with producer Joe Henry to deliver a starkly dimensional and soulful collection of dark blues. [Winter 2009, p.94]

Irresistible. [#22, p.93]

Taken on its own, any one of these songs is pretty good--and some are really good--but Lullabies to Paralyze is held prostrate by an overall lack of variety not made up for by kitsch or vigor. [#14, p.94]

A proudly odd hybrid always on the edge of destruction. [#25, p.104]

Furr's tight structures and stripped bones soar. Not that they've abandoned that record's ["Wild Mountain Nation"] sonic spectrum entirely; there's plenty of buried headphones treasures throughout, and they still steal gleefully from your parents' best records. [Fall 2008, p.92]

It literally sounds like the Strokes, but it lacks heart. Which means it replicates the first album in form, but not substance. [#8, p.100]

After four triumphant releases, and no matter where they go, it's clear we can trust Band of Horses, one of America's biggest and best rock and roll bands, to deliver.

[It] starts off pretty much where the previous one left off, with Skinner feeling sorry for himself. This time though, he does so with greatly improved production values. [#20, p.97]

This is not one to be missed, kissed with the promise that beauty and depth in songs still matters. [Holiday 2009, p.102]

Just as you're really gearing up for a night on the town with Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix as your sidekick, it ends abruptly. There's only one remedy: Play it again. And Again, And again. [Spring 2009, p.94]

A welcome return. [#16, p.96]

Acoustic guitars, violin, vibes and brush stroked drums all help maintain this steady mellow tone that's about as comforting as a warm bath after three sleepless days of jetlag. [#8, p.106]

It sounds like the freak show has just rolled into town--better get your tickets quick, because this is one spectacle well worth the price of admission. [Winter 2008, p.103]

As soon as the first bright notes of An Object wave you over to the album’s distorted incandescence, you realize that something is going on.

Tricky hasn't planted his flag on any new territory, but he has gotten a stronger grasp of what has made him such an intriguing and important artist in the last decade. [#6, p.90]

How can Scots with such a wry sense of humor make you believe they are so very, very serious? Sometimes the song titles speak for themselves, almost seperate from the music. [Fall 2008, p.94]

If there’s a criticism to be volleyed, it’s that In Our Bedroom After the War’s direction frequently changes dramatically, rendering the set of songs as a smattering of smart, soft ideas that are expertly executed rather than a cohesive collection of material.

Hynes poppy solo debut is packed with romantic up and downs and love-induced nausea, making for easy listen of well-produced, structurally sound guitar/piano folk. [Winter 2008, p.94]

The whole package is a head-snapping reminder that when R.E.M. was on fire, you couldn't put them out with all the water in the world.

It remains instrumentally raucous, emotionally battered, and unaplogetically fun. [Winter 2009, p.100]

While Grass Geysers…Carbon Clouds shows that Schmerse is still refining and fucking with his most primal pop tendencies, it’s most impressive because this time around, it’s not just Enon that makes the record special.

The Concretes have always been masters of pop and with WYWH the band pushes beyond the current obsession for Euro-beat synth disco pervading everything.

The channel still churns on Swing Lo Magellan, but Longstreth has built sturdy songs with solid foundations here, trapping his confusion in a container.

The band’s self-titled fourth record takes only seconds to signal the triumphant homecoming of the guitar.

The stunning One Beat of 2002 is a tough act to follow, and The Woods pulls it off soundly (though not exceedingly) by slicing together another improbable mash of grace and chaos all in the service of elaborately unhinged melodies. [#15, p.95]

But without a doubt the change on White Chalk is steps beyond those we have seen from PJ in the past, which makes one question her intent.

The duo has not lost their touch for writing memorable tunes. [#16, p.92]

The duo might just be a match made in heaven, as Hymn and Her is one of the most cohesive two-voiced albums in recent history. [Summer 2008, p.94]

Try as you might, there's no pushin it out. [#12, p.101]

The multiple guest stars on each and every one of these 14 tracks have been upgraded from the regional heroes found on 2009 Lazer debut Guns Don’t Kill People Lazers Do to bona fide industry studs on Free the Universe. Some might view this third-world talent invasion as a form of dancehall imperialism, but there is depth here, respect, knowledge and oodles of heart... and enough freaky fun to dagger 52 weekends away.

The tasteful kiddy nature and contrastingly mature metaphors, literary lessons and appropriate disdain, all end with a sense of urgency, making for an impressively full album [Winter 2008, p.100]

Where it seemed the individual songs on Danse Macabre filled out and stretched the seams of its pop confines, Wet From Birth proposes a more intricate and ambitious space. [#12, p.93]