Highly recommended.

The Thrills continue to crank out buoyant melodies that keep singer Conor Deasy from downing in his bittersweet lyrics and brokenhearted vocals.

But even with all the billowing moods and lush female vocals, what is paramount to The Mirror Conspiracy's muse is rhythm.

Deep Down And Dirty marks the MC's' glorious return to style. Old-school to the core, Deep Down And Dirty is like a blast from the past, a rumbling collage of hip-hop attitude and riotous sonic delirium.

A pleasure to examine at close range.

Recall[s] both Fugazi's punk slam and early Santana's psychedelic sheen.

He hasn’t made a great album, but even Tupac never managed that; the bombed-out landscape of Boy In Da Corner burns instead with all the anger, confusion and messed-up desperation of youth.

Felix Buxton and Simon Ratcliffe, like the Chemical Bros. before them, have the brains to upend house with music as disparate as Spanish flamenco, bebop, Motown funk, and Philly soul.

This experiment in rock 'n' roll Poe is a great success even if you occasionally forget that this is rock 'n' roll after all.

Genre-wise, it's a schizophrenic shambles, yet somehow it all hangs together wonderfully as a solid, satisfying album.

These days they sound like Hootie & the Blowfish shot through with Viagra.

Corporate radio won't touch this kind of overheated pop, but American Hi-Fi's slamming musicianship and party ready anthems should wow any college DJ worth his university-issue condoms.

This is a carefully nuanced collaboration, with stepping stones of surprising convention leading listeners slowly into deeper waters.

Even without Timbaland, who filled G's first two outings with some of his finest future funk, Ginuwine has a game plan as solid as his abs.

This time around, she and her collaborators have also figured out how to blow away the incense without losing her mystique.

This is beautiful music set in minor keys.

A few dopey passes at world music are forgiven, as he still can't sing.

From the sound of Hammond’s latest it seems the swampy spunk of Wicked Grin has kept him fired up.

With an elastic talent--lyrically witty, vocally gifted, compositionally unusual--and a vague hyperactivity that keeps all the beach balls in the air simultaneously, Wainwright likes nothing more than trying on playful exteriors to match his churning insides.

Nu electro, crunchy big beat, oddball Irish jigs, Royksopp covers a lot of territory but always with its signature, blissful blend.

PJ Harvey's frequent collaborator John Parish produces, and he brings a dark, melodramatic, and very theatrical sensibility to the songs that is much more interesting--and a much more flattering setting for Carol Van Dyk's expressive but limited vocals--than the straightforward guitar churn that dominated the last couple of albums.

The soundtrack was clearly as much a labor of love as the film...

A strong, solidly melodic rock album, gorgeously written, tastefully arranged, and impeccably played.

While their hitmaking formula is responsible for countless success stories, the talent, smarts, and overall quality of this album prove the Neptunes are infinitely more interesting than most of their clients.

Touching Down is thrilling for its purity of thought, and equally chilling for its singular modes and moods.

Adamson lives in a dream and his music is a delicious trip through time.

Can Our Love... finds the band still mining a quirky romantic sensibility, but with more honest soul than ever.

A MY-T-FINE punk rock album, chock full of swirling harmonies that came into fashion sometime around the Descendents rise in the mid-1980s.