This album is magnificent. [No. 109, p.54]

Vocally, Gordon is reborn, baptized in fire. [No. 102, p.53]

The results are both vintage QOTSA and something unnameable at the same time. [No. 146, p.58]

Sparkles with glittering innovations. [#68, p.102]

It's neither better nor worse than any other Clientele album, but it's an excellent primer. The real treat for fans, though, come sin the deluxe edition which includes a 10-track "lost album" from 1994, The Sound Of Young Basingstoke. [No. 125, p.53]]

Through the dark, Cohen smartly questions everything from the prickly possibilities of future romance to, quite possibly, the sacred Zen Buddhist religion where he once solidly and stoically placed his faith. [No. 138, p.51]

Let's face it: Group Sounds is shit. But it's pure shit, which makes all the difference.... Everything is overdiven and mixed to within a decibel of ear-shattering heaviosity. It isn't just monstrous, it's gleefully, unapologetically monstrous. [#49, p.88]

America is both a progression and a departure for Deacon: an album rife with danceable party music, but also a deeply political gesture. [No.90, p.56]

Three cheers aren't enough. [No.99, p.59]

They produce an extraordinary palette of tone, color and sound as they range through the worlds of rockabilly, early R&B, blues, folk and punk. [No. 146, p.61]

[A] consummate artistic triumph. [No. 125, p.56]

The playing is imaginative, the ideas vibrant and shimmering and the band's considerable melodic gifts sabotaged by either willfully obtuse compositional tricks or outright punk bratiness. [#55, p.84]

Splinter offers a hammering continuum of some of Gary Numan's most stunning synth rhythms to date. [No. 103, p.59]

No one made damnation as appealing as Ira and Charlie Louvin. [No. 82, p. 57]

Musically, there's nary a bad track. [No. 107, p.54]

Snaith lets his wanderlust steer, and the album is better for it. [#68, p.91]

The noise that's here is lovely, heartbreaking, expansive and raw. [No. 97, p.58]

Labradford continues to make music so quiet and haunting that, like falling leaves, creaking floorboards or the gentle flapping of bird wings, it seems to exist on its own terms... [#50, p.97]

Essential listening for any heavy-music fan ... or youngsters wondering what that whole Seattle fuss was all about. [No. 138, p.61]

It is, in a way, a dad-rock opus, the songs imbued with the residue of a man pondering not just the intricacies of family but the greater implications of existence that come with it. [No. 93, p.51]

This heady mix of stratospheric rockers and inventive, smart and slyly revolutionary lyrics yields Les Savy Fav's best album yet. [Fall 2007, p.101]

In control, indeed, and not just of scathing language. His command over his songwriter's rainbow, from pop sprite to pastoral sage to rockabilly goat gruff, redlines on "Hegira Emigre." [No. 103, p.56]

Taken all in one sitting, the dashing Mole City is both way too much and way too little. [No. 103, p.60]

It's as raucous and vital as their first three. [No. 93, p.52]

Surprisingly, Dylan has never been more deliberate or so overtly savage. [No. 93, p.54]

Her first solo LP in a 40-year career is as diverse as it is good, and plenty of Bagsian punk fury is in evidence. [No.133, p.53]

It's still heavy as fuck, but it's also textural, emotional, diverse and defiant as fuck, too. [No. 148, p.52]

The Blow is full of those breathy moments, minimalist percussive and vocal stimulations that send shivers and sparks from the headphones to the brain to the heart to the feet. [No. 103, p.53]