While some songs drag, others are absolutely enchanting. [No. 95, p.55]

Especially in today's digital context, the album feels torn between big-P pop a la La Roux or happy-mode Goldfrapp (or, at least, Annie circa 2004) and the darker, broodier likes of Ladytron.[#81, p. 55]

The hooks fail to sink in, and Kinski is occasionally too clever for its own good. [#68, p.100]

Although the harmonies and pickin-skills are still top-notch, Carry Me Back falls short in songwriting. [No.90, p.59]

He [Emil Svanangen] has a high, expressive tenor that often slips into a keening falsetto that fights to be heard over the sound of the dark, frequently overwhelming synthesizer symphonies that fill the background. [No. 147, p.55]

Their command of sonic mood is commendable, but without something more to grab hold of, Annabel Dream Reader is just a relentless gut-punch. [No. 112, p.61]

Many of the songs meander, and the constant back-to-the-'60s vibe loses its charm. [#55, p.94]

They focus more on freeform jams than commercial song structure. Then, as now, it makes for indulgent and difficult listening. But, if the path of wisdom lies in such excesses, then the Larsons are certainly well on their way. [#81, p. 59]

Fans of either Glass or the remixers won't be too disappointed, but they won't be blown away, either. [No. 93, p.60]

There is a surprising amount of vitriol pent up--ever so politely--in these songs, and when that vitriol squeaks out into the universe, it is very genteel, very well-mannered vitriol. [No. 125, p.53]

Unpatterns is indeed mostly patterns, in fact - moody, bloopy instrumentals that don't really fit into one subgenre box because they barely muster the strength to be defined by a category. [No.87 p.59]

Flesh is musical, but also minimal, a soothing pink noise that won't put you to sleep or interfere with your daydreams. [No. 116, p.59]

All Rise flitters about like an overly melodramatic actor: it might be pretty, but it offers little more than monotony. [#67, p.97]

When everything's working, the band is a force. Which doesn't happen enough on this oddly-timed eponymous release. [No. 85, p.53]

'War Cry," the album's longest track at more than 11 minutes, sums up the band's problem with its blend of barely audible vocals and meandering guitar solos that go from metallic shredding to simple repeated clusters of notes without building much tension or release. [No. 109, p.59]

He's perfectly adequate as a singer and melody writer, but he doesn't have the indelible personality of a Morrissey or Isaac Brock. [No. 96, p.56]

Just when the Los Angeles-based trio's fourth album threatens to dissolve into another sleeping-beauty effort you might enjoy as a nightcap, something happens... [#48, p.74]

As with all impressive novelty albums, it's hard to imagine getting to a sixth play of these nonetheless flawless interpretations, and even those would mostly be for friends and neighbors. [No. 95, p.54]

The lyrics are overwrought, and the music is dark but lacking the edge that would make the songs compelling. ... Thankfully they bracket the album with "Love You To The Sky" and "Just A Little Love," up-tempo gems that prove they haven't lost their magic touch. [No. 142, p55]

Asleep and a Forgetting is [mellifluous], only crankier and somehow more personal than anything previous, soaked in the moody nuances of laughter and forgetting, memory and momentary lapses of such. [No. 85, p.55]

While the beats set SpaceGhostPurrp apart, his microphone skills are lacking; his flow, always sleepily riding behind the bass, doesn't fluctuate... But his apocalyptic perspective is refreshing. [No.88 p.59]

Shapiro's singing is as wispy and wafer-thin as ever, her limp, lovelorn lamentations just as piteously plaintive. Your call whether that's charming or cloying, but it's not exactly the most versatile approach. [No. 96, p.59]

An uneven record, though one that may ultimately prove a warm-up for a more interesting one. [No. 111, p.61]

Consider this follow-up one step back. [#69, p.98]

On Makers, Votolato rarely digs deep enough to scar, and he tends to wander where he thinks inspiration might live instead of letting it find him. [#70, p.110]

Dracula gurgles with slower, more experimental moments at times, but the brief drags are balanced out by funky hip-swingers and modern nuggets. [#82, p.59]

It's an established formula: Regression to the mean is inevitable. That said, there are plenty of familiar pleasures for those who investigate. [No. 131, p.56]

There's a lingering, forced feel and more than a few questionable stylistic decisions. [No. 128, p.55]