At the close, the guitars surge forward in waves of noise, a precursor of what's to come. And come it does, with the hammering, staccato fuzz of the album's title track and the speed riffs of "Woman on the Screen."

One of funniest, smartest, truest, saddest and flat-out rockingest (in the very best way) albums I've heard in a very long time.

As whole, the record is hardly notable for its special guests; the beauty of Antony's singing, the ferociousness of his delivery, the profundity of his songs, and the unflinching nature make the disc truly transcend such.

Part of what makes this album work so well is that Gummere is willing to cede the mic to other bandmembers whose contributions contrast nicely with his own vocals.

Over two CDs the music expands towards novel-like richness.

What makes At War With the Mystics different is spontaneity -- and not spontaneity in a jazz sense. Listening to this album you get the feeling that absolutely anything could happen -- as if it's taking final form only as it reverberates off your eardrums.

Rather Ripped is what you'd expect from a Sonic Youth that's getting back to the cool rock 'n' roll sound they trademarked years ago, completed by a tagline of frenzied feedback and chiming guitars.

Horn turns in the best work of his career, giving DCW a collection of sounds so potent and invigorating that the album may be Belle & Sebastian's Revolver.

Combining dramatic, ethereal pop vocals with moody guitar and piano theatrics, Summer in Abaddon recalls a tighter, smoothed-out Built to Spill, or maybe a Dismemberment Plan reunion.

The beauty and richness of our seemingly mundane lives can be found here, in the bossa-nova of minor catastrophes, the pseudo-jazz of strippers, and the easy lilt of coffee cups.

All of One Beat is strung loosely together by a common plea: for awareness, for understanding, and, most of all, for holding onto hope.

A monumental rock-'n'-roll album.

If naysayers can't get past the sheen of spiced-up production, it's their loss.

This is The Decemberists' strongest release to date, and proves that the group's unique thesaurus-rock has a bright future.

The combination of timeless songs, superb production and Banhart's often mesmerizing performance make for a very strong album.

Whichever way you look at it, as avant-pop or cubist soul, Return to Cookie Mountain remains an intoxicating, intriguing but accessible album.

Among contemporaries, Calla now stand alone, making dark, beautiful, intensely understated music that's as much landscape as narrative story.

It recalls U2's The Joshua Tree, and not just for its stunning guitar work but for its wild passion and spiraling tension-and-release dynamics.

It's big but it's also clever.

With this album, French Kicks have taken a sizeable leap forward, taking the right bits and pieces from half a century of rock 'n' roll to make something new and, yes, unique.

This is exactly the album that should be blasting from car radios all summer.

Their third full-length is their best ever, a passionate yet cohesive vault into outsized rock sound.

Like previous albums, this one is full of sharp, sudden observations, rueful admissions of failure and surprising sweetness.

Boy in da Corner defies genre in a defiant manner, refusing to be defined, refusing, even, to be dismissed.

There's an indefinable freshness and purity here.

Daybreaker bears all the strengths and beauty of the earlier Orton CDs, but it also shows some growth.

Spine-tinglingly great.

A very fine solo album indeed.