The songs aren't bad, but there’s a loss of personality in the grooves.

Every song is compelling.

Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not manages to celebrate and mock its cultural milieu simultaneously with genuine affection and sarcasm balanced so well that the scale never tips too far either way.

The performances are all good, but E’s voice is alarmingly scratchy.

More of an expansion than a breakthrough.

Unfortunately, attempts to abandon [their] formula offer little evidence that they can excel at anything else.

For the most part it succeeds quite well in its single-minded pursuit of disco euphoria, but there’s definitely a whiff of flop-sweat emanating from it.

Perhaps those who regard the Northwesterners' compositional skills with awe will find this a fascinating prism of strong creative angles, but as a follow-up to an extraordinarily gorgeous web of noise and delicacy, it leaves a lot to be desired.

Some of the bridges still get hazy, and a few songs sound like each other, but for the most part, the guitars revel in their unleashed electricity and the rhythms are layered, propulsive and paradoxically so anchored they seem free.

Ultimately, The Campfire Headphase shows continuity with the duo's previous recordings but fails to replicate the sheer beauty and awe-inspiring quality of past material, sounding at times like the work of very good Boards of Canada copyists.

What may be the most confident and cohesive Silver Jews album yet is shot through with urgency and gravitas, but tempered, of course, with liberal doses of dark humor.

This music has the serene lilt of pop and the hope of sentimentality but also the gravity of unconventional responsibility. Rather than roaring, this music sears.

The type of banal, greeting-card rubbish that even Diane Warren would probably find trite.

Takk... resembles the movie The Aristocrats: a narrow selection of material given killer performances.

The propensities for treacle and brimstone are cut by the realism of his portraits and the certitude in his voice. A Nick Drake-like wonder here, it is sonorous, even-keeled and assured.

This is The Coral at its best: tight and stimulating, earthy and radiant.

The further they veer from the course (like the misshapen slide guitar and honking harmonica in the stupendous single "Ain’t No Easy Way"), the more memorable the sound.

Made in China is a raw, angry album that is difficult to endure at points due to the emotionally naked lyrics, but the lo-fi, almost punky, music is a perfect fit.

A greater focus on club anthems and straightforward songwriting broadens the band’s appeal but sacrifices originality in the process.

A stunning return to form.

This song cycle is less about a particular state than it is about Stevens' elegant façade of cleverness.

Clap Your Hands Say Yeah is worthy of the attention, as it reveals a band of great ability and confidence brimming with ideas.

These songs are buoyant and polished, but the lyrics range from bewildering to lame and an afternoon of Schlitz’s voice gets tiresome.

X&Y is well crafted and enjoyable, but it’s bloodless and distant. It feels manufactured, a piece of product in the march to become the Biggest Band in the World.

Not everything clicks on Get Behind Me Satan -- sometimes it’s too timid and freaky -- but enough of it is so unique, even within the Stripes' own canon, that it succeeds regardless of its faults.

While at times the album becomes so lightheaded it threatens to evaporate into nothingness, it is yet another dazzling achievement for the band.

Some of the songs are immediately engrossing... Others mostly carry the story forward while allowing Mann to indulge her career-long taste for vintage keyboard orchestration, coolly elegant pop arrangements and displays of tart wordplay.

The band's audible confidence in its music gives it the ability to negotiate sudden shifts of tempo, volume, distortion and tone without fussiness or confusion, demonstrating what Franz Ferdinand might sound like if the Scots were a little less together.