Boratto’s focus remains on approaching the line of excess without tipping over. And once again he stays on the wire.

Very simplistic in melody and progression, each track on 200 Million Thousand is a tube-driven, distorted mess, complete with classic Brit-punk vocals. Twangy and overdriven guitars are matched with screams and pissed-off vocals full of attitude, creating a highly energetic punch, reminiscent of a Black Lips live performance.

Whether it’s Mark’s influence, or Kinky’s own growth over the years (or maybe both), this album has universal appeal and its party-ready, rich sound is one that would be a shame to pass up.

If The Bran Flakes managed to cleverly juxtapose their weird samples against each other in order to make a satirical point, maybe they'd get a pass. However, most of the tracks come off like two kids selfishly goofing off in the studio with long lost gems of nostalgia from their childhood.

Dissolver is a serviceable pop-rock record that would have benefited from being subject to more of the band’s experimental tendencies, a missed opportunity for the trio to release a cutting-edge yet accessible set of music.

The two mini-albums are both successes in vastly different ways, but they are especially effective as testaments to the versatility and adventurousness of Zach Condon.

The Spirit of Apollo is what happens when the imagination is let out of its cage. Good things happen.

I'm inclined to say that they've reached a midpoint in experimentation where they can claim to be boundary-pushers and trendsetters, yet have done little in untried methodology, an undeserved sense of achievement.

Die-hard fans may not like the style change, but I think it’s a step in the right direction.

Watersports sets itself up nicely for some critical acclaim, and its multi-genre versatility will make it easy for people of all musical tastes to find something to enjoy.

Love, Hate, and Then There’s You may not be a sign of the band’s growth, but it succeeds in capturing what the Von Bondies are and have been best at.

Immolate Yourself picks up exactly where they left off, with a sound much more mature and textured--coming complete with its owned imagined world--fully equipped with freeform dynamism of a celestial and delicate styling.

The shimmering dream pop of the band’s debut is surprisingly accomplished and self-assured, a rare shoegaze-styled album that isn’t hellbent on aping the genre’s luminaries.

A group this weird and quirky should be able to produce dozens of albums that never loose their delicious twee taste. Perhaps what FF should try next is trying nothing at all.

Ray Guns Are Not Just the Future is a pop gem for the young at heart and proof that the duo possesses the serious musical talent needed bring their whimsical musical visions to life.

Dalek is like a fine beer...it is an acquired taste, but once you get past that part, it is delicious. This is demonstrated well on Gutter Tactics, his newest release.

Oizo’s latest effort easily becomes the pitch-perfect soundtrack to an epic night out, reminding us that these cats across the pond know exactly how to make electronic music seem both strange and familiar, music that practically anyone can enjoy.

This album is truly an odyssey where if a picture paints only a thousand words, these songs can paint an entire film.

With Merriweather Post Pavilion, Animal Collective have proven themselves to be at the forefront of progressive pop, as deadly with their textures as they are with their melodies.

Their efforts are ambitious and commendable, but it seems like it will end up as one of those albums that may captivate you for a couple weeks--but will eventually be ousted from your recently played.

The color palette Fatboy has assembled for this project—Justin Robertson, Martha Wainwright, Dizzee Rascal, Iggy Pop, and David Byrne, to name but a few--doesn’t trump the fact that musically, the BPA is mired in beats that smack of early 2000, if not the late ‘90s.

Live, this animal bears really bears it's fangs while at the same time increasing the thoughtful and clever sonics and compositional savvy that puts them in a class above most of their peers.

Emeritus concludes Scarface’s tenure as one of the genre’s favorite artists actively recording. It’s a depressing thought, yet this is an album that stands proudly among an already hugely influential back catalogue.

As for the songs themselves, putting aside tragic and Autotuned context, some work and some don’t.

What Max has created as a result is nothing short of amazing.

The music is supposed to feel representative of the big apple, but, aside from the song titles, this is a feeling I failed to really grasp onto. Thankfully this is probably the least important part, because after listening to this record a few minutes I realized how special it really was.

With every track clocking in at about seven minutes, Convivial may fulfill not only the needs of the insatiable dancefloor, but the wants of those looking for relief of daily life's mundanities.

Unfortunately, after six mightily exciting originals, the disc wanders into remix territory.

A Hundred Things also contains quieter moments that work surprisingly well for such a loud record, providing a much-needed respite from the nervous scramble of the rest of the album.

In a sentence, Q-Tip’s long-awaited release looks to get people to thinking, loving, and dancing, as usual.

Not to be taken lightly, dramatic tone and lyrical silliness obscure a sinister impulse throbbing within the album, spitting delightfully mysterious candy machines baubles onto your eager palm. [Nov/Dec 2008, p.87]

Galore sounds like the stock "empowering dance pop" library compilations that music publishers bombard film music supervisors with.

Eccentricity is what defines Grampall Jookabox and their sophomore effort Ropechain, but that doesn’t make it any less listenable. In fact, Ropechain has its fair share of fine musical moments that actually benefit from the bizarre tendencies of the group.

Treasure's aggressive style deftly balances Cad Petree's more melodic side, and sees the band straddling the line between insistent, hard-hitting rock and Coldplay-esque balladry. [Nov/Dec 2008, p.87]

Intimacy offers the most ideas that Bloc Party has ever put on display. Skip the first two tracks and you'll find more hits than misses.

The tracks on Heart On don't veer from EoDM's favored subjects of Los Angeles fakery, sex, girls, sexy girls, and how they're gonna get sexy girls. But shit, that doesn't matter because they're sure as hell sticking to what they do best (with their trusty cow-bell, no less): they make you want to rock out and get your sleazy dance-on at some greasy bar with a PBR.

While the album won’t produce any converts or even revive interest in the band’s newer music among purists, it’s an enjoyable, self-assured collection of jangly guitar pop tunes that sounds guided by the group’s own creative compass instead of fickle fans’ expectations.

The ’Hunter may not have bagged a 14-point buck this time around, but Microcastle is still good enough to stuff and mount on the wall.

Drawing on ’70s disco and ’80s electro pop for the 12 tracks that make up The Fame, Gaga writes deluxe ditties that compel the listener to “Just Dance.”

In Alpinisms, School of Seven Bells have themselves one of the year’s most intoxicating debuts.

Deceptively primitive-sounding, Alight Of Night is the definition of a "grower." [Nov/Dec 2008, p.84]

The developed avant-jazz compositions stand out just fine, but with all their consequential underpinnings, Herbert and the band are swinging on all levels.

Black thrives on his own, finding strength in lyrical risk-taking that ultimately makes the Milk name ring thicker and sweeter than ever before. [Nov/Dec 2008, p.84]

Switching, flexible, rug burn reverberation. Of Montreal’s pretentious compound syllables titillate mind and body, catcalling strangers walking down the street you imagine naked, whose vocabulary is as ripped as the holes in their shirts.

Even though Prekop and Prewitt continue interlocking their guitars over spiny rhythms from McEntire and Calridge throughout the set, something doesn't quite click often enough this time around. [Nov/Dec 2008, p.87]

Missiles is a true testament to meticulous sonic invention. [Nov/Dec 2008, p.85]

This albums isn't as infectious as "You're A Woman, I'm A Machine," but who cares? Grainger didn't make it for DFA fans. [Nov/Dec 2008, p.85]

Droppin’ Science Fiction, the debut project from hip-hop supergroup The Mighty Underdogs, is one of the strongest underground hip-hop albums to come out in a long time.

Tobacco’s jagged, unconventional sounds aren’t easily pinned down, and therein lies their appeal.

Nomad is ambient music for beatheads in need of a record to clear their minds to, or dance music for new age lovers.

Despite the fact that the album is largely a deconstruction of masculinity vs. feminity, Yo Majesty isn’t afraid to tone the sex down to hop on the progressive tip. 'Never Be Afraid' displays the cosmic gospel of Jwl B. However, this retreat into tamer territory isn’t indicative of weakness; chalk it up to what is actually a significantly well-rounded and versitile rap duo.

They stick to the band's strict formula of melodic, thematic, well written music.

Even with the occasional miss, the near-violent style-hopping is more than welcome where Rupture is concerned.

Japanese Motors’ debut is a solid dose of garage pop, but chances are, it won’t change your life.

This is the sound of five British lads wanking about, unsuccessfully attempting to write ballsy yet progressive sounding rock/punk anthems when their musical calculations are painfully transparent.

It’s a rare thing to find so many talented collaborators (notably Guilty Simpson, Oh No, & Murs) on top of the skills of such a creative and accomplished selector as Madlib. WLIB AM puts an odd twist on oldschool and dresses to impress.

With production skills that some say are comparable to Madlib and the late J Dilla, we can say, overall, his cutting-edge sound makes Out My Window lovable, fostering the mood of a carefree summer day.

Double Night Time unapologetically flaunts its electronic overcoat, and glam it should, given the remarkably clean sounds coming from Geist’s boards.

Most of the time listening to anything that's on the Hot 100 is considered a guilty pleasure. Music for females, not fanboys. But thanks to Girl Talk, Feed the Animals makes the feeling less filthy—thus the embarrassment is less painful.

The Hawk is Howling is Mogwai at its best.

Overall, Science expands the band’s already-vast palette that continues to defy and recontextualize any definition of a “rock” band.

Loyalty to Loyalty, the band’s sophomore release, isn’t as immediately impacting as that first round of songs, but CWK didn’t lose their charm (or literary obsessions), either.

Monkey: Journey to the West is a testament to Albarn's versatility as a musician and his melodies' ability to avoid becoming losing their power in translation.

Starfucker has crafted a solid, catchy, well-produced pop record that should have the hooks and emotional resonance to compete with most indie-rock contemporaries for lovesick teenagers’ iPod disc space.

While almost as good as that first Dooom album, only time will tell if this sequel can become another timeless classic in the Kool Keith catalog.

Her eponymous debut is the closest thing to “Betty Davis Eyes” or “Stand Back” recorded for our generation, and yet it isn’t nauseatingly retro.

Just some progressive musicians being…progressive. O Soundtrack My Heart is not for everyone, and that’s not a bad thing.

There may be no safer bet than an Amanda Palmer’s bleeding-heart album--her built-in fan base will eat it up the same way they voraciously devoured Tori Amos’ open wound a decade ago--but the Palmer Show is strong enough to sustain much more daring theatrics than what’s given here.

This is what Nelly's Brass Knuckles is best summarized as...a club jam.

The latter half of Paperwork is a showcase for the lead, at times a tad too comfortable with his unrestrained vocalizations.

Eyes at Half Mast is music for self-reflection, the perfect soundtrack to those long, introspective drives through silent city streets.

Fans of Death Cab and the Postal Service might notice a similarity between Angelakos' and Ben Gibbard's vocal styles. The six song EP features light, airy synths grounded in subtle new wave and pop grooves.

Worth the wait, Knowles West Boy provides a uniquely varied soundscape from an equally enigmatic musicmaker. [Jul/Aug 2008, p.87]

Pennington’s soaring, Rufus Wainwright-esque croon may be the most distinctive element of the record but also one of its greatest weakness.

This album, as seemingly different as each song is, runs pretty smoothly.

Not much separating Brotherhood from "Singles 1993-2003;"...Now for the tasty part. Disc two contains “Electronic Battle Weapon,” volumes one through nine.

Time and place be damned, this is a good record, but it will never be anyone’s favorite.

The Game pairs that unabashed love with swirling ideas and concepts that elevate the record to an easy contender for album of the year.

Sol-angel and the Hadley St. Dreams boasts Thievery Corporation at the production helm, giving little Knowles' album a sophisticated sonic texture of jazzy pop, lounge inflections, and brassy drama.

The songs all come from a similar place, but a solid bass line and focused rhythm will always carry the day.

Levi seemed to have a great idea for Never Never Love, but didn't execute it as well as he possibly could have; so in practice, the record does not flow as well as he may have liked it to.

Lykke Li manages to combine Feist’s beautiful crooning with Robyn’s playful spunk in her own impressively unique way.

The tunes are taunt and chipper and the instrumentation is full and flirty as promised. But their tunefulness falls into question with these ears.

It’s a welcome return to “vintage” Stills, after an attempt at stylistic departure (2006’s "With Feathers") was met with lukewarm critical reception.

Superfluous, the extra weight drains the raw intensity of the Furnaces’ famed live show and often leaves Remember sounding like a cheaply recorded album, rather than a live celebration.

This one’s not as immediately accessible as "Affair," but still maintains Lindstrom’s position at the top of the electronic scene.

Their sixth album is an unlovely cocktail of faux-Cobain grunting, downtuned guitars and self-pity. [Nov 2008, p.119]

An album that masks its bite with sounds of familiarity and demonstrates Thibodeau's uninhibited emotion with full-scope 20/20 vision

Trippy vocal distortions, rock guitar, and the either enlightening or bewilderingly entertaining lyrics create what the younger audience commonly refer to as “The Shit.”

The album clocks in at nearly an hour but not one second is used in vain since Spirit’s campfire harmonies and leftfield spurts of drum cymbals go into vortexes that makes time stand still altogether.

Tittsworth should be proud. 12 Steps is, at its end, a mighty accomplishment for both its maker and his genre.

The lyrical presence and content of guests is what sets London Zoo apart from other dubstep producers.

Having waited four years for this new record, Faint fans anticipating a return to the throbbing mechanical heart of darkwave and disco will not be disappointed.

Brazilian Girl has the ability to give audiences a world band sound because of its mixture of different languages and live band sound. It also has a certain level of pop appeal.

As with most album trilogies, this first one is promising.

Gorgeous, thoughtful, and musically brilliant, the album runs like a concept album about life experiences should...beginning, middle, end; all equally interesting and exciting.

Black Kids' conviction and raw talent has made for a record that far outshines a majority of their blog brethren. [Jul/Aug 2008, p.84]

To fans that listened to Rage as a means to get "pumped up" and bring the "mosh" you’ll probably be disappointed by the lack of work out music. But to the fans of Zack’s militant poetry, listen and enjoy.