If you’re interested in Keating’s deck work or Lord’s acid rock breakbeat, their Black Ghosts mixtape will set you straight, but this partnership has manifested considerably deeper songwriting skills for both of these guys.

Musically, this record definitely shoots what it was aiming for, but I wouldn't listen to it unless you are, or want to be, severely depressed or disturbed.

The songs are expertly arranged and succinct, staying away from the lengthy workouts of most of his DFA contemporaries. [Jul/Aug 2008, p.84]

Experimentation and metamorphosis--of sound and of character--are the paragons of this alter ego, and RZA seems to be swimming in both these days. All the pieces fit, and when RZA goes Voltron, he’s at the top of his game.

Additional collaborations with Sean Lennon, Cibo Matto, The Mooney Suzuki and The Yeah Yeah Yeahs, solidify Naturally as a sure summer listen from two gents who never really go wrong.

At Mount Zoomer will get hipsters dancing around once again, but I think the respect and hype is most definitely due to Wolf Parade this time.

This record is a beautiful testimony to passionate and heartfelt emotion with Warden’s dynamic voice being the seductive centerpiece.

Sure, she may not have as many debauchery-tainted demons to exercise as the Winehouses or the Holidays but that doesn't make 19 boring. [Jul/Aug 2008, p.88]

The album engages after repeats, but initially offers volume's immediacy over intimacy.

Maybe that's how we need to view this record--a little less anxious in our anticipation and balanced out with a little more enjoyment. Then, it just might be a classic.

This timeless band may have taken some nods from M.I.A., Bloc Party, Hot Chip and even Bonde Do Role to keep up with 2008--or not--but they continue to soar high on some genius sonic whimsy, making The Dream a truly commendable offering.

Los Angeles is a beautifully complex and widespread full-length from one of LA’s most creative and perceptive music producers.

While Subtle remains as challenging as ever, there's less exhaustion in finding the nugget, for a record that finally capitalizes on the potential of Subtle's raucous live performances. [May/June 2008, p.94]

Now far denser than disassociated, this is Ladytron at the group's most masculine.

Sure, a couple of songs may seem to end a bit abruptly, but most of the opportunities you want them to take--they take.

If you are looking for a good party in your...well, pants, then Pants' new album Welcome is the one for you.

A bit more variance in terms of these aspects would have rounded everything out. Other than that minute observation, The Sun & The Neon Light is a fantastic album.

Thorburn’s second record writing songs with the group Islands shows admirable ambition and eclectic musicianship. What hinders this release, however, is a matter of composition.

While the production throughout the album is very strong and cohesive (guitar, drums and some piano taking care of most errands), the vocals might prove otherwise.

The album certainly excells when the faux-accent is beaming British. When it isn't, the album can grow monotonous but overall, Brain Thrust Mastery keeps the trash smelling absolutley delightful.

With many songs over four minutes and often consisting of blantantly stoned self-indulgent "jams," some trimming is needed.

Don’t get it twisted, the Kidz have dumbed down--but they’ve smartened up just as much.

With partner Panda One, they unleash a concoction of soul, electronica and disco that’s occasionally bizarre, but consistently funky.

As scattered as ever, Nouns covers a gamut of abstraction and occasionally even runs into a wall of melody.

It's hard to leave your comfort zone, especially with unrealistically high expectations, but the band successfully redefines itself without alienating their core audience. Welcome back, guys.

Ol'boy touches the listener deep on the inside with the polished shimmy of Motown and the greasy strut of Stax tipping his hats to the likes of Otis Redding, Sam Cooke and kJackie Wilson. [Mar/Apr 2008, p.107]

With the first release, Chemistry, you would think some experimentalism was going on--but it isn’t. That’s not necessarily a bad quality, but the lack of daring pushes this release into the mediocre pile.

Trash, Rats and Microphones is tailor-made for the contemporary electro-crazed (dance like tomorrow ain’t promised) landscape.

Everywhere At Once, LB's Anti-debut, is also a practice in nostalgia--but it's decidedly more me-centric in execution. [Mar/Apr 2008, p.109]

This long player is an ecstatic thrill ride through a world of comic minutia to tide FOTC's cult fan base over until their second season resumes after HBO's typical year and a half gap. [May/June 2008, p.92]

Being a gluttonous hard-ass has been a tough requirement to scratch from the 10 rap commandments, but a growing trend in transparent MCs finds Atmosphere atop the pedestal of its post-Prozac and Adderalled audience. Maybe good dads just make the world better, one damn fine album at a time.

M83's new effort saunters like a slow dance from "Sixteen Candles." [Mar/Apr 2008, p.109]

With positive vibes along the lines of fellow Brits The Kinks, Konk flows cohesively and is easy and pleasant to listen to all the way through (which is very hard to say for most full-lengths in this era of hit singles).

This live album may provide an aperitif for those who've never seen the band perform. [May/June 2008, p.93]

With the Pixies re-run now seemingly over, it's good to hear the "other Deal" project back in full effect.

Walk It Off does offer a few highlights, but it fails to yield a comprehensive sense of T&T's sound, and blatantly lacks any cohesive progression.

Ghost Colours sounds like Depeche Mode on Lorazepam--dramatic, well enunciated and full of arpeggiated synthy goodness.

For the first time since 1995's "Everything Is Wrong," the producer who cashes checks as Richard Melville Hall has made an album that, while not devoid of song craft, doesn't allow the pop elements to overpower the dance floor punch.

From the tip to full metallic thrust, Dan Auerbach and Patrick Carney slap and caress romantic lyricism deep into the tunnels of harmonic structure, curried by Brian Burton’s (aka Dangermouse) rollicking production.

Get Awkward showcases a sound reliant on the push and pull between a band whose middle ground is fun.

An album one suspects will age extremely well. [Mar/Apr 2008, p.106]

Using familiarity to its advantage, this duo is smart to refine its palette, making even the most migraine-inducing compositions seem like comforting lullabies.

The Teenagers are pretty damn good at distilling all things incredible, wicked and true about being young.

Stainless Style is impressive for so many reasons--'Raquel,' dedicated to Miss Welch; hearing crunk meld with Italo Disco; a Yo Majesty cameo--but it's the utter lack of irony that steals the show.

With The Odd Couple, Gnarls Barkley is unable to come up with anything containing as much pure pop power as their hit song "Crazy," but it's certainly not for lack of trying.

Producer Ethan Fawn's dynamic overlays of crisp, factory-stomped melodic lines carry Glass's unintelligible lyrics straight to neon-lit nausea heaven.

It’s a syrup-sick pop rotted by dark folk, elaborate rhythms and droning psychedelia, but it’s always tight--meticulously so--making Alopecia an across the-board delicacy of warped obsession.

From the shirtless thunder of the title track to the shrill electroclash cover of Siouxzee and the Banshee’s 'Cities of Dust' and 'Mad Pursuit,' a moody attempt at sextronica, the real question is, what is the intended audience for this admittedly diverse yet inexplicably dated collection of electronic tunes?

Vocally, Del may have lost some of his lyrical miracles and "spectacular vernacular" from albums past, but his unquestionably familar cadence hasn't budged a bit. [Jan/Feb 2008, p.104]

Beside their standalone sharp sensationalism, 'Heavy Heart' and 'The Band Marches On' breast a melodic acuity that begs to be ripped and shredded into anthemic dancefloor permutations.

His latest outing, Afterparty Babies, doesn't derail that path, but it struggles to stay on course.

Each track on Seventh Tree is a picture that stands alone, but in its entirety the record works as a landscape decorated with guitars and pianos spread over hills of upbeat drums as strings and woodwinds line the sky in the background.

One almost has to listen closely to take notice of Devotion’s every last little benumbed intricacy but it’s as rewarding as it is tantalizing.

NY's Finest shows glimmers of what Rock can do, but it's unfortunate the album came out before Soul Brotha #1 was warmed up.

They finally deliver on the big promise everyone saw in what they might do with the raw sounds of that first LP. [Jan/Feb 2008, p.102]

Cold and sweet all at once while perched atop a reef of moody Krautrock, Let the Blind Lead has a progression that melts more than it floats.

Stalwart fans of Morcheeba won't be disappointed. [Mar/Apr 2008, p.106]

It takes a minimum of three full listens to really appreciate what’s going on here, so take some time with Time:Line, and reap the rewards of cross-country wav file transmission.

Hot Chip hasve always guaranteed a certain degree of respect for the listener's intelligence, even on their most fance floor ready album yet. [Jan/Feb 2008, p.102]

Although the vocals initially may spark fears of self-indulgent been there’s and done that’s, the musical beast which duels with the lyrics stays on point and goes beyond the point in miraculous fashion.

Opener 'Time to Pretend' exemplifies this best, as the synths provide quirky cartoonish bounces to tales of fancy car whipping and coke snorting pipe-dreams. However, the record grows sluggish at certain points, particularly when they try to get super sentimental on that ass.

There's a psyche-rock track with UNKLE on here, for chrissakes. But yeah, dude has skills.

One answer, really...bass. Or, lack of bass. Having tested the disc on several systems, I can only determine that someone at Daft Punk central, or Virgin Records decided to master this disc like a pop record, the mids jacked to high heaven while the sub-bass, the stuff that actually makes you move, is completely erased.

The Big Doe Rehab, is predictably entertaining, not because he doesn’t have new tricks, but because at this point his weirdness is hardly surprising.

The anonymous producer behind the work of Burial is letting his dubstep sounds progress and on his impressive sophomore album he can be found chasing the transient hints of beauty to be found in the confines of urban desolation.

Because the sound is based on repetition, yet it bounces off every wall it touches, the album can be like a bad trip inside the mind of a schizophrenic and new listeners may not be ready, but for the others who’ve supported the band in the past, it can be a welcome respite from the sound they’re used to.

A very dark album, yes, but Raposa's ability to convey much with little usually results in a fragile and gloomy beauty rather than mopey dreck.

Was it a signature-sound effort, or a further exploration of their film score work on "Breaking and Entering" or Danny Boyle’s 2007 sci-fi film "Sunshine?" These two worlds collide beautifully.

Yes, you said it best, pretentious-as-hell front-man, Warfield, this album is a train wreck.

All of these lyrics have already been said before and said more creatively, but what’s even worse is that they’ve all been said by him more creatively.

It’s not just his vaguely interesting falsetto or all the emoting on his debut; it’s that all those emotions are under the guise of some real heaviosity but really aren’t saying shit.

Were the House of Gryffindor to stage a theatrical adapation of "Castlevania III," co-scored by Danny Elfman circa "Edward Scissorhands," it might sound like this fourth bobbing full-length by Iceland's glitchy naifs mum. [Sep/Oct 2007, p.129]

It sounds like Drew would still benefit from having his Canadian ragtag team behind him though, because his solo effort just isn't very strong.

It's unfortunate that "Interscope Jackson" spends so much time here trying to ply believable tough talk--highlights arrive when Fiddy embraces his current, lavish lifestyle.

AC still celebrates soaking up esoterica, but this album is the group's jauntiest, least emulsified. [Sep 2007, p.128]

Whether live or memorex, it's really hard to tell the difference between the two, especially on excellent if-it-ain't-broke tracks like 'Fake ID' and 'Doing it Right.' [Sep/Oct 2007, p.130]

This UK duo's second album has lost some of the poppy jangle found on their debut. But it is replaced with grander harmonies and gauzier production, making this smooth as John Oat's bare upper lip these days.

Beatwise, Playtime culls Wiley's best dubs from the last year, with tracks like 'Bow E3' and '50/50' flexing textbook mastery over grime's sludgy polyrhythm.

Despite some other choice cuts, there’s no cohesion to hold it together.

All the songs are so glassy, beautiful and seemingly perfect.

Throw in some straight, viscerally melodic vocals and a few cool, smart, electro-pop and digi-funk sing-alongs and you have a classic four-song EP--if not an entire album. [Sep/Oct 2007, p.129]

They've delivered highly re-playable 13 song study in the G blues chord's progression, spanning '50s hillbilly rock, '60s garage and '70s glam and punk. [Sep/Oct 2007, p.129]

The band recalibrates toward rock structures but doesn't ditch the textures and sound experimentation of the recent past, resulting in songs with sonic depth and focus. [Sep/Oct 2007, p.129]

His vocal patterns on None Shall Pass are enthralling, but they mean absolutely nothing. [Sep/Oct 2007, p.127]

The now-three-piece group proves they haven't lost their ability to blend superb pop hooks with dance beats. [Sep 2007, p.131]

Although the majority of the album is not that memorable, it is pretty damn warm and infectious.

Yet Jamie T is a pop nihilist, to the degree where his lackadaisical lyrical knack, indolent hooks and skeletal beats give the listener a peep into what it truly means to be the average, youthful bloke.

Her most anticipated follow-up is again the most cross cultural jam you'll hear this year. [Sep/Oct 2007, p.129]

The disc's most memorable moments come in the musical ideas left abandoned. [Sep/Oct 2007, p.130]

What begins brillantly gets dismal to the point where it lacks the eclectic Cajun spice, a taste definitely required to stew up a truly heady gumbo. [Sep 2007, p.128]

Finding Forever, Common’s spectacular seventh full-length, isn’t 'The Bitch in Yoo,' but it is his hardest release since.

Lyrically, Khan really cuts loose, switching from everyday matters to sinister fantasies, often during the same song, and all with extraordinary confidence.

Far better than the Cranberries in retrospect. [Sep/Oct 2007, p.131]

Magic Numbers have pushed their abilities while keeping their strong points on performance and substance. [Mar 2007, p.100]

If we're to accuse Chemical Brothers of anything, it's trying to set a lofty new bar in the style they themselves created, and that no one else seems to be working anymore. [Sep/Oct 2007, p.128]

It appears they have emulated themselves on their sophomore (and sophomoric sounding) effort.

It’s the type of strung-out confession that fills the junkie mold of classic Bright Lights Interpol--a welcomed revival after the wayward Antics.

If you’re in the mood to get pummeled by simplistic, yet oh-so-effective samples and melodies, Cross does so better than most rocker-ready dance records. However, if you’re expecting to be saved by some next-level shit, this one’s not gonna cut it.