Astute, melodic evocations of plinky new wave and the Cocteau Twins' smeary dreams that achieve a timeless emotional response.
An outrageously overblown pop-metal extravaganza, Chinese Democracy feels like a perfect epitaph for all the absurdity and nonsense of the George W. Bush era — one final blowout before Principal Obama takes our idiocy away.
At Mount Zoomer sounds deliberately weirder and grander.
Her voice is mousy, the low end juicy, the melodies sketchy, the choruses huge.
Too often, the Raconteurs' love of twisty, monolithic rock gives way to bombast that teeters between homage and parody.
The joyous problem: All the repetition, all the sunshine, all the sound can get tiring. But the same goes for anything that releases endorphins this ecstatically.
Vernon’s voice — delicately layered and yearning — gives standouts “Skinny Love” and “Flume” their stunningly direct emotional impact, but his sturdy folk chords, earthy melodies, and plainspoken, pastoral lyrics prevent the album from descending into self-pity.
The result is her finest record since Car Wheels on a Gravel Road, the decade-old masterpiece by which her career will always be judged.
Accelerate will be rightfully championed as the defibrillator that shocked a once-great band back to its senses.
The shadows come richly dark, and the brilliance pierces.
Nash's bluntness and attention to detail make for a good spectacle.
There was a sense on St. Elsewhere that the music could go absolutely anywhere. Here, you know where it’s headed.But that’s ultimately nitpicking. The Odd Couple is still a parti-colored R&B pop trip pretty much unlike anything else out there. If the bar was set too high the first time, the twosome have got only themselves to blame.
The Stand Ins, is packed with the same compound sentences, sprawling narratives, and precarious, barn-dance guitars that made its companion piece, 2007's The Stage Names, so weirdly gripping.
The Roots’ hardscrabble classicism and maverick whimsy cohere seamlessly, making Rising the group’s most potently evocative work yet.
Evil Urges is easily MMJ's most accomplished and ambitious record, masterfully sifting through genres.
In a scant 30-plus minutes, Modern Guilt modestly proves that it's still restlessness, both artistic and personal, that drives the only living boy in Los Angeles.
Vampire Weekend have made a truly fresh, fun, and smart record.
Nouns evolves gradually, with “Teen Creeps,” “Sleeper Hold,” and “Cappo” adding Superchunky pop riffs to the their relentless punk vigor.
For all of Coldplay’s experimentation, though, there’s no doubting that Viva La Vida, with its sturdy melodies and universal themes — think love, war, and peace — is an album meant to connect with the masses.
Where Cox's Atlas Sound output is scattered and eclectic, Microcastle, Deerhunter's third album, is focused and consistent.
Combining new wave, ska, dub, grime, Baltimore club, and hip-hop in an ear-warping wash of 21st-century psychedelia, Santogold takes listeners on a trip to a hidden black America, where White acts as tour guide through the alleyways of her mind and undoubtedly excellent iPod.
At its best, Fleet Foxes is warm and cathartic, with all the hopefulness of a balmy summer night.
Abraham’s broken-glass bellow is often matched with folk-siren backup vocals that disorient more than they soothe. Multi-tracks thicken and slur the guitar riffs, heightening both tension and complexity.
Throughout Dear Science, TV on the Radio — which includes the rhythm section of bassist Gerard Smith and drummer Jaleel Bunton — flesh out Adebimpe’s andMalone’s ruminations with relentlessly inventive arrangements that make even familiar sentiments seem fresh.