For such a dense, demented album to have a definite ending should assure listeners otherwise afraid of institutionalization that further listening will not only be safe, but worth it even if it wasn't.

It's not the easiest listening by any means, but how fitting that on an album that pays tribute to Darwin, The Knife unveils their most significant evolution yet.

At times the running-on-fumes punk benefits The Monitor's overall sound. But the problem is that the songs that surround the defined centerpieces sound undeveloped or just plain fall flat, particularly early on when we hear about a supposed hero covered in excrement and piss as a dramatic plot-point.

Diehards will lob all the complaints about sequencing and omissions, but if we're being honest here, what this compilation isn't leaves no blemish on the quality of what it actually is.

The one unique thing about Stewart's lyrical style (a sort of homage of shallow, U.S. suburban vernacular that paints a very specific picture to those of us from the suburbs) seems to be missing on Dear God, I Hate Myself. Sure, maybe it's even tongue-in-cheek, but I sure hope he's not joking.

Newsom's brilliant but reckless songwriting resulted in eighteen tracks, each with an EP's worth of creativity and talent. But why stop editing an overlong listening experience there? Treating each song as an independent entity isn't such a bad idea.

At the very least, it should win new converts just in time for the long-awaited reunion.

Thanks largely in part to founding member/mainstay Robert "3D" Del Naja, there still remains that indefinable, singular aspect to Massive Attack that still carried the group over the hump of 2003's tepid 100th Window and onto the superior Heligoland.

As casual pop, Causes of This pleases effortlessly, though the listener doesn't get the sense that that's what Bundwick is all about here.

Maybe the growth is only obvious to those who've been following, but that doesn't take away from the obvious upgrade of accessibility found here.

Kieran Hebden's latest and best opus since "Rounds" is dare I also say his danciest.

Realism is a significant departure from the bands previous outing, Distortion, which was quite a departure from its predecessor, "i." And although the group continues to change sounds, Merritt's enthralling voice and songwriting dexterity continue to shine.

While Smith & Co. may overuse a keyboard riff or two on In This Light, we shouldn't really let that sully this dark, majestic detour.

Even at its best this whole record sounds like a band who wants to make an impact by trying to be everything to everyone. And because they're not too good at everything they do yet, this lack of a definitive identity that makes it difficult to take them seriously (or if this is their definitive identity, they're just boring).

Transference is a challenging, mature statement from a band generally known for more for refining their approach with each release.

Contra flourishes in its effort to ease up on "A-Punk"'s stiffness as the quartet engages in sonic experimentation of unprecedented playfulness even compared to the debut's.

Nothing is hodgepodge about Heartland, and rather than an outlet for the former Final Fantasy's many cool ideas, Owen Pallett presents one outstanding, unified one: all of him at once.

Although the loud tracks are the most immediate, the subtleties of later numbers like "Reptiles" prove nearly as rewarding,; don't even think of stopping play before "Gunman" shows what these pros do with a dance number.

In far fewer listens than you'd expect, BiRd-BrAiNs sheds its outer shell of defensive harshness and becomes an easy, enjoyable and addictive listen.

One of the rare cases of a best-of being an artist's definitive statement, it's not hard to explain that Fela's other albums simply couldn't have fit enough of them to qualify.

While the celestial exploration is briefly juxtaposed with sci-fi experimentation on the Autechre-like 'Rough Steez' and 'Phantom Limb,' those detours only here to provide respite from and not actually disrupt an ultimately delightful, delirious headtrip designed to push your fuckest of buttons.

While the slower, wandering songs certainly make the composition and mood of the record, it's the more upbeat tracks, never Cox's previous forte, that shine on this disc.

[Palomo's] instincts fill Psychic Chasms with the kind of intangible pleasures that make for a dynamic, lyrical-sounding record and a wholly enjoyable listen in spite of any cynicism towards the fad it encapsulates.

Depending on how interested you still are by the record's third act, this can be either good or bad. It depends on your taste for disorientation.

The XX is for lovers and non-lovers alike, though even its surefire appeal I wouldn't call this a pop album. I would deem it sensual, musical in-out.

The Life of the World to Come isn't exactly a head-nodding compendium to the Good Book as much as a shoulder-shrugging desire for surrender. For some, an album with such strong religious overtones may distance those disenchanted with the church.

While the Raveonettes do little to shake things up on Control, they still have the unique and eerie ability to sugarcoat the most serious of songs with their infectious brand of music.

As with songs like "The Orchids" and "Spider's House," the continued confidence in slow, sleepy numbers, hinting more towards the ambient side of experimental folk, like the devastating "Krill" or the aforementioned "Evidence" suggests that as Rutili ages, his music will only grow in accessibility, relying less and less on the clatter of his youth. Songs like "Gauze" used to be austere nuggets buried in the noise, but these days, the noisy abstractions are, for the most part, the odd-man out.