Rhys Fulber (best known as the number-two man from Frontline Assemblyand Delerium, and as the guy who brought the grindy thrash of FearFactory into the 21st Century by way of industrial breakbeats and synthproduction) may be a better producer thansongwriter and a better engineer than singer, and it just may be thecase that he's got more to offer the world by enhancing the work ofothers than by creating his own.
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In the period between Haha Sound’s releaseand Tender Buttons, Broadcast have undergone a fair amount of change.Vocalist Trish Keenan and bassist James Cargill are the only remainingmembers, causing them to significantly pare down their sound. Whatremains is a collection of some of the most haunting, minimalistelectronic pop I’ve heard in a good long while.
I'm not entirely certain whether CocoRosie should actually be considered a musical group, or just a collection of willful, calculated eccentricities clumsily juxtaposed with each other.
Though I always search in vain for anyindication that the Legendary Pink Dots front man is resting on his laurels, phoning it in,or "taking the piss," as they say, each new release tends to hold to animpressive level of quality control.
Gene and Dean Ween have a huge catalog of unreleased demo tracks, and the Shinola seriesis their way of inflicting them on the rest of the world. 
Bissonnette's compositionsburn slowly and coldly, not because the record is particularlyunwelcome nor is it difficult to listen to, but his sound choices areundeniably of the modern age.
Greh of Hive Mind and Mike Connelly of Hair Police and Wolf Eyes have released a monster of a record that collects two previously limited cassette releases with a new 38 minute opus dedicated to dysfunctional machinery of all kinds.
Adding to my theory that producers shouldn't write and release records of their own is this gem of an "ethnic" electronic record. Scott Solter is a name some might identify with Spoon, Court and Spark, or Tarentel, but don't let their better records fools you: The Brief Light is a mess of an album with few strengths to speak of.
Bellini appeared to have stumbled out of a time machine. Their barbedguitar hooks, thumping rhythm section, and obtuse lyricism seemstrangely out of place in 2005. One listen through songs like “RoomNumber Five” and “The Buffalo Song” make things remarkably clear:Bellini belong in 1993.
