"You want to write the Kills off as either fashionistas freeloading off of more accomplished artists or opportunist White Stripes biters, except that everything you read, see, or hear about them-- the predestined bonding over Edie Sedgwick, the one-way ticket from Florida to London, the hunt for haunted mixers-- is a scene from an implausible art-rock buddy movie, and No Wow is the heart-thumping soundtrack..."     - PITCHFORK