While Swearing at Motorists are clearly at ease in a variety of musical styles, it's tempting to yearn for fatter hooks, more fleshed-out arrangements, or just a cathartic chorus to sing along with at the top of your lungs -- which was what made the Replacements' similar tribulations ultimately so inviting.

Though there are hooks galore to be found on Flat-Pack Philosophy, the tempos have eased up a bit so that Diggle's and Shelley's guitar parts have more room to interact with one another.

The set ends on a gentle note in "Where We Start" -- so much so that it may make some scratch their heads and wonder where the cranky, diffident Gilmour has wandered off to, but others will be drawn into this seductive, romantic new place where musical subtlety, spacious textures, and quietly lyrical optimism hold sway.

Just about any of the album's selections would have fit perfectly on a vintage 120 Minutes episode.

Kristofferson is dead-on here, razor-sharp, economical in his language, and to the bone in his insight.

Busts open half-lidded Velvet Underground fetishisms with squalls of Blue Cheer guitar, and further channels the heady sounds of the late '60s with a moodily dwelling organ.

A set of tracks that sound akin to an amalgamation of John Frusciante's early solo work and the great Skip Spence.

Hard-Fi's desire to create something solid enjoyable in the midst of everyday monotony is what makes Stars of CCTV an enjoyable first effort.

Another very interesting and beautiful album.

Drum's Not Dead is undeniably interesting, but somehow unsatisfying.

Once you reconcile yourself to the idea that Lerche has made a jazz-pop record, the songcraft, laid-back approach and Lerche's sweet vocals might just win you over.

One gets the sense that this is an album recorded with white gloves, and the calculation behind the tunes is nearly tangible.

It gets a little long in the tooth in places and samey-sounding.

The inclusion of guest vocalists... keeps Etiquette from engaging on the kind of one-on-one basis that made Pocket Symphonies for Lonely Subway Cars and Twinkle Echo such selfish pleasures.

This volume is a success and points the way toward new and compelling -- if still amorphous -- territory between rhythmic and electronic improvisation.

As with past NoW releases, In a Space Outta Sound boasts an emphasis on sound architecture that requires expensive stereo equipment (or bucket loads of narcotics) to fully appreciate.

It doesn't rate with the best of Clem Snide, but Bitter Honey is a pleasant diversion and a nice way to fill the space between the group's releases.

The way that Mystics bounces back and forth between its ethereal and zany moments gives it a disjointed, uneven feel that makes the album a shade less satisfying than either Yoshimi or Soft Bulletin.

Meds is as bare and honest as Placebo has ever been.

There's a great amount of flash and polish, all wrapped up in a tight package.

Fans of Badly Drawn Boy's Have You Fed the Fish? and Doves' Some Cities should understand Adventures in the Underground Journey to the Stars.

This is a very good album.

A mature, thoughtful comeback.

The songwriting is strong enough and the arrangements appealing enough that We the Vehicles has a quiet pop charm all its own.

At this point it seems that Rainer Maria are much more modern rock than emo, but that doesn't mean that Catastrophe Keeps Us Together isn't a good album.

Doom metal fans will certainly approve of Witch's self-titled debut.

Unlike Dunger's previous albums, which tended to have a specific musical theme, there's a kind of scattered, everywhere at once quality to Here's My Song.

While it is obviously a showcase for Kotche's admirable skills as a drummer, more importantly it reveals his considerable abilities as a composer, too.

The album's press sheet draws comparisons to Prince's Dirty Mind and Too Short, and while that's not inaccurate, the references could just as easily be Digital Underground, Paris, Above the Law, E-40, late-'70s Parliament/Funkadelic, any previous Coup album, or just about any other funk-steeped rap album that has come from the West Coast.

The two couldn't be more at odds vocally, but Knopfler's laconic drawl is like an easy chair for Harris' fluid pipes.

Drowaton pulses with ideas and energy, and there doesn't seem to be a musical style beyond the Mints' grasp.

Even if Louder Now brings the mosh-pit fun ready to be embraced by new and old fans alike, an attempt to push themselves further would be more than welcomed.

The Loon is crafted like a true album; even if all the songs don't quite reach the level of its highlights, it all hangs together well.

Around is a bit spotty but when it works, it really works well.

At first, the album seems slightly anticlimactic and even perplexing, but upon repeated listens, All at Once shows that Young People remain fascinating.

[The songs] manage to be unified in a way that Young wanted Greendale to be but didn't quite pull off, yet they also stand on their own and are, overall, more memorable than those on Prairie Wind.

The bare-bone production combined with the relentless march of songs gives Stadium Arcadium the undeniable feel of wading through the demos for a promising project instead of a sprawling statement of purpose; there's not enough purpose here for it to be a statement.

Without Feathers may lack its predecessor's apocalyptic vision, but it's a new direction for a group that was heading down an awfully familiar -- and extremely congested -- road.

It's brief and even a little slight, but it's almost as much fun to listen to as it must have been to make.

If you haven't discovered Stereophonics' live show yet, Live from Dakota is a good place to start.

The musical portion of her songs... takes a distant second place to her lyrics. Which is fine, because her words are so engaging, but it wouldn't hurt her to experiment a little more with chord progressions or keys.

Ignore the clunky lyrics... and Gulag Orkestar is an infinitely more appealing album.

Even though Be Your Own Pet were more consistent, or maybe just easier to keep up with, on their EPs, there's still plenty of hyperactive fun (or rather, fuuuuuun) to be found here.

The work would not have been out of place on a more skeletal version of My Life in the Bush of Ghosts.

Unlike his early classics, Laugh Now stumbles occasionally and fails to keep the momentum going through the whole fourth quarter.

It's like listening to early New Order records for the first time, waiting for the next one with a little bit of excited anticipation to see what's going to happen next with every new song.

He makes his tracks entertaining, but he occasionally falls prey to a common trap -- educating the listeners but not enlightening them.

Listened to with an open mind, it's a refreshingly retro rock & roll album that uses its waste-oid imagination in capturing every fantasy that entered Bobby Gillespie's teenage mind.

Pleasant if undemanding listening.

If it weren't for the album's studio polish, it'd feel like an extremely well-recorded concert -- it has the ebb and flow of a good live set, and its expansive warmth ends up making its length work in its favor.

Die-hard fans might rush to judge Under the Iron Sea as sounding a bit too much like U2.

It's their simplicity and lack of pretense that's so refreshing to hear and what makes Free to Stay so listenable.

From nearly anyone else, The True False Identity would be a striking and adventurous work, but given Burnett's body of work, there's no arguing he can do better.

It's not earth-shaking, but it's far better than nearly any other reunion of this kind.

Her self-titled debut sounds a wee rushed and sometimes meanders its way into background music territory, but this comfortable effort is pleasingly homegrown, warm, and poignant in parts.

The album is a major production.

The record is very reminiscent of the Sounds' 2006 release Dying to Say This to You, because of the sassy, provocative vocals as well as the overall mood.

Necessary if you like that wikki-wikki-scratch; recommended if you enjoy impossible pop and hip-hop from the fringe.

Stevens constructed an alternate version of Illinois that is almost as good as the original.

Yes, Victory for the Comic Muse has its funny moments, its sad asides, and some of the now standard Nyman minimalist moments, but in the Divine Comedy's overall discography it's a rather slight and often flat affair with unfortunate suggestions that Hannon might have milked the comic cow dry.

Sound the Alarm is ultimately just another good Saves the Day record.

Like all Ron Sexsmith albums, Time Being is reliable and expertly crafted, and contains a handful of cuts that will kick around in your head until the next one swoops in to replace them.

A true alternative potpourri -- quite refreshing in a day and age where more often than not, rock bands stick closely to a single style/approach.

There's less of the wry humor Germano usually allows to shine through once in a while... This is also her least gauzy-sounding album since Slide... Despite these differences, In the Maybe World is still a strong addition to her body of work.

The only drawback for fans is this Golden Smog doesn't bear much aural resemblance to the band that made Down by the Old Mainstream and Weird Tales; then again, the bands who make up Golden Smog's membership don't sound much like they did back then, either, so that shouldn't come as much of a surprise.

At its core, it's moodier than most of his records.

While it's hard not to be overtaken with a sense of nostalgia while listening to this album if you knew these songs from back in the day, Phillips pulls them out of their original context and in the process reveals their strength is more timeless than one might have imagined.

The album is impressive, especially in small doses or when Steele reigns it in a bit, as on the pretty, bossa-nova tinged "Miles Away." As a whole, it's a sometimes exhausting listen.

Enough of Alright, Still works -- as pure pop and on the meta level Allen aims for -- to make the album a fun, summery fling, and maybe more.

The downside of Reprieve is that it isn't as musically arresting as earlier albums like Out of Range, and DiFranco, on a song like "Millennium Theater," can be rather obvious.

As a whole, Winter Women/Holy Ghost Language School is a lot to process at once, but untangling the mysteries of Friedberger's music feels like more fun than it has in a while.

They make honest indie rock for those looking for a solid, good song. There's no frills, no fancy production, just the purity of these songs.

With The Body, The Blood, The Machine the Thermals haven't made another thrilling noisy gem like More Parts Per Million, they've made an inspired and inspiring, semi-grown up indie rock record with more thought than thrills.

Fans of Bachmann's gruff Neil Diamond-meets-Steve Earle vocals and lonesome and literate subject matter will find everything they love about the Carolina native on display, while those who prefer his vocal affectations surrounded by the din of a full band should stick with his group efforts.

Despite it missing the fire of his first record, it's a worthy piece of work.

The uniformity of the album is at the expense of clear-cut standout tracks.

What makes it less successful than 1999's Kaleidoscope and 2003's Tasty is that it's extremely choppy and excessively long, and it doesn't have the range of emotions to match the varied backdrops.

The Outsider is a carefully crafted, artistically elusive mess -- far more scattershot than even his first UNKLE record (Psyence Fiction), but much more interesting for its excellent productions.

Sometimes Darkel seems in danger of floating away on its flights of fancy, suggesting that Godin gives some of Dunckel's more whimsical ideas some grounding when they work together as Air. Nevertheless, this is a lovely working holiday, full of songs as shimmery and delicate as bubbles, and their slightness doesn't make them any less enjoyable.

Ben Kweller treads the same path as Kweller's other work, but fortunately, it still sounds genuine, not formulaic.

Peaceful and undeniably pretty, this is an album that should please many Sparklehorse fans, even if it doesn't challenge them the way Good Morning Spider and It's a Wonderful Life's best moments did.

Some cuts, like the English murder ballad "Shankill Butchers" and "Summersong"... sound like outtakes from previous records, but by the time the listener arrives at the Donovan-esque (in a good way) closer, "Sons & Daughters," the less tasty bits of The Crane Wife seem a wee bit sweeter.

Depending on how much Robin Guthrie you want in your life, Continental is either redundant or another reason to love him.

Maybe by the time their next album rolls around they will be able to tame their influences into a more coherent-sounding body of work that will more fully represent their abilities.

It might not quite seem like what a Fantastic sequel should be -- in fact, it seems more like a sequel to its direct predecessor, 2004's Peachtree Road -- but that's hardly a bad thing.

Shine On is a good album that avoids the sophomore slump, but has enough moments of rote rocking to make the next record a worrisome prospect.

The feel is late night, on the edge of quiet, and full of pathos.

Merritt doesn't deviate from his signature lo-fi synth pop and brooding vocals, but he certainly sounds like he's having a whole lot of fun.

Though some might find it on the meek and lightweight side, many more will likely revisit Long Island Shores again and again.

While Once Again might not get as much attention as its predecessor, it's more assured and sounds nothing like an experiment to see what sticks.

It's one of the most mystical indie-pop surprises to arrive in 2006.

This captures a less self-conscious Oberst, which is often a better Oberst.

A little messier than its inspiration but with the same freewheeling spirit, the Walkmen's Pussy Cats feels like a musical wake, rooted in just having fun making music with friends.

Ultimately, Saturday Night Wrist is satisfying, though it may take a few listens given all the changes in individual cuts that tend to blur together the first time or two through.

No, Endless Wire is not perfect -- its parts don't quite fit together, and not all of the parts work on their own -- but it is an endearingly human, impassioned work that more than justifies Townshend's and Daltrey's decision to continue working as the Who.

For the most part, the ladies have chosen not to stray too far from their plainclothes rootsy sound, and while that may disappoint some fans, there's enough quality stuff here to light a fire in every train yard oil drum from Vancouver to Halifax.

This is a keeper, one of those records that you'll still be listening to in ten years.

9 is by no means a failure, or even bad, but it dulls in comparison to what Rice can really produce, which makes it disappointing overall.