For all the collective and wonderful helium hysteria to be had, it has to be said that the pre-album release "Moon Jocks N Prog Rocks" does steal the show in the end.

It may be only four songs long, but Vasquez makes up for its small size by packing even more ominous drones and evil-sounding synths into it.

Love: Part 2 winds up as the group's most effective album yet: it channels their '80s hero worship into something propulsive and distinctive.

This kind of constant drive away from the more watered-down sound of a lot of their post-grunge contemporaries and toward metal is something that allows Five Finger Death Punch to stand out in a genre that's easy to get lost in.

Wright sounds terrific, navigating through the upbeat, attitudinal jams and slower, romantic cuts with finesse and strength.

Both Ways... fuses folk, indie rock, electronica, and avant-garde pop with unusual percussion including bottle tops, plants, and saucepans.

The Solitude of Prime Numbers is not only unique to his catalog, it is a singular work that testifies to his growth not only as a composer and recording artist but as a conceptual one, whose expansive vision has evolved to include discipline and refinement as well as ambition.

The funny thing about Western Teleport is how it sounds and feels like a full band creating something multilayered.

It may not be a formula designed for critical acclaim or longevity, but pop music has always been exactly like this and HCR would make Bobby Vee, the Archies, and the New Radicals proud.

He sounds at peace with his past and comfortable with his present, and that casual assurance makes Songbook his best solo offering to date.

The whole idea of Birdy sounds like a transparent attempt to court a more credible audience, but thanks to her haunting tones and a tasteful yet compelling production, it impressively avoids being the try-hard affair you'd expect.

Ultimately, Christmas is a warm and inviting album that showcases Bublé's impeccable vocal chops.

After 15 years, Boris are doing exactly what they should with fascinating if uneven results: testing their limits as a band and expanding their sonic horizons.

Decas isn't a great place for new fans to pick up with As I Lay Dying, but for those who have been around the block a few times with these guys, it's an album that they won't want to miss out on.

A pure speaker-blowing party record, Biasonic Hotsauce is a vast improvement on Bias' previous effort, but it's difficult to see it making any waves outside the South London underground scene.

Adhering to the old-school MC/producer approach, Well-Done is a promising and cohesive affair which proves Bronson has the raw talent to match his much talked about appetite.

But while it's sometimes a little too understated for its own good, 100 Acres of Sycamore is a never less than a charming and emotive U-turn suggesting that Regan now realizes where his talents lie.

The man's overuse of Auto-Tune is now a given, and here it coats all of his heartfelt moments with robotic perfection, but it is surprising how T-Pain's gigantic producer hat remains off save a handful of cuts.

There's plenty of weird, surrealist fun to be had on their debut album.

Keep Your Dreams is, for the most part, a breath of fresh air suggesting that two pairs of Aussie DJ hands are certainly better than one.

Front to back, Relentless, Reckless Forever is probably the most consistent Children of Bodom release yet.

A wonderfully imaginative score which deserves some recognition come awards season.

While Dead Son Rising isn't likely to propel him back into the mainstream, it's an impressively bold affair that ensures his cult status will remain intact.

Bestival Live 2011 is an understandably honest reflection of the Cure in the popular mind as their commercial high point recedes further into the past, but given Smith and the band's other contemporaneous activities, it's an incomplete portrait.

Hazed Dream is the band's subtlest album as well as its most accessible, and its low-key pleasures reveal themselves over time.

It's a curious creature with habits of its own, though the results suggest they shouldn't end this grand experiment just yet.

The target audience should think of it as a bag marked "regs" that comes with no organic flavor or transcendent buzz, but is easy to roll and surprisingly dank.

What could have been a throwaway side project has instead turned out to be a quietly charming and affectionate labor of love that hopefully won't be the last collaboration between the two.

Bootleg, Vol. 3 showcases what we already know (intellectually, at least) about Cash in a very emotional and visceral way.

This unforgiving return to form doesn't suffer from being over-thought and it's not even overwrought, but it is overstuffed at 14 tracks.

The best moments are bathed in a warm radiance that fosters a comforting, uplifting mood.... However, the content isn't exclusively cerebral, uplifting, and/or surreal.

Epic riffs play a bigger part than before, but Abasi is as jaw-dropping as ever with his double-tapping technique and arpeggiated whirlwind solos.

Turns out Odd Future benefits greatly from this duo anchoring their wild universe, as Purple Naked Ladies is one of the collective's more sensual and sensible releases to date.

Let's Go Eat the Factory is hardly a triumph, but it's a step in the right direction for Pollard, as well as confirmation that this group of friendly reprobates still has some good work left in them.

Perhaps keen to avoid their one-hit wonder status, follow-up Future This eschews their original experimental ambitions by shamelessly attempting to repeat its success.

If it isn't as strong as 2009's Something's Wrong/Lost Forever, it shows Biram is too tough and too stubborn to quit telling his tales any time soon, and for folks who like their music rough and real, that's a rare bit of good news.

Warts and all, this is one of the strongest albums in Wiley's already impressive catalog.

After 25 years, the Mighty Mighty Bosstones remain pretty much the best at what they do, and what they do remains lots and lots of fun.

Trailer Trash Tracys' try-anything attitude overpowers the actual songs, but that doesn't stop Ester from being a fascinating and often haunting debut that just whets the appetite for more.

[Songs on her album] do little to tarnish her well-earned reputation as a D.I.Y. force of nature.

These original songs may be recently written, but they are steeped in familiar structures, with lyrics full of references to drinking and loose women.

While this may not make instant fans out of their haters, This Means War will certainly give them something to consider.

If the intended result for fans is just hearing the combination of Davies' arch lyrics with Matthews' majestic arrangements and occasional breathy backing vocals, then it's mission accomplished.

The album is scattershot to its last breath, but the thrill of watching this hood star threaten to supernova is a real high.

The lead track and "In the Middle (I Met You There)" are two of Dear's sharper avant-pop songs....The back half, "Street Song" and "Around a Fountain," are elusive sketch-like tracks with slightly unsettling ambience.

Attack on Memory is another fine snapshot of a band that is growing and playing as fast as they can.

For the most part, The Lion's Roar is a mesmerizing listen that--alongside recent releases from the likes of the Tallest Man on Earth and Anna Ternheim--suggests the Swedish folk scene is currently hitting something of a purple patch.

On their seventh outing, Resolution, Lamb of God prove once again that the right ratio of barnstorming riffs and relentless intensity is all you need to make a solid album.

Ultimately, U&I's brashness is more intriguing than confounding, with a freshness that reaffirms Leila as a thoughtful and challenging producer.

Most of the artists here perform a similar trick, choosing love songs over protests, keeping things intimate instead of anthemic. Naturally, there are exceptions to the rule, but the scales on Chimes of Freedom are tipped toward pretty stripped-down sincerity.

It's an impressively timeless debut that suggests Howard should have no problem standing out from the overpopulated nu-folk crowd.

When Human Again ditches the feel-good stuff and goes straight into drama-queen territory, though, it feels like we're finally getting to watch Michaelson come to grips with her broken heart, realizing that the only way to make things better is to fix the damn thing herself.

The drumming that helps ground it all is elastic and malleable, making this follow-up a more successful and well-rounded album that seems to be just the beginning of something really good.

Invitation documents Dominant Legs' sound as it jells into something they can call their own; even when it isn't strikingly original, it's always enjoyable.

Vanity Is Forever maintains this same general feeling throughout its 12 songs, often feeling as if it's set in a coffee house on an easygoing ocean liner being filmed for a video in 1984.

cta is Hit the Lights' ultimate bid for mainstream acceptance and also the quintet's strongest album to date.

A subtle but confident change in direction, Have Some Faith in Magic suggests Mogwai better start looking over their shoulders.

These jaunty experiments are some of Hagerty's most insular work in a while, but that doesn't make Wilson Semiconductors any less enjoyable.

Familiar they may be, but some credit has to go to De Backer for managing to weave these eclectic retro sounds into a cohesive affair.

The result is an album that manages to sound both elegant and organic, like classical music made by people living off the land.

The Coldest Winter for a Hundred Years may not be the most cheerful record you'll hear all year, but it's one which proves that a curmudgeonly middle age demeanor isn't a barrier to producing triumphant indie pop.

While it doesn't quite live up to their early hype, it's still an encouraging first offering, suggesting that they might do with album number two.

Those only aware of Pepe Deluxé through their Levi-assisted one-hit wonder won't know what hit them, but fans who have continued to keep up with their abstract brand of electronica should enjoy most of the ride.

Blues Funeral, while an adventurous, strident, and complex album, will likely polarize longstanding Lanegan fans; but if they can't follow him into this new terrain, it's their problem.

As with much of their late-career output, Old Mad Joy begs for a few spins before it reveals its charms.

A brave and uncompromising debut, Always Want is an always intriguing listen which appears to have fulfilled the potential of her fairy tale beginnings.

Improvisations is probably easier to enjoy, with the extended format offering a more broadly sympathetic palette for Osborne's forbiddingly austere aesthetic.

Tramp offers plenty for listeners to enjoy as she goes.

No One Can Ever Know reaffirms that the Twilight Sad are unafraid of challenging themselves or their listeners, and for better or worse, there's something admirable about that uncompromising attitude.

It's not a deep, demanding album, but it is a pleasant, often charming listen.

What Happened to the La Las kicks off the new partnership with a mix of heady Southern rock and rootsy, festival-friendly funk.

Of Montreal grow less accessible with Paralytic Stalks, but it's respectable how unconcerned Barnes seems with anything besides staying true to his freakily fractured vision.

In its own way, Onwards to the Wall is just as exciting as Exploding Head was, managing to sum up the band's sound and move forward at the same time.

Six Cups of Rebel is chock-full of the kind of bizarre, cartoonish, sci-fi lunacy and cheekily maximalist, gonzo musical odysseys they've made their stock-in-trade.

A calling-card track like their debut's "Enter the Ninja" is absent, making this album more an exciting celebration for established fans than an easy entry point.

It delivers the goods with its collection of summery jams while keeping nothing, not even the chord progressions, secret.

Each track has its own kind of hushed and easy-flowing grace to it.

It's a much more focused and intriguing follow-up that may provide a much-needed shot in the arm for the guitar-bass-drums three-piece formula.

A listen to Melt clearly conveys their wider world-view and is as ambitious as it is engaging (and a real treat to hear on headphones, to boot).

Whichever era Foster picks and chooses from, Let It Burn always feels utterly timeless.

Anyone with a little distance from their own pain will find much to admire in the honesty and craft of the album.

The third outing from the Punch Brothers picks up right where 2010's Antifogmatic left off, offering up another quality set of offbeat sophisti-grass that blends the whirlwind musicianship of Béla Fleck & the Flecktones, the spirited delivery of the Louvin Brothers, and the cinematic urban melancholy of Jeff Buckley into a sometimes impenetrable but always fascinating.

The Something Rain's grace, elegance, and beauty are enhanced throughout by its subtle but certain spirit of chance.

The dynamics of accessible songwriting mingling with weird breakdowns and abrupt production jumps make sure the songs are always engaging enough to keep the listener riveted, even when the saga of the twins starts to lose the plot.

Roses may not immediately grab hold--and it's lacking one strong single to pull listeners in--but it's well-constructed adult pop that's unashamed of being either adult or pop.

When White hits the target--and he does so more often than he misses--he's still a singular musical artist with a singular vision, and he's not even close to running out of stories on Where It Hits You.

It seems designed to hover in the background, covering the sound of clinking glassware and forks tapping plates and blending smoothly with subdued conversation.

They remain faithful to the New Orleans musical ideal in the sense that they turn everything they play into celebratory party music.

Nothing here reinvents country, but what the Dirt Drifters do is sound natural and grounded with their sound.

While it's understandable that The Thousandfold Epicentre's broader canvas may require a little more time for digestion than 2009's The Time of No Time Evermore, and certainly 2008's kick-upside-the-head Come Reap EP, there's no shortage of creativity or entertainment to be found here.

They do add a distinct Norwegian metal patina to the whole affair, resulting in a listening experience that can feel a little like cueing up tracks from At the Gates, Black Flag, and Dimmu Borgir, and then pressing play on all three, which is not necessarily a bad thing.

Growth since his previous effort is obvious, both for the good (writing skills) and an arguable definition of bad (Penthouse Forum might even balk at some of the aggressive sex talk here).

A rather ramshackle collection of rarities, The Second Three Years is perhaps more for his long-term fan base rather than any new converts, but it's an intriguing listen that suggests Turner's slow-burning rise to fame could reach even loftier heights.

Beautifully crafted, if slightly inconsistent, Underrated Silence is undoubtedly still more of a mood setter than a head-bobber, but it's a far more challenging and ultimately rewarding listen than your average chill-out fare.

Hairdresser Blues offers a more intimate window in to a more down-to-earth personal world, allowing room for that enormous persona to be folded back into the greater sum of Bogart's infectious songwriting personality.

Check the Preview EP for a better introduction, but if you're a fan, Breakfast is a great way to start the day.

New Multitudes, on the other hand, aims for a darker and more introspective tone, and when Farrar takes center stage, he unwittingly reveals his Achilles' Heel--no matter who he works with, he insists on dominating the musical conversation, and when his co-writer has been dead since 1967, there's not much hope for any real balance.

Taken as a whole, Ternion is a strong step forward for the band, one that takes them to the front of the line of bands looking to re-create the sounds, and more importantly, the feel of classic synth pop.