Perhaps there are moments where texture trumps composition, but overall In a World Like This is a surprisingly mature and fine record from a former boy band that seems unafraid to act its age.

While Whirr never quite nail the Ride drum sound, MBV wooziness, or arid Slowdive mystery that they're going for on these tracks, the results are still strong, weaving a deeply textural sound that drifts along like a lazy canoe ride on the hottest day of the year.

Ultimately, the Civil Wars are impeccable craftsmen, taking weathered elements and repurposing them for something that feels new and never haunted by what came before.

Wide-eyed wonder still intact, there's a lot of depth to explore in the 30 minutes of Hobo Rocket, from bombastic glam, to chugging stoner rock, to colorful psychedelia--all of it odd as usual.

All in all, Zero is an ambitious album that's amazing not just in how well done it is for a post-hardcore concept record, but in the way it shows that Hawthorne Heights aren't afraid to take risks 12 years into a long and successful career.

More cohesive and profound at times than the records that preceded it, the album sets a tone masterfully, and lingers contentedly and without rush, allowing the listener to drop in and sit for a spell with Jones as he ruminates on his various lush instrumental moods.

Perhaps it can be too sweet, too cloying at times, but it's warm and ingratiating, suggesting The Blow Monkeys can ease into a convincing middle age.

Forward is a delightful return that focuses on the Heavies' love of smooth late-'70s/early-'80s sounds.

Although Bloodlines takes its time to get under your skin, when it does, it sinks in deep.

Perhaps the most tightly performed Joan of Arc material, Testimonium Songs feels less like a proper album and more like a sidebar, deeply aligned with the harsh tones of Reznikoff's bleak poems.

Personal Appeal, as inconsistent and slapdash as it is, probably serves as the most accurate overview of Moore's overwhelming back catalog of obscured freak-outs and cracked pop gems.

Not everything works on Imps of Perversion, but it's still a strong second album that broadens Pop. 1280's horizons without sacrificing their pummeling impact.

With Big TV, White Lies combine the urgent passions of their debut with the conceptual ambitions of their sophomore effort and by doing so, make the best album of their career.

It's an impressive debut from a very promising group.

The album's more intimate moments, such as "The Swollen Map" and "Down in the Liverpool Stream," have just as much impact as the showier ones, and reaffirm that Pinkunoizu have gained more than they lost by paring down a bit on The Drop.

Formed via a craigslist ad, the band's internal anonymity is hardly relative with regard to its cohesiveness, as each track on the brainy yet intuitive Dark Eyes sounds like the sum of its parts, but there is enough space between those parts to suggest a sort of unspoken agreement to avoid any sort of showboating.

Despite being a shade too long, this is a solid endeavor that asks many questions even as spins its tales.

Perpetual Surrender's highlights might have had more impact if they were collected on an EP, but DIANA have a unique enough perspective--and enough potential--to make the album worth a listen for anyone who loves synth pop in any of its incarnations.

Warp & Weft displays Veirs' sophisticated songcraft (though "America" falls short for its obviousness) is adorned by diverse textures, expert musicianship, and a generous use of space; it's almost almost perfectly balanced.

By maintaining forward momentum while having so much going on in every song, the band makes Shaky Dream an album that provides plenty of depth without sacrificing accessibility, striking a fine balance between catchy melodies and murky atmospherics.

The only real misstep on the extremely likable Absolute Zero is the forgettable "Red and Blue," a perfectly good song that's ruined by an oppressive (and dated) amount of Auto-Tune, a gimmick that should never be wasted on people who can actually sing.

Dog Party may be music biz vets already, but this is their true coming-of-age moment and anyone interested in punky pop (or poppy punk if you prefer to look at it that way) should seek out Lost Control right away and stay tuned to see what the Giles sisters do in the future.

As it stands, this is a strangely seductive record, filled with remarkable musical peaks, and proof positive that an ambitious sophomore departure can be wholly satisfying.

Adiós I'm a Ghost falls somewhere between the band's critically lauded sophomore release Tidelands, which was full of thoughtful atmospherics, and the looser, rowdier debut album Don't Be a Stranger.

Hero Brother is a carefully conceived yet relaxed presentation of a fairly startling series of works that reveal the versatility and considerable creative depth of a composer/soloist who has been hiding in plain sight all along.

While his imagery-laden, generally safe distillation of American roots rock leans harder on the AOR/soft rock side of the railroad tracks, it's a train that is worth boarding for a stop or two, if only to admire the lovely view.

Although From Death to Destiny might alienate some fans, the album's more grown-up sound gives them a newfound accessibility that is sure to open them up to a whole new audience hungry for some new heavy jams.

While Allen either wrote or co-wrote all the tracks on the album, it's his stellar and flexible guitar work that is the highlight.

Carrier ends up being a remarkably balanced meditation on joy and loss, as well as one of the more nuanced albums in Dodos' body of work.

Taken together, they're still a bit of a mess but the joy in The Third Eye Centre is that it presents Belle & Sebastian at their most human and ungainly.

Fifteen cuts means this one is fat with an "f" and a bit too cumbersome to convert on first listen, but the sophomore slump this is not, meaning anyone who devoured Sean's debut should re-up with this one.

Even when AATM feels like it is coming straight out of left field, it is highly entertaining.

Yeah, there are electric guitars everywhere, and this is a nice-sounding band, but, given the caliber of the talent, it would seem the songs should be better instead of just bounce-offs for guitar pyrotechnics.

While he still peppers his rock anthems with flourishes from an adept jazz-informed horn section, Electric Slave is his most primitive album to date.

Maintaining momentum with ruggedly catchy pop tunes sticking out among the more spaced-out garage psych explorations, Ages takes its place in the storied Flying Nun lineage without sounding solely like a replica of previous chapters.

Between the Day-Glo commercial sounds, the glassy house and disco tracks, and Melidis' penchant for completely disjointed found sounds, Years Not Living becomes a subtle but distinct collage, and a catalog of grooves in a constant state of pleasant disruption by his collection of otherworldly noises and samples.

Repave is anything but showy. It's a pretty type of album that washes over you, made up of slow burners that melt like hot wax.

The results sound more natural than risky and the entire album finds a nice place between the direct and the obtuse.

Ultimately, while it's the hum of Allan's inner demons that drives most of the album, there's no white noise on Later...When the TV Turns to Static.

Lead singer Duncan Campbell does a fine job on his second album after the departure of his brother Ali, and with inspired song choices meeting an inspired band, Getting Over the Storm doesn't come off as a gimmick but a gift.

As inspirational as Bikini Kill's life-affirming blasts of punk could be, they were never as accessible and simply fun as the '80s synth pop modes of Run Fast, which somehow manage to be equal parts poetic, provocative, moving and enjoyable.

Thematically, Múm return to contrasting innocence and danger.

Only "Pot of Gold" falls short of being a winner because honestly, no one on earth can make sub-Starship '80s rock sound good. The rest is darn good though, and shows that Rado has more ideas than one band can hold, and also the skills to turn them into little nuggets of weirdo pop gold.

Snapshot might be more successful at reassuring rock fans of a certain age that some young people find sounds three or four times older than them exciting than it is at getting kids excited about bluesy rock. Taken on its own terms, though, it's a solid debut from a band that can only benefit from more experience.

Similar in style and cadence to their previous outing, Meet Me at the Edge of the World falls somewhere between the rural, antebellum folk of Gillian Welch, the evocative, sepia-toned eccentricity of Tom Waits, and the soulful ache of Lucinda Williams.

The release is among the group's most accessible material, even if their tendency toward goth romance and arch fantasy are still very much intact.

While the acoustic renditions of the songs certainly have a more pastoral and contemplative feeling about them, Yellowcard still manage to keep the energy that made the album so vital when it was released in 2003.

Although at times they come close to overshadowing the subtle instrumentation provided by Major and Dan Rothman, it’s actually the intrinsic balance between the contributions of all three that defines their sound.

It's undoubtedly steadier and unified [than its self-titled debut], built for beginning-to-end listening.

With Dream River, fans already know what to expect from the man lyrically, and it can't be argued with qualitatively. When you place those lyrics in the context of something so subtly adventurous musically, the result is both engaging and seductive.

For all the piecemeal recording, technological obsession and sheer ambition on the Fuse, Urban manages to fashion it all into a (mostly) working whole and maintain his identity as a contemporary country artist, even as he reaches for the mainstream pop fences.

The result is a bookend to that 2010 release [Just Across the River], with the same feel and makeup.

Imitations is a fine collection that reveals the depth of the songs through the openness and considerable skill of the singer.

Burying emotional depth and even sensitivity beneath healthily sarcastic sounds, alienated lyrics, and cheeky titles like "Comfortably Dumb," Terry Malts have made an unassumingly sophisticated album.

Imperium offers plenty of haunting moments that make it very much a Captured Tracks album, as well as one that grows in power with repeated listening.

With just the right balance of brooding and brightness, Dream Cave is one of those albums that seems tailor-made for rainy day reflection, with Cloud Control giving listeners just the push they need to go into their own heads and look around for a bit.

Fans of early Islands albums may feel Ski Mask to be a little on the morose side, but anyone who's ever had a heartbreak can appreciate what Thorburn is going through and admire how tunefully and truthfully he's dealing with it.

There may not be anything challenging here, but even though the lyrics are abstract ("Why don't you call the cops/Wild eyes, you don't have to be good") and the song titles can be misleading ("Harrison Ford"), at the core these are just love songs, and sometimes love is best kept uncomplicated.

While some bands need that kind of safety net, these guys excel without it, making Dead Language an album that's sure to please fans of the band's live set.

Having grabbed their career by the horns with Mechanical Bull, it's clear that Kings of Leon aren't letting it get away from them anytime soon.

Rufus Wainwright's "Jimbo Jambo," an example of the jaunty exoticism of the age that might be a little troubling to modern listeners. On the whole, however, Boardwalk Empire, Vol. 2 is an expansive, entertaining soundtrack that captures just how thoroughly the show crafts its mood and atmospheres.

It's still a label sampler at heart, so a pre-love of platinum gangsta music and that slick Maybach sound are still advised.

Nothing Was the Same doesn't show large amounts of growth, but the small changes to the sound and the slightly wider net his lyrics cast make it worthwhile.

While it's no shock that the bandmembers had an album like this in them after all this time, Saves the Day's effervescence makes for a pleasant surprise, giving listeners a brief escape from their day into a world filled with poppy hooks and sparkling melody.

Is Survived By features more of the Los Angeles hardcore outfit's furious, passionate, intensely personal sound.

While a few more songs on this level would have taken Hell Bent from good to great, the vibrancy Potty Mouth bring to angsty reflections like "Sleep Talk" and kiss-offs like "Shithead" (one of the few times the band actually sounds riot grrrl-ish) makes it the kind of album listeners can take to heart.

All People is about feeling good and hopeful. Split this collection of peace and sunshine down the middle for greatest effect.

There is no doubt that Scattergood is deeply connected to the journey that she voyages through on Arrows, and it's clear that only a small future refinement would result in more songs like the shimmering electro-pop of "Subsequently Lost."

There is a whiff of condescension to some of the blue-collar anthems, the air is often haughty ("The Night the Pugilist Learned How to Dance")--but this is Sting's tightest collection of songs in ages, and they all play off each other, adding up to a cohesive whole that is surely one of his best latter-day records.

When the Devil Wears Prada strays from the typical modern metal formula with progressive ideas, the results are almost always favorable, and 8:18 finds the sextet at their most provocative and heavy.

Mark Lanegan's deep, weathered voice is relatively (rightfully) unornamented and dissipates amid soft drones after "Here come the lonely night…can't escape my mind." It helps make Innocents Moby's most powerful work in several years.

Unapologetically sullen and raw, Girls Like Us is a strong debut from a band with a lot to offer.

While still plenty noisy and messy-headed, Sky Larkin sound their most organized on Motto, and the deeper focus they apply to their energetic sounds is what makes the end results work better than any of their previous albums.

The mood album implied by the title is really a mood EP waiting to be extracted, but approach it as a normal Kaskade effort with a bit more risk and a bit more richer music and the rewards will follow suit.

Reflektor is as fascinating as it is frustrating, an oddly compelling miasma of big pop moments and empty sonic vistas that offers up a (full-size) snapshot of a band at its commerical peak, trying to establish eye contact from atop a mountain.

In its best moments, Fuzz will have listeners forgetting Segall is part of the equation at all, the album's brooding heaviness more immediately moving than any of his distinctive sonic ticks.

Bangerz's take on R&B is most convincing when it's balanced with Cyrus' country and pop roots.

These are songs that build in slow, flowing layers held together by dusky, swirling keyboard parts and Boldt's low, everyman baritone vocals.

Another solid album.

K2O plays like an extended groove, and while the addition of guest percussionists makes it feel more like a band jam than a bedroom recording, the instrumentation never flares up enough to break the listener from a trance. Instead, the setting-sun artwork sums up the vibe for an album that Price himself elegantly describes as "fuzzy lullabies."

A sort of cosmic, high-def honky tonk that for the most part proves tasty, injecting some much needed brevity into windy frontman Eric Earley's colorful yet often perfunctory tales of sin and redemption.

In the end, Jackson's foray into bluegrass seems easy and natural, as if he'd been playing it all along.

Sleigh Bells' studies in contrasts aren't shocking anymore, but the fact that they sound more natural on Bitter Rivals makes this some of their most enjoyable music since Treats.

A self-titled EP in 2011 yielded three lengthy songs of the duo's wild combination of airy atmospheres and menacing fuzz, but debut full-length Psychic moves into more compositional territory, though it remains drifty and narcotic in ways similar to its predecessor.

Song for song, The Blow is arguably a more consistent set of songs than Paper Television was, but its aloof wit ultimately makes for slightly smaller pleasures than what came before it.

It gives old-schoolers a reason to dust off their jungle hoodies and drum'n'bass shoes, while the 2013 set get a bottom-heavy, funky, and passionate alternative to the current crop of bright EDM and light indie electronica.

Less of a preview of things to come than a few extra songs, Tally All the Things That You Broke still offers enjoyable evidence of what makes Parquet Courts unique and exciting.

[A] likeable, meandering, bedroom parlor-pop outing.

For fans, the first disc has plenty of exciting material to offer: it sounds great, the writing is excellent, there are new musical directions, and, as expected, there is terrific playing throughout.

Even if More Is Than Isn't doesn't flow as well as his previous efforts, this everything-and-the-kitchen-sink experience is dazzling, always leaving the listener wondering what might come next.

It's the type of album that will be most apt to impress aspiring producers, but also hip enough that it could serve as a backing soundtrack for a dinner party too.

Oh Land's schizophrenic blend of girly club beats, icy electro-pop, and wistful balladry falls somewhere between Grimes, Lykke Li, Goldfrapp, and Robyn, and while it doesn't always work, it never stops working hard to get there.

Perhaps the Avetts are best when they run a little bit loose and ragged, letting the tempos push a little bit hard, allowing their harmonies to clash and happy to have their loose ends remain untied. Often, this means that the ballads are just a shade too tidy.

Let’s Be Still engages the most when it tiptoes outside of its comfort zone.

The 70-minute length of To All the Girls does make the album feel a little samey, but that can be a good thing, as it makes for nice, romantic mood music or a drowsy Sunday afternoon at home.

Throughout the album, he finds ways to expand on the intimacy he hinted at on The Inner Mansions, delivering one of Teen Daze's best balances of atmosphere and songwriting in the process.

Scotty's redefinition of himself as a sports bar-hopping bro is plainly shameless but, strangely enough, See You Tonight works, partially due to the Rogers-shepherded collection of cheerful country-pop but also due to the malleability of McCreery's dude-next-door persona.

Some other experiments only warrant a B or B+ and the whole jumble might feel odd to a newcomer, but since it is mostly returning fans at this late point in the discography, Head Up High earns its title with only one or two flicks of the skip button.