Although Guest's interpretations work well as an accompaniment piece, it's the return-to-form original (also included here in its entirety) which remains the more essential listen.

Go Tell Fire to the Mountain is surprisingly just a little too ordinary to be considered the groundbreaker many anticipated.

In the Grace of Your Love is the band's most powerful and vital album thus far.

The only downside to the album is that the songs begin to blend together a little by the end, but in a comfortably warm way instead of a boring, take-the-record-off-now kind of way.

Deep it is not, and its aspirations to be something greater keep it from being truly trashy fun, but there are enough energy and hooks to keep Money and Celebrity entertaining.

Everything's easy and natural, and the Stepkids sound more like purveyors of the genre than imitators. Quite an accomplishment.

Over-processed and chaotic it may be, but never bereft of invention, Complete Me is always an intriguing listen that confirms the arrival of one of the U.K. dance scene's most exciting talents.

Since he's operating on a small scale, none of this soars or rocks--the way In Reverse or Girlfriend did, respectively--yet the charm of Modern Art is its intimacy.

A quietly remarkable debut, The Year of Hibernation is equally suited to hiding underneath the covers and throwing them off to face the day.

Zig Zaj sounds more like a rehash than the entirely new recipe that music fans are undoubtedly looking for.

Keeping such a schizophrenic affair entertaining and connected is a feat in itself, and Spank Rock's second album shows that, despite long odds, Juwan can succeed on his own terms.

As a whole, it feels a bit too laid-back, especially given its nearly 70-minute length.

Hunt has outdone himself, and it's possible he's just getting started.

So judge not, indie rockers and other self-satisfied musical tribes: any way you slice it, the aging rock audience is hungry and, flawed as they may be, Chickenfoot are just the guys to feed them.

Sweetheart of the Sun is a remarkably good record that comes long after anyone may have expected the Bangles to do anything much at all.

4everevolution is an appropriately titled, subtle progression which proves that intelligent hip-hop and accessible urban pop don't have to be mutually exclusive, and in the process, Roots Manuva has produced his best record since his 2001 breakthrough, Run Come Save Me.

As with their other work, In Heaven is intriguing but not completely satisfying, but that intrigue is tantalizing enough to keep listeners guessing.

It's the Mekons' most accomplished bit of record making in some time.

MacFarlane and McNeely don't attempt to ape the pizzazz of Frank's Reprise years, nor do they spend much time with May's snazzy snap, they stick with Riddle and Jenkins, keeping things sentimental and lush even when the words crackle with wit.

It's an album that doesn't really need to peak, as it never promises a thing it can't back up, boldly and loudly.

Perhaps blink could stand to sharpen their words but it's better that they concentrated on their music, creating a fairly ridiculous yet mildly compelling prog-punk spin on the suburbs here.

It's the type of album that can be enjoyed on the surface, as pleasant background listening, or as a deeply immersive experience.

Take a couple listens, let it sink in, and then discover that Cole World is one hell of a debut.

Dee Dee had to change, the change was good, and it led to a fine, grown-up guitar pop record.

Quite simply, this is the work of a great band at the peak of their powers, and The Whole Love is a joy to hear, revealing more with each listen and confirming once again that Wilco is as good a band as American can claim in the 21st century.

Throughout it all, Rimes hits her marks with ease, and the new version of her breakthrough hit "Blue" illustrates just how far she's come--how she's become a stronger, more nuanced singer over the years.

They've managed an interesting blend of that style with the free-form structures of film soundtracking, the results of which are intriguing although rarely crucial.

Disappointingly, it's a much slicker but ultimately formulaic affair which appears to tick every current, chart-friendly sound going.

This is revolution music; worthy of dancing to, learning from, and singing along with: who says topical music has to be boring?

His debut's failure to capitalize on his unique selling point means it's likely to leave everyone else nonplussed.

The album stays firmly planted in the post-punk/synth pop wheelhouse, which means that it's incredibly consistent, but not necessarily surprising, which could be a good or bad thing for fans, depending on whether they prefer their debut or their sophomore album.

Celebrity musical pairings rarely lead to innovation or excitement, but Duets II is an enjoyable celebration of what Tony Bennett has meant to pop music, and what he can bring out in any star vocalist he steps up to the microphone with.

Perhaps if the album actually had some kineticism to its eclecticism, or at least a hook or a tune, it would earn its wannabe evangelism, but the untrammeled indulgence turns this into a gaudy multicolored circus.

Mockingbird Time is a simple but richly rewarding example of what the Jayhawks do better than anyone, and serves as a potent reminder that they're one of the finest American bands of their time.

Entertaining castoffs, but not his best work by far.

Sweeter benefits from greater textures in his surroundings, stronger hooks in the melodies, and, for once, a sensibility that doesn't sacrifice the present for the sake of paying respect to the past.

All admirable attempts at honesty, yet these confessionals bear an uncomfortable resemblance to Lindsay Lohan's autobiographical A Little More Personal (Raw).

If Jones' performances and compositions over the years have touched on themes of yearning and the past, with a soft echo into the present day, then it stand all the more to reason why the album title and the cover art--a guitar-playing cat, looking at the moon--should sum up the feeling of The Wanting so well.

Elsie functions best as a display of Fallon's underused bottom register and acoustic songwriting skills, proving that slowing things down once in a while can still be a punk rock move.

Wolves in the Throne Room continue to do the genre proud with contributions such as this.

The album sounds effortless and truly organic in the best sense of the word, like four people blending together to make one perfectly formed sound.

Seasons on Earth is a poetic, thoroughly engaging set from a now-mature songwriter, whose confidence in her musical language is as poetic as it is authoritative.

The end effect is ultimately liberating, letting Nurses explore something more than the late-2000s indie cul-de-sac they'd found themselves in previously.

A hypnotic, wickedly sexy bit of folk-funk delivered at the tempo of a rambling, acid-soaked desert caravan, the track--as with the rest of Minnesota--leaves you pondering Jennings' poetic intent like a dark mirage spied in the late summer sun.

In addition to proving once and for all that Hughes can stand on his own as a rock & roller, Honkey Kong meets the main requirement of all of the previous albums Hughes has appeared on. It's a rockin' good time.

It's enough of a reinvention to suggest that Britney will know what to do when the teen-pop phenomenon of 1999-2001 passes for good.

It contains the power and dynamics and splendor of her very best material, but because it is a work of classical crossover, any expectation of pop hooks or singalong choruses will be met with disappointment; consequently, its sophistication, elegance, and poetry will reward anyone who takes the proper time to absorb it.

Heritage, for its many excesses--and stellar conception and execution--is a brave album. It opens the door for Opeth to pursue many new directions and reinvent themselves as a band.

Given what a mixed bag tribute albums usually are, Dedicated is not only a surprise for its consistency, but a shining example of what they can--and should--be.

If The World Is Just a Shape to Fill the Night came out in a year when it seemed like there were even more sensitive folkie records than ever before, it also succeeds more than most of its contemporaries by virtue of its differing reference points.

Black and White is a refreshingly personal, authentic, and fresh take on a British urban scene that was starting to become slightly stale.

This may be Ladytron's most difficult album, but it's also one of their most cohesive.

The good news is that this album proves they are top-level purveyors of pop. The bad is that the eccentricity that once flowed freely feels forced.

If they keep making records as good as Mountaintops, they will have totally earned their gold watch and pension when they call it a day.

Nick would benefit from getting his feathers a little ruffled -- just a smidgeon of the lean country-rock of The Impossible Bird would go a long way -- yet there's still plenty of charm in the old crooner.

What follows is a lovingly balanced set of rural rockers ("Street Fighting Sun") and dirt road ballads ("Girl in a Coat") that sound about as far from the murky introspection of 2010's Destroyer of the Void as one would expect from a band that continuously tries to reinvent themselves within their own psych-folk/alt-country/indie rock universe, and almost always succeeds.

Era Extrana's lavish electro-pop proves that Neon Indian can be more than just chillwave.

Indeed, many of Portamento's songs are kind of miserable -- or at least they would be, if these knowing, glum lyrics weren't paired with naïve melodies and tempos that are too brisk to be mopey.

Three albums in, the young singer/songwriter sounds brave and confident yet breakable and guarded, and while A Creature I Don't Know may not be the bolt from the blue fans and critics were hoping for, it's most certainly storm born.

So, Own the Night is mood music but the aim isn't amorous; it's nothing more than a spot of relaxation, which doesn't quite amount to compelling listening no matter how immaculate the execution.

With West, WS plays post-history psychedelia; it is as necessary -- and freaky -- as anything from the eras that influenced it.

Polished yet heartfelt, Paradise finds Slow Club shoring up their strengths and exploring new territory with equal

Alice may be the star but much of the success of Welcome 2 My Nightmare is due to the man behind the curtain, as Ezrin gives this album flair and focus that not only make it an unexpectedly successful sequel but the best Alice Cooper record in decades.

Full of great lyrics and great playing, Strange Mercy is St. Vincent's most reflective and most audacious album to date, and Clark remains as delicately uncompromising an artist as ever.

Belladonna was welcomed back into the fold, and all the vocals were re-recorded. But to Anthrax's credit, it all fits together seamlessly, resulting in arguably their finest studio album since, well, the last one that Belladonna sang on!

If she can avoid the "trying to sound American" and "over-bearing lyrical preaching" mistakes of her pioneering U.K. urban predecessors, there's no reason why On a Mission can't be the start of a fruitful and glittering career.

A more concise and consistent outing than their debut, Hollow reaffirms that while Cut Off Your Hands may not be innovators, they're still quite good at what they do.

Country Hits: Bluegrass Style doesn't signal any kind of new direction for him and that may well be the album's most comfortable strength.

Few current bluegrass acts sing with the command and authority Lauderdale brings to his performances, and fewer still have a set of songs at their disposal as good as what Lauderdale and Hunter have composed for Reason and Rhyme, and it's another impressive installment in what's becoming one of the most interesting partnerships in roots music today.

Blessed with little of the showiness affectations of the X-Factor/American Idol generation, she can sell a song and inject it with age-appropriate enthusiasm that sustains her through the moments when Turn It Up glides by on its surface, while making the album--at its best--pretty damn infectious, too.

The rest of the album, despite a few detours into semi-indulgent, atonal glitch that shakes the fluidity of the record yet never really derails the train, keeps looking forward, hoping to find a light at the end of the tunnel, while knowing full well that it's only the first of many.

For longtime fans, Celestial Electric is about as good as one could have hoped for the coming together of two like-minded musicians.

Seeds We Sow is delightfully ragged.

If the livelier numbers initially make the strongest impression -- whether it's Al Anderson's sunny pop opener "Love's Gonna Make It Alright" or a pair of fleet-footed blues in "Lone Star Blues" and "Blue Marlin Blues" -- it's the introspective moments that anchor the album and lend it a measure of gravity.

John Doe simply doesn't make bad records, but not all of them are as heartfelt and comfortable as Keeper, and the title is apt--this captures a great singer and songwriter on a hot streak, and you'd have to go back to his 1990 solo debut to hear a John Doe album that's as eclectic, accomplished, and satisfying as this.

te its unsettling themes, Nixey's sophomore album is still a warm and charming record which reinstates her position as Britain's most elegant chanteuse.

The title track of this album finds Graveyard at their most rip-roaring, offering a thunderous riff and some stinging guitar soloing. Other tracks throw little stylistic tweaks (background vocals on "Buying Truth [Tack & Förlåt]") into the mix, but the basic formula stays the same.

Ghostbird is a summer album for adventurous folk fans, engaging on its first run-thru but packed with enough twists and turns to warrant repeated listens.

On Am I the Enemy?, the guys consolidate their strengths and clean up the mess that Lonely Road left behind, focusing instead on the sort of emo-influenced alt-rock that reaches for the rafters without losing sight of the ground.

Packing so many WTFs into one ten-song record is hardly fair, a bit reckless, and ultimately (amazingly) successful.

On Tha Carter IV, Wayne's world feels more like a dream than reality, but the loyal subjects of Young Money get a wild ride and the great feeling of flashing those ruby slippers one more time.

World Wide Rebel Songs, is, without question, a welcome call to arms.

Without that soulful kind of anchor, Nothing But the Beat offers the same experience as one of Guetta's numerous remix sets, which is a compliment if you're a dancefloor and a caution if you're a pair of headphones.

This frantic release gives them a kind of spastic, jagged sound that puts them somewhere between Lightning Bolt and an actual bolt of lightning, and makes Tripper an album that's more likely to wear listeners out physically than mentally.

Despite only taking a couple of years to put out a second album, Lenses Alien also feels like an altogether more grown-up record.

Ultimately, the Red Hot Chili Peppers are served well by that professionalism; they're long past the point of proving themselves, they're now longer here for a party, they're rock & roll lifers, and I'm with You illustrates they can settle into maturity convincingly.

An album that is fashionably slick, altogether tragic, and deceptively beautiful.

Their sound is dustier, more evocative of the landscape they wander; Tassili is as desolate--and as timeless--as the desert itself.

Perhaps Ghost on the Canvas doesn't revisit every high in Campbell's history, but it pays honor to his legacy and feels like an appropriate and subtly moving farewell.

Here, he reverses that dynamic, playing the studio like the virtuoso that he is, and he's come up with his best record in years, a shamelessly enjoyable piece of aural candy.

The lyrics still focus on Walker's own little world--the girls he's known, the drugs he's done, the trouble he got into as an '80s wild child--but Spade feels broader, fuller, more collective than those words suggest.

These fleeting glimpses of originality aren't enough to save the album, though, and until Olsen discovers his own voice, you'd be better served by listening to music by the artists he borrows from so heavily.

They may not be as confident here as they were on their first album, but La Liberacion's best moments are direct and fun, and there's no shame in that.

If Widowspeak keep refining their sound and cranking out memorable and quietly impressive songs like they do here, they may end up being pretty special. Even if they don't, though, this album will still be out there to help soothe and thrill you when you have a post-Mazzy itch you need to scratch.

From the performances, to the songwriting, to the production, Still Living is the group's strongest, most multi-dimensional album.

For as relaxed as Mirror Traffic is, there is real structure to the songs and clarity to the production, two things that turn it into Malkmus' most satisfying solo album to date.

While Smith fans no doubt have everything contained here -- of the 18 tracks collected , each album is represented -- this disc serves as an excellent introduction to Smith's ever evolving, non-compromising art which combines high-stakes poetry with rock & roll.

B-sides and rarities collections can often help give fans insight into their favorite artists' creative processes, or at the very least, provide either a light snack between releases or a post-retirement victory lap, but when an artist as prolific as Stephin Merritt decides to clean house, it can be a little underwhelming.