With such a terrific combination of depth, melody, and out-and-out charm, It's a Corporate World is the perfect summer jam for anyone who spends more time wearing headphones than swim trunks.

The Postelles (who produced the remaining tracks themselves) spend most of their time re-creating Is This It? with scrubbed-up, squeaky-clean results. Ultimately, that's where the album fails.

This is the kind of album that drifts by like a lazy white cloud on a beautiful summer day, leaving only positive feelings in its wake.

Kinsella's lyrical wit is still affecting, displayed in both song titles ("Howdy Pardoner") and his always honest, direct lyrics about relationships ("Let's cut each other's strings/Give me a hand if you understand").

The combination of intelligent and punchy songs, the sympathetic production, and Lerche's winning vocals make this a strong follow-up to Heartbeat Radio and further proof that Lerche doesn't need to mess around trying different things to keep people interested.

Suck It And See may be at the opposite end of the spectrum from the Humbug--it's concentrated and purposeful where its predecessor sprawled--yet it still demands attention from the listener, delivering its rewards according to just how much time you're willing to devote.

The timing for a change was right, too, as their 2009 record 200 Million Thousand wasn't one of their best, it was OK but seemed a little forced and uninspired. Arabia Mountain is the absolute opposite and could be their best album yet.

"The Godfather of Goth" sounds like the genre's savior here, coming on strong with those Bowie-sized aspirations and nailing that attractive Nosferatu-meets-Art-School style.

Cults is a bit like a sugar rush: exhilarating at first, and then exhausting. Still, the sounds and ideas they play with are too intriguing to dismiss entirely, even if some of the mystery around them is gone.

The 18 songs on the album are all in the heavily layered, chamber-hardcore style established on Chemistry of Common Life, but Fucked Up is taking the idea to the furthest reaches, and somehow pulling it off.

Gloss Drop may be more accomplished than the band's debut; even if it's not quite as much of a powerhouse as Mirrored was, it shows that the trio version of Battles is lean, creative, and surprisingly adaptable.

Taken as a whole, England Keep My Bones is evidence that Turner is an artist who has fully arrived and knows it. And that's no sin.

Vek is a self-made musician who embraces these kinds of flaws and more often than not makes them work to his advantage, and Leisure Seizure's independence and accessibility is a testament to that.

This is the most comfortable Alpers has sounded making music, and the result is some of her best work yet.

Cannibal Courtship is easily Dengue Fever's most consistent, sophisticated, and accessible recording to date, and one that should, with any luck, net them more than a few new fans.

Build with Erosion casts a wide net, but its 11 songs still cast a consistent mood, falling somewhere between pleasantly hypnotic and purposely peculiar.

Since the band cooked up an excellent 12 songs in only a few weeks last year (which they made available as a free download titled the Last Day of Summer), it should come as no surprise that the laboriously constructed follow-up is a masterpiece.

Luckily, there's enough genuine melody at the core of these songs to warrant their arrangements.

It's style for miles and miles unencumbered by hooks and accentuated by an attitude that carefully practices disdain for its audience, so if you're not inclined to buy into their gait there's not much reason to stick around.

ISAM plays out like the soundtrack to some bizarre nature documentary: it continually pauses, goes off in another direction, halts again, then sits unmoving for a time, as though Tobin had been musically ghosting the movements of a tiny insect traveling along a leaf.

Alegrias is a breezy yet luxuriant exercise in cultural fusion with none of the setbacks: it's a quiet stunner.

There are plenty of bands who literally spend a decade working up to an album as well-crafted, confident, and powerful as The Head and the Heart, and these folks managed to knock it out in a bit over a year; is they can make this particular bit of lightning strike twice, we may be looking at one of America's best new bands.

All well and good, and all very entertaining, but this is an album that's meant to be more: it's intended to be a soundtrack to a way of life, but it winds up playing as a collection of songs.

The record may not have the same depth and variety that It Was Easy had, but as a document of what a Title Tracks show in 2011 sounds like, it's pretty much perfect.

Heavy Rocks is diverse; but since it relies on the trio's blasting power over form, it is is more consistent than Smile and sounds like a refreshed and renewed Boris back on deck.

ltimately, The Dreaming Fields is a deeply moving, gloriously articulated album that should not only reawaken the interest of fans, but should win Berg a multitude of new ones.

It's nice to see him in the driver's seat once again, proving he's much more than a chauffeur for someone else's career.

In sum, Attention Please, with Wata's haunting vocals at the fore, is the most unusual and easily approachable recording on Boris' shelf, if not its best.

Street of the Love of Days is a well-conceived, perfectly executed album that captivates you right from the beginning and doesn't let go until well after the album stops spinning.

All in all it's a very enjoyable album, if at times a rather strange one.

This set is a great introduction to James' early raw recordings; however, it excludes a few tracks from the superior The Best of the Modern Years on Metro Blue.

The material is arranged chronologically, but beyond that, one set of tunes stumbles into another without making sense of their different sonic and musical characteristics as Iggy's backing bands (none of whom are credited) and musical approaches shift from concert to concert throughout this set, leaving Roadkill Rising in dire need of some sense of focus.

Diamond knows just how good these recordings are, as indicated by the terrific autobiographical liner notes he's penned for this collection, notes that give this music context, but they're not necessary to appreciate The Bang Years: this is pop music that's so pure it needs no explanation.

Davila 666 have that all-important spark of primitive energy and power that have made bands from the Sonics to the Hives so vital and alive, and Tan Bajo is another great record that all fans of garage rock, new or old, need to add to their collections.

Innings proves underground pop is still very much alive, and Nodzzz have made an album that strikes a perfect balance between simplicity and intelligently applied craft; they've made it a whole lot of fun, too.

At their best, they're an overwhelming sonic force, and Diotima is their best album to date.

With that as an unavoidable comparison point and baseline, as can be heard again on songs like the title track, Time Travel is still a pleasant album, where what comes out more are the moments of variation on the form than the form itself.

Cantrell's all-too-brief Kitty Wells Dresses contains its object's sense of sophisticated vocal economy that still conveys the power of truth in the human heart with elegance and grace, making it a fitting tribute for all the right reasons.

Cosmic Ocean Ship is Todd's most "exotic" recording, but it's easily one of her most ambitious, focused, and satisfying as well.

Hard to imagine any of his future albums beating this one, but it's entirely possible, and all signs seem to point toward this inventive young producer/songwriter being on the rise.

Sloan are craftsman who weld their good taste into charming miniatures, and if The Double Cross retains a hint of familiarity--not due to the source material but rather the workmanship--the group's level of skill assures that this is as comfortably satisfying as its predecessors.

mble at the Ryman may not be the same as hearing Levon Helm play for a few dozen guests at his studio--or for a few thousand fans at one of America's most venerable venues--but it captures a living legend on-stage proving he doesn't have to rest on his laurels to win applause, and this is a hell of a party coming from a guy well past retirement age.

On this consistently hypnotic debut, Austra carve out a place of their own among their contemporaries.

Free is just too derivative to make the impact the band appear to crave.

Nash Kato and Eddie "King" Roeser are taking everything dead seriously, playing for the sake of music itself, giving Rock & Roll Submarine an unexpected soul and heart that makes it a rousing comeback.

Good proof that tranquil moments are just as powerful as deafening ones.

This album is indeed a key turning point for the unit, and easily the most fully realized project in their catalog.

It feels like Damon & Naomi have always been around to soundtrack the inner lives of melancholy dreamers smart enough to seek them out, and with this album they continue to provide the same impressive and necessary level of solace and inspiration, deeply felt songs, and enchanted performances that they always have.

While nowhere near as focused as 2009's White Lies for Dark Times, Give Till It's Gone does possess moments when all of Harper's gifts as a writer and guitarist are evidently clear.

Nursing Home is the best kind of second album--it reminds you why you liked Let's Wrestle in the first place and manages to improve on an already stellar offering.

Lovingly detailed, atmospheric, and oozing the Technicolor glow of a smoke-stained '70s movie screen, Rome is awfully hard not to cheer for, even when it's stuck on autopilot, as rarely do pet projects feel this alive and sumptuous.

Latecomers, as well as longtime fans whose favorite Moby material remains the Mimi Goese collaborations on Everything Is Wrong, should have no problem soaking it up.

Back once again with the ill behavior, Lonely Island's second effort is more of the same, which for many means that life is still worth living.

This powerful debut was a long time in the making, but Past Life Martyred Saints will win Andersen new fans as well as thrill longtime ones.

Even if the primary common characteristic of this stuff is how exceedingly pleasant it all is, there's always a place for that, regardless of what month it is.

While there are definite left-field aspects to Life Fantastic, fans of crossover-indie rock groups like Modest Mouse and Spoon should be able to get behind the angular pop of "Shameless" or the backwater bluegrass-rock of "Life Fantastic."

While the album is a revolutionary object in that such fantastic filth was born and flourished outside the corporate--and even indie--music industry, production is about the only thing to be objective about, as everything else is polarizing and preaching to the converted.

Celebration, Florida is a brave step forward for the Felice Brothers, but one taken with care and confidence, and it's a powerful achievement from a talented and genuinely important band.

Hospice may have been organic and fragile, but Burst Apart is sleek and self-assured, and the new image suits Silberman and the Antlers well.

Though it has plenty of appealing moments, it just doesn't capitalize on Morrison's vocal and star power.

Conceptual conceits aside, Simple Math is a fairly passionate and rocking affair filled with sprawling, if still tightly wound anthemic pop.

Jones' story is compelling listening, but more than that, it's a backbone-slipping monster of a dance record.

The remarkable thing is, for as proudly new wave as Move Like This is, it doesn't feel desperate or cautious: it's as bright, infectious, and tuneful as the Cars at their prime.

The resulting I Am Very Far, which was produced by Sheff, feels both transitory and triumphant, successfully integrating the Austin, Texas-based collective's penchant for lovelorn, indie Americana with the wild abandon of 21st century pop music's increasingly blurry genre borders.

Cat's Eyes is an intriguing album of heartbroken, shadowy pop that transcends its influences when it aims directly for the heart.

A super-confident and adventurous collection of songs, Disc-Overy is the sound of an artist completely on top of their game, which could finally help the distinctly British grime scene go worldwide.

To his enormous credit, Laurie never sounds like a dilettante among this group; he holds his own, working his way into the marrow of the songs, playing credible piano throughout the record.

Weird as it is, this is his most exciting work yet.

Given the the Heavy Eights' strengths throughout, it makes more sense to say that Kilgour's definitely found his own personal Crazy Horse.

Art of the Improviser serves as a testament to Shipp's achievements, yet it is also a continuation of the discovery in his developmental musical language.

WhoMadeWho have been accomplished, even inspired, in the past, but here they emerge on a whole new level, displaying a subtle command of tension and release and an assured, seamless blending of rock and electronics, suffused with unfeigned emotionalism, which calls to mind the confidence and mastery of marquee acts like LCD Soundsystem and Radiohead.

The knack for adding that sudden feeling of positive release is perhaps best summed up by the title of another song with a similar touch: "Rising."

For returning Cam'ron and Diplomats fans who don't mind a little bumpy with their ride, Gunz n' Butta is the casual collaboration album done right.

Cosmic Lieder isn't heavy or indulgent; it's deeply focused, curiously open-ended, and deeply satisfying.

While a few of these songs stick in your ear right away, perhaps not surprisingly for a band named after small statues, the overall tone of the album is one of detailed intricacy.

Layus still sings them like they're gospel verses, channeling enough sincerity and bold self-assurance to make up for the fact that he's the umpteenth person to compare his love to an ocean. This is the band's best album to date. Looks like the third time's the charm, boys.

Depending on your disposition, Earth Grid will be either a delightfully compelling listening experience or a maddeningly dull one. Either way, Osborne's uninterested.

The songs and performances are strong enough, melodic enough, and fun enough that you can enjoy the album for what it is: 30 minutes of noisy, hooky pop that sounds better every time you listen to it.

The album does not merely transcend period-piece status. It's the high point of Saadiq's career, his exceptional output with Tony! Toni! Toné! included.

Wild Beasts continue to find finer ways of expressing themselves while still holding onto the primal passion they've always had, and Smother is some of their most accessible yet creative work.

With every manifesto being tempered by a transforming mantra, Generation Indigo is quintessential Styrene.

It's a seemingly disparate list, but it's a testament to the producer's abilities that he can craft songs that fit so well with each voice.

Ultimately, though, the tracks and Memphis May Fire themselves are the sum of their parts and little more; like many young bands, they haven't learned yet that writing a bunch of parts isn't the same thing as writing a song.

Throughout, Wells' arrangements are excellently matched with Moffat's lyrics and performances song for song.

The lo-fi production often makes Baenziger's laments hard to decipher, but her delicate voice drips with a heartache and loneliness that makes the tunes hard to resist.

Because Light After Dark tries so hard to keep up with the tricks of the trade in 2011, it loses any sense of originality that Maguire brings to the table, which, especially in the pop music scene, is the only way to stand out.

Fight Like Apes are neither catchy nor profound enough--romantic brooding and trashy partying are mutually exclusive--but that's exactly what makes this band genuine, because that problem, after all, has never stopped generations of teens from going for both moods at once, just as Fight Like Apes do here.

Hieroglyphic Being's unrecognizable, incongruously mechanical mix of "Satellite Sniper" is the only real misstep (albeit a minor one), and all told this is one of the most rewarding remix albums in recent memory.

All this hurly-burly camouflages the essential truth of The Hot Sauce Committee: that the Beasties could sit on an album for two years to no ill effect to their reputation or the record's quality.

Given her promotion to the Paula Abdul seat on American Idol, there's a distinct irony in having the first sounds on Jennifer Lopez's Love? all twisted through a vocoder: she may be judging the pop purity of legions of hopeful singers, but even she can't resist the siren call of the computer.

In Your Dreams winds up capturing the essence of Stevie Nicks, which -- as her previous three decades of solo albums prove -- is no easy feat.

At its best, the album is bracing, capable of winning over the cynics who are not particularly open-minded about crossover dance music.

Overall Moment Bends is a return to form, if not quite as inspired as Architecture in Helsinki's best moments.

Sonny Smith will never be Buddy Holly, but if Buddy were around, he'd recognize a kindred spirit. So would Rick Nelson, Bobby Fuller, or Marshall Crenshaw (who isn't dead but still...), or anyone else who made simple but powerful pop music with brains, guts, and hooks sharp enough to cut glass. Hit After Hit is that good.

Harvey's music has never been more self-assured than it is here, and this album marks the dawn of a new era for him as an artist.

Fortunately, it's a warm and fuzzy gloom that sounds just right all the time. You won't want to miss Secret Walls, another step in the band's progression.

This is Quik in top form and pointed at the future, ignoring all fads and focused on what is real.

James Farm offers real compositional depth and spirited, sophisticated improvisation, making for a deeply satisfying listen and a promising debut.