They may not have as much depth as their influences, but at their best, their shiny surfaces are a lot of fun.

Like the trio's eerie, 2010, eponymous debut, 2011's Nightingale feels like a relic that's been spruced up, remixed, and then planted back in the earth for some future generation to stumble upon, crack open, and germinate a scene with.

They deliver thrilling song after thrilling song that'll have you hyping them to all your rock & roll friends as soon the album stops spinning.

Even if there's a fair amount of affected British accents and overdriven guitars, it's a far cry from the mall-punk rebellion of Underclass Hero, the melodramatic bombast flavored with metallic flecks and solipsistic acoustic pity, all giving Screaming Bloody Murder a grander, richer palette than any other Sum 41 record.

Thanks to the hooky and familiar songs, the exciting performances, and the perfectly executed aesthetic, Too Young to Be in Love is simply and truly a great rock & roll record.

Mind Bokeh is a masterful, thoughtful album, and even if it's not quite the dazzling leap Bibio made before, its subtler gifts are just as rewarding.

Navigating this 21-track session is the hard part, but once fans do the necessary trimming and pull out their favorite 14 or so, Doggumentary becomes a fine addition to Snoop's catalog.

Really, they show a lot on Belong -- that they can take their sound to the next level, that they haven't lost any of their good-natured band-next-door charm, and most of all, that they can make a great-sounding modern rock album without selling their souls.

Nothing here's likely to attract new converts quite the way those tunes did, but this is still a very easy Mountain Goats album to like and to recommend, whether it's your first or fourteenth.

Just like any given Bone album, Khalifa's chilled and confused Rolling Papers is an acquired taste, and while it's misrepresented by its single and the mixtapes that surround it, it is purposeful mood music, perfect for bong loading or just hanging out.

The photo of the band in the CD booklet shows three guys in a tight circle playing heads-down intense, and it feels like this camaraderie and dedication has paid off in a record that may not save their career commercially, but will prove that they are still vital and exciting.

What the Obits do reasonably but not remarkably well isn't as important as where they excel on Moody, Standard and Poor, and when the pieces mesh just right, this band does guitar back-and-forth as well as anyone since Television, and rocks a whole lot harder to boot.

As it is, Yelle will have to settle for having made a merely awesome album instead of double awesome one, which is still pretty awesome when you get right down to it.

Sonically, it has everything except hooks, either in the rhythm or the melody; it's all surface style, driven by sound and given shape by hypersexual lyrics Britney sings listlessly.

Even without many fast songs, it's a well-paced album.

In sum, Live at the Aragon is a mixed bag aurally and visually, though the Crack the Skye movie is killer.

Ultimately, while it is clear based on Factorycraft that Found aren't the same band you'd expect to hear playing at an art opening anymore, they are a band you might be pleasantly surprised to run into at a local pub, and that's something a lot harder to find.

It digs deep into emotional territory by way of tight, almost suffocating songwriting and killer arrangements, making this one of the defining Brit folk-rock albums of the period. It holds up well in the 21st century as a true testament to the excellence of Chapman's craft.

On their sixth album, the Caribbean find themselves in perhaps their strongest sonic mode yet.

Sever the Wicked Hand [is] one of the strongest efforts of their career.

As a trio, they have to be resourceful to get the kind of full sound Wills got with his ensemble, but they're up to the task.

Electric Endicott confirms that the gifted outsider who allowed us to glance into his psyche on You Think You Really Know Me hasn't stopped pursuing his singular vision of twisted pop music, just as he still hasn't figured out how to deal with the opposite sex, and who knows: if he ever did, he might never be able to make music again.

Part Arvo Part and Part Brian Eno, Greenwood continues to impress.

The band's sophomore debut tempts fate with a nearly 30-second fade-in (you may think you have a defective disc on your hands, but wait for it), then takes off into a crazy welter of power ballad, electro-glitch, dubstep, atonal, acoustic-based, waltz-funk weirdness that occasionally gets tiring but rarely stops being interesting.

He also leans a bit too heavily on co-producer Clint Lagerberg, who wrote Rascal Flatts' chart-topping "Here Comes Goodbye" but fails to bring similar hitmaking hooks to Kelley's table, and his vocals sound forced, with a deep baritone twang replacing the breathy croon he used on earlier albums.

It is not quite prime Soundgarden; the band is pushing their OK 1996 effort Down on the Upside, and while there isn't much palpable tension in the performances, they're not quite inspired, either. The group is in full-fledged pro mode, hitting their marks with efficiency and occasional power if not much flair.

The rest of the tracks are more like exercises in sound manipulation and reduction than songs. The approach is no-fault, but Blake pares it down to such an extent that the material occasionally sounds not just tentative but feeble, fatigued, even.

At times, they clearly outpace her singing and lyrics, which often betray the fact that English is a second language. Still, Keren Ann remains a striking songwriter (listen to the interesting device she employs on the title track for proof), while her range of musical techniques has grown.

Anyone who arrived here because of underground mixtapes will be happy to hear the radio-friendly numbers and polish removed, and even happier when they notice Southern street producer Drumma Boy is responsible for all the beats.

The combination of songs, sound, and performance make this another near-perfect album from the trio. Those who have fallen under their charmingly sweet spell can only hope it doesn't take another six years for the next one.

The combination of songs, sound, and performance make this another near-perfect album from the trio. Those who have fallen under their charmingly sweet spell can only hope it doesn't take another six years for the next one.

The once bold, sometimes shameless Simon Le Bon sounds a bit tentative in this post-Killers world, and when compared to the tight, original, nine-track version of the album previously made available via digital download, this final, fatter version borders on "too much of a good thing." Fortunately, the emphasis will be on "good thing" for longtime Duran fans or anyone with a taste for melodic, synth-driven pop/rock.

At their best, Hudson and her collaborators provide the kind of mature R&B that is not felt merely in the mind, throat, chest, or hips but the entire body.

This all makes F.A.M.E. the equal of Forever, if not slightly better, and it hints that Brown's best is yet to come.

Ultimately, Angles' best moments are reassuring rather than exciting, offering proof that the Strokes can still make an album together, and hope that it'll come more naturally to them next time.

As with their last album, the prominence of the violin continues to diminish, but what the strings lack in ubiquity they make up for in impact, making an impression when they appear rather than just fading into the background. This kind of refinement of their sound paints a picture of an older and wiser Yellowcard whose members are confident enough in their abilities that they can step away from the gimmick that initially set them apart from the pack and let their songwriting do the talking.

Stripped down, punishing, and more aloof than the two previous albums, the lack of any unifying theme makes Scurrilous a less inclusive outing, though the quintet's penchant for crafting impossibly precise breakdowns, staccato leads, and unpredictable melodies is far from diminished.

It's safe to say no one was expecting a mid-career renaissance from Cervenka when she signed to Bloodshot Records, but with Somewhere Gone and The Excitement of Maybe she's made two of the strongest and most impressive albums she's recorded outside of her work with X, confirming her status as a one of a kind talent with plenty of welcome surprises up her sleeve.

In a word, Scandalous most certainly is; it's a party record that bleeds Saturday night into Sunday morning and beyond.

Listening to the Naked and Famous' guttingly good 2011 full-length debut, Passive Me Aggressive You, one thing is clear: this band loves a hot chorus.

It's an album of glorious madness and melody, played not only with skill, but with real passion.

While Welcome Home Armageddon isn't quite in a class with 2005's Hours or 2007's Tales Don't Tell Themselves, this 2011 release nonetheless indicates that Funeral for a Friend have a lot of life left in them.

There aren't any weak points, and it drifts along dreamily, from one understated jam to the next.

The result is a sunny, homemade-sounding record, but these aren't throwaway songs -- there's enough melody here to warrant attention regardless of Ebert's success with the Magnetic Zeros, and while that band's blissed-out bombast is an obvious touchstone, Alexander covers significantly more ground.

There's a right way and a wrong way to write anthems in the early 21st century, and the Joy Formidable -- with only three bandmembers present -- find themselves on the right side of the dividing line during the majority of this debut.

Tirtha is a triumph; it is a high-water mark in hearing the constantly evolving discussion between jazz and Indian music.

While this decision [to a trimmed down from the five-disc] might disappoint some of the film and film score geeks among Francis' fans, the album still has plenty to offer, not the least of which is Francis' reunion with longtime collaborator Eric Drew Feldman. Feldman's keyboards and Francis' voice and guitar just sound natural--and immediately recognizable--together.

Whatever else can be said about Too Beautiful to Work, it's clearly a demonstration that the trend toward mini-pocket orchestras and detailed arrangements in whatever indie rock is supposed to be sometimes can turn out mesmerizing results.

No Color is a welcome return to form, and a nimble balance between the extremes of Dodos' previous work.

At times, the band appears single-minded in its determination to turn over a new rock, and the album suffers whenever Last Night on Earth focuses on presentation -- the polished production, the overdubbed handclaps -- instead of content.

Skins is the product of an older and wiser trio than Buffalo Tom were in their salad days, but it's unmistakably the same band, and if their attack and their concerns have changed a bit with the passage of time, that's a reflection of their innate honesty as much as anything else; they simply are who they are, and on Skins that means they're a gifted and grown-up rock & roll band.

In a way, the album seems like a bit of a farewell to an old friend, with lots of wistful moments to be found under the layers of synths and fuzz all throughout the album, really nailing home the Death Set's method of mixing the old with the new to create something that strides boldly forward as it fondly remembers where it came from.

As a showcase for Barker's production and drumming skills, Give the Drummer Some definitely gets the point across, proving that there's room for more than just Phil Collins and Dave Grohl in the world of drummers successfully going solo.

This untrammeled rock & roll gusto makes the bulk of Different Gear pure fun in a way the carefully considered post-Morning Glory records never were, and it also means that Beady Eye aren't quite as sure-footed on their ballads: they are a band of instinct, not introspection, and listening to them follow Liam's id throughout Different Gear, Still Speeding is infectious.

If it isn't quite a masterpiece, along with Dinosaur Jr.'s surprisingly strong reunion albums, this suggests Mascis has been quietly enjoying an impressive career renaissance, as if the venerable slacker has discovered something welcome in the onset of maturity.

Rise Against are still a band with plenty to say. All the d-beats and raw vocals in the world don't mean a thing if you don't have a message you believe in.

The vocals and flourishes are strongly Punjabi -- songs are often sung in the language, not English as they usually are on a Cornershop LP -- but these are essentially trappings for a collection of multicultural dance-pop not too dissimilar from the group's albums since 1997.

While it provides a fair amount of material for those who prefer either release, Immersion also stretch out here, leaning heavily toward industrial-style rock on a handful of tracks while veering toward metal on "Self vs. Self."

The Gate presents Elling at the top of his game; it is a song cycle that is mesmerizing and mysterious as it is provocative and compelling.

Blank Dogs is the work of an artist who has found his voice in the sound of another era, and it speaks quite eloquently on Land and Fixed; anyone who enjoys the chilly rush of classic era synth pop will be jazzed by this music, and even those who prefer "real" pop music may find they're not immune to its charms.

The simple fact is that Daydreams & Nightmares isn't just a joyous reinvention, or coming of age for Those Dancing Days, or even one the best albums of the year--which it certainly is--but, like any good dream, it comes when you least expect it, born out of your purest desires, and haunts you for those dancing days to come.

Like its predecessor, Bootleg, Vol. 2: From Memphis to Hollywood is essential for Cash collectors and hardcore fans, adding even more depth and weight to his enormous stature in American popular music.

For Mehldau's fans, this is another opportunity to hear just how creative and versatile he is, even with familiar material. For the uninitiated, this is a grand opportunity to acquaint yourself with one of the most gifted jazz pianists on the scene.

When Elbogen adds some additional keyboards to the mix, Um, Uh Oh feels downright colorful. And the songs themselves boast a level of craftsmanship and quality that's striking for somebody whose last batch of tunes was released less than two years earlier.

Tignor's musical apprenticeship in the avant-garde world shows through as well, and between the minimalist motifs, flowing violin lines, and brass interjections, Light Science sometimes suggests the likes of Steve Reich, LaMonte Young, and Pauline Oliveros letting their hair down for a garage-band jam.

Kraus and her various collaborators throughout--notably Christophe Albertijn, who both performed and recorded the overall effort--are a bit more plugged in overall, but if the feeling of the the album is misty folk-rock at many points, it's the folk that still predominates throughout.

It's the kind of thing that requires a commitment from the listener, but Saigon and the people around him are talented enough to pull it off, even to make it enjoyable, which makes The Greatest Story Never Told one definitely worth hearing.

Sometimes befuddling but never boring, Rainbow Arabia is making music that ultimately sounds like no one else's.

Their debut album, Colour Trip, is more of a nostalgia trip as they delve deeply into shoegaze, dream pop, noise pop, and generally seem to be auditioning for a spot on the Creation roster between My Bloody Valentine and Ride.

Lasers offers more substance when the reins are loosened.

This is the work of a master guitarist who has taken his time to come up with a quality record.

The Majestic Silver Strings is one of those rare "supergroup" projects that works--as much by its understatement as its savvy choice of material and excellent performances.

There are moments when a few different "shades" of heavy are detected, including the beginning of the aforementioned "Shitlist" and the album-closer, "Lend Myself to the Night." However, for those who like excuse-free metal cranked to ten from beginning to end, DevilDriver have assembled one gnarly Beast for you.

Evans' fans will eat this up as welcome return to form. However, a more critical listen will reveal this set as a concession to Nashville's ever more restrictive, formulaic studio system.

If it won't change worlds, it's engaging enough for what it aims to be, and when "Bumper Car" hits a lower-voiced break over a clattering beat with an easygoing grace, the whole thing feels like even more of a treat that could turn even better with time.

If Rival Schools had returned and tried to sound like the same band they were in 2001, there would have been the very real danger of it feeling disingenuous and forced, as if they were trying to recapture their glory days. Instead, the band is more relaxed and confident, and not afraid to experiment a little.

If Long has captured the style necessary to make him the next New Dylan, he hasn't quite figured out the issue of lyrical content.

It wasn't necessarily all that great of a stylistic distance to traverse, but it's certainly been a pleasurable journey. And while there are quite a few extant non-album cuts that might have found space on a more slavishly inclusive comp, what is included here is pretty close to perfect.

Longtime Darkest Hour fans should be very pleased by this record; they continue to write good songs and perform them with commitment and power. Because of their consistency, though, this album would also make a great introduction to the band's catalog.

Listen to this album three or four times in quick succession and you'll hear something different each time; it's difficult to imagine growing tired of it.

It's rare that a band gets better after releasing a few albums; usually their initial inspiration gets used up and they are left foundering. Wye Oak have done it, and on Civilian, they insert themselves into the upper echelon of indie rock bands.

This broadening of the palette is as deliberate as Accelerate's reduction of R.E.M. to ringing Rickenbackers, and while it occasionally feels as if the bandmembers sifted through their past to find appropriate blueprints for new songs, there is merit to their madness.

In an age where angst is delivered with the subtlety of a laser light show, it's nice to hear some good, old-fashioned, smokin'-and-drinkin'-cheap-beers-on-the-porch-with-your-friends-style pessimism.

While it may not be the band's most ambitious or experimental work, Constant Future is a work of cohesive beauty, showing a real sense of vision in its execution that more than makes up for the lack of any gimmicks added in for art's sake.

Lavigne once again seems to be grappling with emotions just beyond her reach, never articulating her angst or crafting a melancholy melody, making Goodbye Lullaby feel affected, not genuine.

It's a melting pot to be sure, and the band has a tendency to go heavy on the atmosphere and light on the hooks, but there's never any doubt that it's a brew tended over by some awfully talented cooks.

Theoretically, this loosening of expectations would give him some freedom to roam on Musica + Alma + Sexo, and it does to the extent that he does not feel compelled to devote the record to the English language.

While the first ten songs would have made for a strong return on their own, the final three put Second Chance over the top as one of the year's best R&B albums.

Overall, it's a darker and more uneven album than the debut, but notwithstanding a few oddities (three reprises, and Arrington de Dionyso's Gregorian throat singing, namely), it's a respectable follow-up.

Fading Parade might be subtle, but it's obviously another step forward for Quever and company.

The 12 songs on Thrawn have been culled from six studio albums released between 2003 and 2009 (Anderson has released more than two dozen albums independently) and serve as an excellent introduction to his work.

Shea and Klauber's approaches are distinct; she favors shimmery electro-pop and cooing vocals that evoke Kate Bush as much as they do Olivia Newton-John, while he trades in earnest, earth-toned vocals and acoustic guitars.

Wilson and her band have created a wonderful and almost seamless set of music that explores a lot of territory and yet still keeps its cohesiveness.

A straight play, from start to end, the album thrives on the hypnotic rhythmic drive of Krautrockers like Neu!, with bulky synth riffs that make many of the songs sound like the intro to Van Halen's version of "Dancing in the Streets," or Jan Hammer's "Theme from Miami Vice," only beefed up, elongated, and entangled in guitar delays.

The rather aimless and derivative '90s drum'n'bass homage "Hocus Pocus" aside, No More Idols is a consistently impressive and intriguing listen that has the potential to be the drum'n'bass genre's defining studio album.

It's hard not to draw parallels to the Decemberists--fellow Portland residents whose frontman, Colin Meloy, shares a strikingly similar voice with frontman Ryan Sollee--but Dead Reckoning is further proof that the Builders and Butchers are building their own identity.

As creative as it is cheerful, Port Entropy just might be the most inviting welcome into Tokumaru's world yet.

Degeneration Street, the group's fifth studio album, finds the band not only back at capacity, but bursting at the seams with engaging melodies, memorable choruses, and renewed apocalyptic fervor.