Darker and more immersive than previous outings, Underoath treads familiar ground, though each step holds the promise of a land mine.

Loud would not sound quite so slapdash if it did not follow Good Girl Gone Bad, one of the best pop albums of its decade, and Rated R, one of the most fascinating pop albums of the same time frame.

Small Black haven't quite mastered balancing their newfound polish with memorable songs, but New Chain's sound is so appealing that it could be considered one of the first chillwave albums aimed at the mainstream.

Urban's sixth American release is a lean collection of country-rockers and bedroom ballads.

Those speedy songs ["You and Me" and "Go Away My Lover"] are the exception on this album, not the rule, but they're still the highlight, balancing Ziman's ruminations on a love gone wrong with something much brighter.

Despite [a] couple of dragging moments, Coal Miner's Daughter is for the most part filled with solid, respectful versions of excellent songs and serves as a worthy tribute to an enduring icon.

Ultimately, All the Women I Am it falls flat; it feels awkward in its stylistic mimicry, and has no center.

Apart from that pair of stiff originals, the whole thing is cheerful and engaging, a worthy sequel to its predecessor.

The Brooklyn lovebirds stick to what they do best on their third album, which reprises the formula that made their previous record, Grand, an underground success.

Once again, N.E.R.D. are at their best when they abandon all regard for the Hot 100.

Eno may be trading on his earlier developments in ambience, but Small Craft on a Milk Sea is a good and proper balance of curiosity and expression.

The album winds up with trace echoes of all eras of Costello, but that's only a reflection of how National Ransom is a masterwork in the traditional sense: he's summoned all his skills to deliver an album that summarizes his world view.

It's an unhurried, affectionate tribute, the News riding grooves that are considerably cleaner than the classic Stax sides they love so much, but they nevertheless wind up with a warm, soulful vibe.

Call it reliable or call it boring, As U Were slots into the Lyrics Born discography comfortably, as an album any hip-hop fan could enjoy, but hardly love.

Like most covers sets, this is a mixed bag, and it's for the hardcore Diamond fan more than those who admire Home Before Dark, 12 Songs, or his work from the '60s through the mid-'70s.

Like Skin Deep before it, Living Proof is distinguished by these bold, clenched blasts of sonic fury, but here the production has just enough grit to make the entire enterprise feel feral, and that's a greater testament to Guy's enduring vitality than any one song could ever be.

Like the album's namesake, The Fire starts with a small spark that quickly builds itself into an emotional blaze that burns steadily across all 11 tracks, taking the listener on an exceptional musical ride.

The quietest moments tend to be as tense as the loudest, and the contrasts -- lambent, sparsely played guitar offset by skittering and rattling cymbals and transitory electronic thrums, for instance -- are deeply affecting with close listening.

The mix is somehow both spacious and full, with each instrument clearly audible at all times, yet making up one part of a majestic whole. This is a great psychedelic hard rock album, only occasionally returning to the sludgy metal of Kylesa's early releases.

She may be not a girl, and not yet a woman, but on Speak Now she captures that transition with a personal grace and skill that few singer/songwriters have.

Still, quiet and reflective where Animal Collective has become epic and dense, the album is unique, a mellow gem of experimental folk.

The Fool has flashes of brilliance, but Warpaint need to play to their strengths consistently.

Even when songs lose sight and flail indulgently, the drumming is astounding. Zach Hill might just be the most prolific drummer of our time (as if his work on Marnie Stern's third album, released a few weeks earlier, wasn't proof enough). But, on top of this, he is a most unique visionary.

Sale el Sol never once sounds disparate or overworked -- it's sunny and easy, its natural buoyancy disguising Shakira's range and skill -- but listen closely and it becomes apparent that nobody makes better pop records in the new millennium than she does.

With such a tight, urgent sound, Songs for Singles is an EP that'll give Torche fans enough new music to whet their appetites, but it's definitely going to leave them hungry for more.

The stated intention for The Way Out was for each track to be "its own rabbit hole," and the album does indeed manage to survey an impressively disparate set of worlds and modes.

Song for song, it's as strong as any of their records -- if anything, these 11 songs are the tightest they have ever been -- and Stuart Murdoch remains faithful to the aesthetic he essayed at the outset of his career, finding sustenance in the fine details, his obsessions carrying the weight of passion.

What It Means to Be Left-Handed shows Pierce and company continuing to embrace a variety of artistic impulses that become their own enjoyable interpretations.

Surely, it's a revival for Leon Russell, who has spent decades in the wilderness, but it's not a stretch to say The Union revitalizes Elton John just as much as it does his idol: he hasn't sounded this soulful in years.

Fly Me to the Moon, Rod Stewart's fifth collection of American pop standards, finds him singing such classics as That Old Black Magic, I've Got You Under My Skin, Beyond the Sea, Fly Me to the Moon, and Moon River.

Condors is an impressive mini-debut that's just long enough to show what the band can do, and suggest that they're well on the way to making all of their ideas gel into a cohesive whole.

While some of the tracks sound like rough sketches that were simply given a bit more shading, most of Senior captivates as a full-length experience.

Though almost nothing on the record will appeal to the people who liked their earlier work because of the girl group connection, fans of cotton-candied pop sung by girls who sound like they live on a diet of helium and gummy bears will find Earth vs. the Pipettes just about perfect.

Not everything here works, not by a long shot, but the overall impression is that Liz Phair has finally reconnected with the spirit of Girlysound--which, contrary to popular opinion, wasn't all serious--and is on her way to once again being a compelling artist unafraid to take risks.

Released two years after the international breakthrough hit Only by the Night, Come Around Sundown continues Kings of Leon's journey into the upper echelon of mainstream pop/rock, with super-sized choruses and guitar heroics thrown in for good measure.

Love Remains is a striking debut, one that speaks to how we listen to and remember music we love, and the impact it makes on everything else we hear.

All in all, this is more than a holding action between real Girl in a Coma albums -- they've chosen good songs, and put their own spin on them.

The Incredible Machine is a collection of (mostly) competent if unremarkable songs, held together by slick -- often sterile -- production.

Eskmo is clearly a major talent, and if his muse takes him in odd and inscrutable directions, it's almost always worthwhile to follow and listen.

Tt's refreshing to hear him so candid, even if that forthrightness is festooned by enough bells and whistles to wake the dead.

This is too short and scattered to put on his top shelf, but it comes awfully close, which is downright astonishing considering the circumstances.

Swanlights, the fourth full-length by Antony and the Johnsons, reveals that 2009's The Crying Light was a stepping stone that furthered his sophistication as a songwriter, arranger, and singer.

Every song on Charleston has been ironed flat, so there are no unseemly natural inflections, something that Rucker doesn't need but which helps make Charleston, SC 1966 a gleaming example of polished, pressed, modern country-pop.

On Post Electric Blues, they're a worldly pop/rock band, showing off their Scottish roots on the Celtic numbers and channeling the American heartland.

Ultimately, the EP is fast and fun, but its songs are so fleeting that even if the concept is a cool idea, the end result is too disjointed to be anything more than a one-listen novelty.

The only hint of intrigue comes 40-odd minutes into the record, when Youth takes up his mighty bass for "Chicago Dub," which briefly changes the pace for the better.

Though It's What I'm Thinking, Pt. 1 finds Badly Drawn Boy still getting back on his feet, it has enough encouraging moments for fans to stick around until he hits his full stride.

Recitation is one of those records that cannot be rushed, but instead must be experienced on its own terms, and anyone who's able to relinquish control and let Envy steer for a while will be rewarded.

Saying The Grand Theatre, Vol. 1 is a return to form unnecessarily belittles the last few Old 97's albums that came before it, but calling it their best album since Fight Songs is just about right.

Whoever they are, $o$ is utterly unique and downright dazzling if you dream of a Grand Guignol hosted by P. Diddy.

The guitar riffs are appropriately fuzzy but a tad messy; the harmonies are well-placed but imperfect. Stoltz is a vintage enthusiast, but he's no copycat, and To Dreamers' best quality is his ability to reinterpret those sounds for an audience weaned on lo-fi albums.

Musical breaks like these not only make For We Are Many a fresh listening experience, but they also prove that the band isn't restricted to a formulaic good cop/bad cop style of metalcore songwriting, allowing the band to engage listeners who are looking for more than the same old thing.

Ultimately, Mixed Race, with its simmering tension, is a worthy follow-up to Knowle West Boy, and a fine entry in Tricky's catalog overall.

As sonically pleasing as it is, Tiger Suit isn't a mere vehicle for sound; it's built upon Tunstall's strongest set of songs yet, and it's no coincidence that they're her most ambitious, either: she may be firmly within the mainstream but she's taking risks as a composer and record-maker, never settling into the role of the earnest earthbound folkie, winding up with an excellent album that satisfies as pure sound and as songwriting sustenance.

It's definitely a change from Clinic's brash art-punk and wicked folk, but it's one the band had to make to keep their music vital. Fortunately, Bubblegum's sound is so inviting that it sticks.

This is a middle-of-the-road pop album pure and simple, arriving perhaps two years too late but it nevertheless proves that Archuleta has the chops to fill the space between commercials on the airwaves.

A study in how to be settled without settling, this album is a very welcome return.

It's a lean, tight record that takes its time but doesn't dawdle, it has the easy confidence of a pro who knows that he's working at the top of his game.

If you are looking for big-hearted, easy-to-swallow guitar pop, you could do much worse than Guster. In fact, you'd be hard-pressed to do much better.

As it is, Doo-Wops & Hooligans is an uneven debut that shows why Mars is likeable and popular, but doesn't tap into his full potential as a writer or producer.

Each of the the album's ten tracks is naked, open, and bleeding, yet rousing at the same time. The lyrics don't hide behind Stern's infectious, blast-and-burn 21st century rock; they are buoyed by them.

Sinners & Saints is the most confident, self-assured, and consistent recording Malo's done, and it showcases his own playing and songwriting at an entirely new level of skill.

The mellow vibes are appealing in their own lackadaisical way, but as the short LP approaches its conclusion it's hard not to wish there was just a little more discipline, perhaps enough to sculpt these pleasant sounds into full songs.

This may not satisfy a casual fan who wants to hear versions played on the radio, but the entirety of Telephantasm winds up being something better than a hits collection: it captures the essence of the band, why they were important and why they still sound powerful some twenty years later.

Musically, Kasher is all over the place, laying down enough staccato horn sections, sweeping strings, and quirky time signatures to give Sufjan Stevens a run for his money. What the Game of Monogamy occasionally lacks in hooks, it more than makes up for in style.

Healy's yearning, earthy croon is well intact here, and although he doesn't try to upstage his main band's act, longtime Travis fans and anybody in the mood for heartfelt, smartly crafted folk-pop should find much to enjoy on Wreckorder.

There is a Hell finds Bring Me the Horizon at the top of their game, and its lack of over indulgent production makes it an album that'll not only please fans of the band, but may surprise fans of bands like Converge who are interested in seeing what the kids are up to these days.

Crush is a fully realized progression, and one of the best indie rock albums you'll hear in 2010.

No Age's brief moment of near-mainstream notoriety may have passed by the time Everything in Between was released, but their growth as recording artists was progressing nicely and the album stands alongside Nouns as two of the finest noise rock/pop albums of the new millennium.

Its eight songs containing no masterpieces and Lanois' moody noir production reining in Young's messy signature. So, Le Noise winds up as something elusive and intriguing, a minor mood piece that seems to promise more than it actually delivers.

The ultimate irony and triumph of Record Collection, is that on an album all about how Ronson's own obsessive music tastes have defined his life, we finally hear him step away from the turntable and produce one of the best albums of his career.

Both artists are gifted social commentators with a love for snarky, collegiate cynicism that hides a huge sentimental streak.

This album's often a bracing, propulsive listen, the hardest rock Yorn has ever recorded, even if it does suggest Yorn is like tofu, adapting the characteristics of whatever spices he's paired with.

Monochromatic can also be read as reliable, giving the people what they want and with Chesney, that's an easy, relaxed good time…it's just, now that he's in his 40s, he makes records designed for a quiet weekend afternoon at home instead of a Friday night kegger.

It's not as immediate as previous Deerhunter albums, but Halcyon Digest has an appeal all its own: It's as difficult to grasp - and as hard to shake - as a memory lingering at the back of your brain.

Eric Clapton has never sounded so relaxed on record, either as a singer - he is supple and casually authoritative, a far cry from the tentative lead vocalist of his earliest solo records - or a band leader, sounding at peace with his past yet harboring no desire to recycle it, even if he's reaching back far beyond the blues that initially sparked his interest in music.

Most won't have the skills to follow his playbook, either on or off the field, but Cube's utterly unique I Am the West shows the younger generation how to cross 40 while retaining their freedom and baller status.

Invented, as tuneful as it may be, still plays an odd role in Jimmy Eat World's discography, since it can't quite figure out how to transcend a genre -- one that Jimmy Eat World helped invent, no less -- that exclusively caters to younger listeners.

In these, guitarist Brett Gurewitz's songwriting seems more fitting for the Gin Blossoms or Lemonheads than a rapid-fire punk group, but it's a change.

On tracks like "Point Me At Lost Islands," where weather metaphors share equal space with acoustic guitars and fiddle solos, the group manages to shake out the doldrums and hit a genuine stride. But the rest of the album doesn't flow so well, and The Place We Ran From winds up amounting to far less than the sum of its parts.

At the surface, the temperature is icy. But like a cold lake's waters, the music of Public Strain becomes less drastic; comforting even, given time.

Throughout all of King Night, the feeling of a séance being held or a spell being cast is palpable, but Salem's ability to be affecting and menacing at the same time is pure alchemy.

None of these tunes can compete with the band's singles, of course, but that's not the point, since No Chocolate Cake sets its sights on maintaining the band's audience rather than reclaiming a spot in the mainstream.

Not only is Ring one of the few albums to feature the Nepalese stringed instrument the sarangi and a structure inspired by Homer's The Odyssey, it's also a fresh, creative debut that more than fulfills Glasser's potential.

Most of Going Back is devoted to the tried and true, though, the hits that remain staples on oldies stations across the globe, and whenever Collins is singing "Heatwave," "Uptight," "Papa Was a Rolling Stone," "Jimmy Mack" or "Going to a Go-Go," the album inches away from being a labor of love and into pure nostalgia trip, but even then the album is pleasant enough that it's hard to complain.

This one is for those who would still love The State vs. Radric Davis even if the breakthrough hits "Lemonade" and "Wasted" weren't included.

Anyone with a taste for neo-soul should try Good Things unique flavor. It comes on familiar and comfortable and becomes more rich and rewarding with every return visit.

At its best, History of Modern is to OMD what Secrets is to the Human League: an inspired return from post-punk-turned-synth-pop greats.

Overall, though, this is an enjoyable, danceable working holiday from Sitek, one that shows aspects of his music that bode well for his many other projects.

Some of the cuts may not sink their hooks in immediately, but track for track Hands All Over is Maroon 5's best album, capturing their character and craft in a cool, sleek package.

As a whole, Imperfect Harmonies is its own animal. Tankian proves that he can pull off his grand ambitions in a maximalist approach that creates something new from the ruins of everything he destroyed to get here.

On Wake Up!, the funkiest, most flexible band on the planet backs one of the most skilled and accomplished singer/keyboardists in modern R&B.

Appropriation is the name of the game, so there are few musical surprises in the 39-year-old's veteran beats.

This is a band built for flexibility at live shows and for stretching numbers out, but thanks to Brown's easy, natural honky tonk singing and sharp songwriting, ZBB also deliver confidently in the tighter restraints of a studio setting.

All this serves to underscore that My Father Will Guide Me Up a Rope to the Sky is a mercilessly intense and beautiful record that only Swans could pull off, and that no matter who plays in the band, Gira was and is Swans: their sound, their musical and poetic vision, their heartbeat.

Granted, it is serious-minded fun with ambition, but with Manic Street Preachers you take fun whenever you can get it, and they've never sounded as ebullient as they do here.

Duppy Writer ably serves either of two purposes, an alternate career retrospective or a remix record of taste and distinction.

The strength of the album is that it doesn't sound like it was written by a bunch of Nashville pros--its mellow vibes and occasional soft romantic touch feel true to Currington.