Camu Tao's thoughts and structures are more fully fleshed out, more songs than just ideas and sketches, and here, what he was and what he could do, and could have done, seem so much more fully whole.

Earnest, melodic, and slow to unfold, there's not a bad song on here, but surprises are few and far between.

Come and Get It!--his third LP and first for a major label--feels a bit like an unearthed relic, built on songs and sounds that could pass for unheard gems if it wasn't for Reed's unapologetically white voice, free of affectations and ticks.

All About Tonight wasn't recorded to reach a new audience, so much as shore up Shelton's fan base while furthering his chosen marketing experiment.

The better surprise is his heavy dose of talent that doesn't necessarily dazzle but does charm, and is deep enough to keep things interesting for a whole album.

As pure music, Black Label Society remain as effective as they ever were on Order of the Black.

Somehow, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World's music remains true not just to the comic, but to the work of everyone involved in the story at every stage, with plenty of fun and heart to boot.

This third chapter in the Budos Band's legacy is a giant step forward. That said, for band and listener alike, nothing is lost in this gambit; everything just gets deeper and wider and the payoff is nearly immeasurable.

Despite their changes, PVT remain as hard to pin down as ever, and Church with No Magic is admirable, if not exactly embraceable.

It's serious without being preachy, cynical without dissolving into apathy, and whimsical enough to keep both sentiments in line, and of all of their records, it may be the one that ages so well.

Wavves sometimes gets carried away--"Neon Balloon" and its sea of synth gurgles and helium vocals is near silly--but when Williams finds his stride and carves the tube of punky psych sonics, the results are totally awesome.

On Tin Cast Trust, Los Lobos prove that tough times don't last, but tough music does, and those are words we can all live by.

As it stands, Transit Transit is a beautifully executed work that would have made the band solid contenders if it had been released back in 1992.

This is the sound of seasoned veterans still finding new ways to play old favorites.

This isn't just a logical follow-up to 2008's excellent The City That Care Forgot, it's close to a career-defining summation from one of America's most important musicians.

While this hardly supplants those originals, Spot the Difference is a fun spin for the devoted and a good advertisement for Squeeze's reunion tour, proving they still have the knack to entertain.

As with most of The House, songs like the folk-inflected opener "I'd Love to Kill You," the Eastern-tinged "The Flood," and the yearning and pretty "Red Balloons," take time to build and grab you slowly with deft, biting lyrics and Melua's lilting, burnished vocals.

The album doesn't quite knit together seamlessly, but that doesn't mean there isn't plenty of interesting stuff here. If anything, Where The Messengers Are is an easily measurable improvement over their debut.

Back with the 808 boom, the stone-cold rhymes, and that sturdy, warrior soul, Bun B is officially crowned consistent with his third solo effort, the satisfying Trill O.G.

Weareallgoingtoburninhellmegamixxx3 is a logical progression from his hectic early work as genres like dubstep and grime have since appeared to increase the pressure. Extended runs of uptempo numbers are something new for the man, and the album refuses to chill until it takes a breather on track six

If they can't quite deliver the songs or hooks--and they can't--they need to have the attitude, which they do here.

Even in the heavier moments, the album plays with a cool, unruffled composure that seems more easygoing than prior outings, making for a comfortable, welcome return.

The man is full of contradictions and lyrics that demand deciphering, so Str8 Killa becomes an excellent entry point, maybe by default and maybe by design. Either way, it's a necessary purchase for gangsta rap fans and a gateway drug that will send you straight to the mixtape underground.

The California-bred Hoop does indeed have plenty of additional idiosyncratic ideas to offer, not just lyrically but musically, on her second album, Hunting My Dress.

Luckily, the sound of the band remains unchanged, and as one of the best drummers in the business, Portnoy picks up the reigns and rides the Deathbat's double kick in complete synchronicity with Gates, Christ, and Vengeance.

Praise & Blame winds up an undeniably excellent album that you're either ready for or you're not.

Drifting between order and disarray, Menomena's fourth album is like an exercise in controlled chaos.

Crazy for You is meant to be an album that creates a mood, a feeling of gentle despair and wistful longing that grows with each song. On that count, it's a complete success.

Ten singles--these voices could have used some better material--but the album will likely please most of the fan base, as it is a rather skillful update of the familiar.

Beach Fossils may be very 2010 but they aren't just along for the ride, they're driving the bandwagon.

The album is certainly more in vogue than Tell It to the Volcano--its blippy keyboards and amorphous arrangements sound very 2010--but that doesn't keep it from sounding less gratifying than the band's debut, which prized a good pop hook above all else.

Whether it works or not depends on whether you're in the love him or the hate him camp, but no compromise is just what his fans signed up for in the first place. The Darkside, Vol. 1 is a mean beast of an album that will surely make Joe's army re-enlist for Vol. 2.

In the end, a necessary acquisition for fans or an easy way for newcomers to judge whether they are wacky enough to join the Major's cyberpunky reggae party.

Not as cohesive as The Salvation Blues, Many Colored Kites is still a worthy and brave album that finds Mark Olson continuing to find new ways of sharing what life has taught him through his music.

It's fairly inoffensive rock, but the music and melodies are remarkably accomplished, especially for an early outing.

Rick Ross keeps a very good thing going on Teflon Don, arguably his best album to date.

There's an ease to this record that's not often heard on Sheryl Crow's albums and its light touch is thoroughly appealing.

Archive 2003-2006 is well worth a listen for Department of Eagles and Grizzly Bear fans, especially those intrigued by how albums get made--or don't get made, as the case may be.

There's a laid-back, late-night vibe maintained throughout Obadiah, as Ford unleashes her moody croon over slow to midtempo tunes colored by piano, organ, and Tanyas member Trish Klein's guitar work and powered by mellow but funky, slow-rolling grooves.

This may be the most subdued of Richter's Fat Cat releases, but every nuance shows the care with which he crafts all of his music.

This disc does gather the duo's most-known material, including "Destiny," "Distractions," "In the Waiting Line," and "Polaris," all of which were licensed for several compilations and/or used in advertisements.

This is a heartfelt, creative, and deeply inspired album that should appeal to fans of intelligent pop music.

Even if it's not as cohesive as Mahjongg's earlier work, it's easily some of the band's boldest, most confident music.

These United States are trying to transport the listener back to a conversation among a group of weed-smoking flower children circa 1971/1972, but lyrically, they continue to miss the mark and end up sounding pretentious instead. Nonetheless, they do have an appealing sense of melody, and despite this album's shortcomings, one doesn't want to give up on These United States just yet.

Despite the delay, Dark Night of the Soul shows what a talent and what a generous collaborator we lost in Mark Linkous.

The thicker, more driving songs resemble a polished, warm Curve, whipping up squalls of noise over robust played-and-programmed rhythms that soar more often than batter.

They've gone back to the coiled, furious sputter of their debut but there's no disguising that Korn is an older band, substituting precision for frenzy without diluting their power.

It may not be flashy but it's sturdy and expertly honed, reflecting Finn's craftsmanship on a song-by-song basis but holding together better as an album than any Finn project in recent memory.

There are moments during MAYA when it seems like M.I.A.'s next move might involve walking into a laundromat, filling the dryers with bricks and silverware, pulling the fire alarm, blaring a drop-forge beat from a tinny boombox, and recording the result.

It's lively and fun, and it's Sting's most satisfying record in a long time.

Masts of Manhatta walks this line [the pull of the two extremes] throughout, sometimes getting quite a bit livelier, sometimes indulging in decidedly moody textures, always twisting just slightly from the expected, making for a record that's quite intriguing upon the first listen and better on repeats, where the songs begin to dig in and all the textures gain resonance.

Serotonin may offer less immediate pleasures than Twenty One, but it promises to reward repeated listening.

For backpackers and underground fans, it's a must, but anyone who wants their hip-hop both a bit stranger and a lot deeper will fall hard for this one.

Not many bands bring together bluegrass' past and present the way Chatham County Line do, and fewer still can do it this well; Wildwood shows they keep getting better as they follow new stylistic detours in their music.

While Blue Giant has the freshness and enthusiasm of a debut album, it also boasts the artistry and intelligence of a band with years of experience, and this music brings forth the joy of the best of both worlds.

Custom Built is odds-and-ends masquerading as a new album, rounding up brand-new cuts and leftovers from Michaels' unheralded pre-Rock of Love 2000s.

HTDA's debut EP doesn't consist of dressed-up leftovers from The Slip: some of Reznor's obsessions remain recognizable, but having collaborators opens up the music and Maandig softens it, giving this EP a different feel despite some familiar sounds.

Whether or not Flesh Tone remains a stylistic outlier, the disc will always be a bright standout in Kelis' discography.

Aphrodite is the work of someone who knows exactly what her skills are and who to hire to help showcase them to perfection.

It's one of the loosest, most varied, and entertaining albums of its time.

No question about it, though, Delphic are at their best when they're in the studio with Pearson. His production wizardry is a joy to behold on Acolyte.

Scissor Sisters are record fans from way back, so they structure nearly every element of Night Work to relive the heady days of AOR (aka album-oriented rock).

Shame that one-joke ideas like "House Party" get blown out of proportion, and even worse, the healthy helping of filler is obstinate, refusing to fade into the background because of over-the-top performances. 3oh!3 are nothing if not loud and shameless, so if you expect end-to-end excellence from their albums, you've got a lot to learn about cheap thrills.

While this is definitely a darker album, the fuzzy synthesizers help to give the songs warmth, preventing the album from becoming suffocating.

Street Songs of Love is the most raucous, rawest, and finest album Escovedo's yet released.

Trendy South African rhythms and austere strings spin a web around Davidson's poetic lyrics, and in this intricate, introspective setting, their talent becomes very clear.

The blood doesn't really get pumping until the fifth track. Up to that point, however, the band creates some of its most downcast and alluring material, covering solitude, self-destruction, and just about every planetary ill.

Uffie’s long-delayed debut looks to be filled with excitement, but rarely has an album sounded so unconcerned.

The results of that effort are apparent, and they're not good. Gray wields one of the most naturally talented voices in R&B, but from the evidence here, she's not a songwriter.

Chemical Brothers have remained in the stadium house category for a decade-plus due to their immersive music and vivid light shows, but from the stale beats and lack of new ideas on display here, they'd do better going beatless or hiring a drummer.

At times Can't Be Tamed feels perfunctory, getting the job of showing Cyrus is growing up without making her too mature for her still-young fan base and little else.

While We Are Born occasionally lapses into the anodyne, overly tasteful pop-folk balladeering of Sia's past, overall it's a charmingly cheery, light-hearted romp looking nowhere but sweetly, sanguinely forward.

It may be flawed and the rapper's attitude is sometimes one step ahead of his output, but he hasn't sounded this unfiltered and proud since The Marshall Mathers LP.

While a few hooks stand out--particularly the "fisticuffs" chorus of "Fixed"--most of the songs are too watered down, lyrically and musically, to be truly enticing.

Mason's career has been one of constant starts and stops and side-project misdirections (for his fans, at least), so the straightforwardly eccentric Boys Outside is clearly a record to treasure.

Deth Red Sabaoth sounds like what a lot of the Samhain/Misfits fans wanted the group's 1988 debut to be: a raw, dirty, D.I.Y. collection of comic book-inspired violence, thrust together by the unholy union of punk and metal.

How exactly these songs fit together with "Holes"' delicate plucking and the title track's pixelated folk might be locked in Fol Chen's brains, but even if there are more pieces of their puzzle-pop missing here than there were on John Shade, Your Fortune's Made, The New December is never boring.

We Walk This Road is a consistently surprising tour de force that moves easily through rock, blues, R&B, gospel, and more, sometimes bringing them all together at the same time.

Where some see restraint, others may very well see refinement, and those who appreciated Antidotes' more spacy passages will find that Foals' reinvention of their sound is a calculated risk that definitely pays off.

Capturing the freedom and loneliness of independence, Body Talk, Pt. 1 is a concise set of songs on its own, and an impressive first third of the whole ambitious project.

The prevailing feeling throughout this album is that American Slang represents a more mature sound from the Gaslight Anthem, showing us a band that has grown up enough to start attempting to fill the shoes of their influences.

The playing is solid, but one wishes Petty & the Heartbreakers had simply covered some of those old Chess classics rather than trying half-heartedly to write their own -- it would have made for an album closer to intent.

Thanks to the rich and nuanced production and Drake's thoughtful, playful, and intense lyrics, Thank Me Later is a radio-friendly, chart-topping collection of singles but also a serious examination of Drake's life that holds up as an album.

Barbara shows that We Are Scientists know what works for them, and even if it never quite breaks the barrier between pleasant and great, it's almost always enjoyable.

Lustre takes on a kind of cinematic joy where Harcourt the long-suffering vampiric troubadour steps into the light and shines.

This is a welcome return for Miller, and a must for modern electric blues fans.

McLachlan simply sounds like McLachlan here, seemingly unaged by the seven years that have elapsed since her last record and unconcerned with new trends.

If nothing on Antifogmatic is quite that ambitious, nevertheless in track after track Thile leads the band through labyrinthine arrangements that shift tempos and instrument groupings, over which he sings abstract lyrics in a slightly disembodied high tenor voice.

Release Me wipes away any memories of the band's previous work as well as any boring talk of their famous fathers, and re-introduces the band as first-rate purveyors of thrillingly fun rockin' retro pop.

Time Flies does a better job of rounding up the highlights from their patchy turn-of-the-millennium albums--actually, it emphasizes Heathen Chemistry almost a bit too much, with its five tracks outweighing the number of selections from Definitely Maybe and Morning Glory--and has space for selections from their smashing final album Dig Out Your Soul.

This triumphant self-possession comes so naturally to Christina that it's hard not to wish that she acted so boldly throughout Bionic, letting the entirety of the record be as distinctly odd as its best moments.

The second Crystal Castles may not be as immediately and consistently satisfying as their debut, but it shows that the band has more to offer than just an immediately distinctive--and confining--sound.

If the day is as sun-drenched and relaxed as the songs on Shadows implies, then may it and Teenage Fanclub go on and on.

Nada Surf show they can play well with others on If I Had a Hi-Fi, though they'd do well to apply the lessons learned here to some new tunes for their next album.

White Crosses is a big-sounding album with a blue-collar soul, but though the guitars may aim for the rafters alongside lofty, singalong choruses, the songwriting ultimately comes off safer and more commonplace than anything they've done yet.

Technically impressive, immaculately arranged and performed, Destroyer of the Void removes the kitchen sink from the equation early in the record, which helps pave the way for Destroyer of the Void, the album, to unfold, and while there’s nothing here to match the instant gratification of songs like “God + Suicide” and the lovely title track from 2008’s Furr, there’s enough meat on these bones to suggest that the band hasn’t lost its knack for crafting spiritually charged, enigmatic woodcuts of 21st century Americana.

Champ is still a melodic, eclectic record, but it often feels like the work of some other band.

Even with some of the smoke and mirrors removed, Ariel Pink is still a singular talent.