The result is a globe-trotting pop album that sounds like nothing he's attempted before, yet still retains enough of his signature arrangements to make Rouse’s multi-ethnic transformation a believable one.

The dividing line between these two types of songs is a subjective one, to be sure, but even devoted fans would probably agree that the bulk of The Bundles--the first recorded output from a longstanding though intermittent collaboration between these two leading lights of anti-folk--lands sadly but squarely in the latter category.

Allan had a hand in co-writing five of the songs on Get Off on the Pain, which will likely go down as one of the best albums of his career.

Several of the songs here are top-tier extrovert post-punk, neatly organized threshings as invigorating as any material from Mission of Burma or their farther-flung counterparts.

The directness and consistency of the album's production, vocals, and stylistic approach leave a great deal of the focus on the songs themselves, which is good, because songs are arguably Hands greatest asset.

Much of The Pursuit mines this fertilely mellow vein, producing a bunch of understatedly melodic music whose consistency only suggests that Cullum should stop dabbling with detours and just accept his strength as a soft rock singer/songwriter.

Black Swan is a definite sign of progress, though, and the band would do well to follow its path on future releases.

Ultimately, Hidden is the sound of an ambitious young band as eager to use every tool at its disposal as it is to avoid studiously doing what's been done before.

There's a clear focus to the record, too, virtually all of it centered on mainstream dance of the '80s hi-NRG synth pop variety.

The production, songs, and vocals are all perfectly in tune with each other, and the band has crafted a pretty impressive return to form. Permalight is still a far way from the bedroom origins of the group, but it’s also far from being a Coldplay knock-off, and anyone who’s been a fan from the start can certainly appreciate that.

Yet despite the gadgetry that went into the album’s production, Fight Softly is still a sunny piece of work, filled with gorgeous pop melodies that are complex but rarely challenging.

There are moments of impossible beauty (“Owl of Love”), dense, but structured dissonance (“Adages of Cleansing”), and of course, whimsical, classically minded, indie folk (“On the Edge”), that when consumed all together, feel like a perfectly executed mash-up of Aaron Copland, Dead Can Dance, Bill Frisell, and Shirley Collins.

Producer Carson Chamberlain's new penny polish and Corbin's traditional twang balance each other out nicely. Corbin's debut is jam-packed with the sounds of yesterday.

it's a formula contemporary country chartmaker: highly compressed dual lead guitars, layered acoustic guitars, good-time honky tonk lyrics, and big rocking drums. It’s a good-natured dig at city folks, and you can’t help but like Shelton, no matter how many cliché’s he spews.

With songs like “All You Can Hide Inside” revealing a flair for rough-around-the-edges ballads, Be Brave shows that the Strange Boys are growing--not in a self-consciously “mature” way, but enough to make them more than just purveyors of raffish garage rock.

Law of Large Numbers won’t sneak up and hit you over the head, but it will sneak up on you.

As a performer, the smooth Derulo--made even smoother by Auto-Tune--delivers it all so effortlessly that none of that persuasive debut hunger comes through, making this stylish and short set one to admire rather than advocate.

Like many other tracks here, it seems ideally suited for heavy rotation on Radio Disney. The songs tend to have sledgehammer hooks as simple as schoolyard chants, all the better to be bellowed from the backseats of mini-vans across America. There are a few oddities, however.

It's a vital record that charts a completely different direction, one that's less innovative and more mainstream than Future Chaos, but succeeds nonetheless because of its match of Simenon with ace techno producer Gui Boratto,.

Yellow Swans' literal swan song found the two still exploring their way through often majestic drone--if the roots of the band had always been as much in uncontrolled experimentation as in serene contemplation, here the two sides found a fine fusion.

If you can take Hologram Jams lightly and come to terms with the fact that Jaguar Love’s post-punk and rock pretenses are fully behind them, then it’s a fun outing. Ridiculous lyrics, bristling energy, ‘80s synths, and booty beats are the core of the record.

John Hiatt's muse hasn't stopped keeping him on task, and the work he's doing remains satisfying, and anyone who can crank out an album as good as The Open Road every 18 months or so would be well advised to keep up the good work.

Endless Falls' mix of old and new maintains Morgan's reputation as one of the most consistent, and consistently interesting, producers out there.

Despite the obvious stylistic proficiency at play, Double Jointer is a bit too au courant (maybe it's all that reverb) to have much of a long-term impact.

Some listeners may pine for the less streamlined, less electronic, arguably more personable style of their debut, which after all peddled a distinctly different shade of retro-pop nostalgia, but those willing to move with the times (or rather, the 20-year revival cycle) will agree that the 'Beat have crafted another winner.

One-Armed Bandit dazzles early on... Later portions of the album are larded with so many graceless, attention-deficit hazards that it’s unknown exactly what the band (or is that “groop”?) was attempting to accomplish.

The Golden Archipelago, a toothy, epic examination of island life, both physical and metaphysical, is enigmatic to say the least.

If anything, the album almost feels like a spiritual sequel to their full-length debut, "Methodrone," with its similarly lengthy tracks and more studio-focused approach rather than live rock & roll bash and crash, but where that album drowned a bit in the end, Who Killed Sgt. Pepper? finds its creators at a remarkable new high.

If there were any justice, Ain't No Grave would be the last album released under Cash's name. It is not only a compelling contribution to his legacy, but an offering that closes the historic American Recordings series with the same stamp of quality that began it.

Dear God, I Hate Myself is also the band’s most overtly electronic album in some time, with several songs composed on a Nintendo DS that gives the darkness of “Apple for a Brain” and “Secret Motel” an unpretentious, somehow friendly feel.

At its best, these songs have the feel of an intimate live performance; at their worst, they’re lovely, but exhausting. Have One on Me is quite a technical achievement, but since Newsom has proven she can do just about anything, next time she shouldn’t try to do everything.

Michael Trent receives co-writing credits for roughly half of these tracks, but I Liked It Better When You Had No Heart is a Butch Walker album through and through. It’s also one of his best, proof that Walker still can’t take a step without bumping into a usable hook.

The result is a frustrating listening experience that makes you wish that the change in their sound didn't prove to be so fleeting. That being said, if you've stood beside the band for this long, there's nothing here to make you sorry that you did.

Snakes for the Divine is another physically punishing tour de force from a band whose fans will settle for nothing less, and have rarely been let down--certainly not this time around.

The Meat of Life might sound like "another Clem Snide album," but considering that it wasn't so long ago that it looked like this band was over and done, getting another serving of what these musicians do so well is more than welcome even if it doesn't break much new ground.

The results are alternately ghostly, sexy, and nocturnal, but they’re always moving.

Though it's a little perverse for the band to bury its explosive moments, it proves that there's more to Past Lives than rehashing the Blood Brothers' legacy. They're still finding their footing on Tapestry of Webs, but they're going interesting places.

While the music of Wolf People is undeniably vibrant, vital, and visceral, it does not attempt to put any modern (or post-modern) spin on its building blocks; rather, it embraces all the aforementioned influences and moves out into the world as a living, breathing, very natural extension of them.

By and large, European strikes a nice balance between genuine and theatrical, shambling and shiny.

The slocore tag Picastro received early on in some corners has a vague relevance, but on a song like "Pig & Sucker," the sense of compelling, unsettled strangeness is much greater than most bands could pull off.

While hardcore fans may argue--a bit--over the sum total, even they will ultimately agree that this is the only truly representative portrait of Was (Not Was) in all their incarnations; and besides, it’s a stone killer of a party record.

This self-titled album is a fitting tribute to Toure’s and Diabate’s genius and friendship, and is a beautiful farewell.

While some of Constellations lulls a bit, seven-minute suite "Steerage and the Lamp," a snow flurry of Lowe's rolling piano arpeggios accentuated by subtle strings, captures the classical wonderment of Balmorhea at its finest.

((Un)) is a very impressive first record that shows tons of promise. If Black can keep the right amount of wonky in his pop, he could do something truly wonderful.

Sigh No More is an impressive debut, but one that impresses more for its promise of the future than it does its wildly inconsistent place in the present.

Falling Down a Mountain isn't exactly a major reinvention, either, but it does back up the golden-hued sky gracing its cover with some of their most upbeat and optimistic songs to date (keep in mind those are relative terms), and a liberal extension of the looseness they've been gradually settling into since 1999's Simple Pleasure.

These are huge, Motown-sounding set pieces that frame Hynes as a male Dusty Springfield backed by symphonic strings, jangly guitars, and urgent, driving percussion.

This is another chapter in the sonic evolution that began with the name A Silver Mt. Zion, and contains many more dimensions, layers, and textures. It pushes harder and further with much less, yet comes across as no less raggedly and poetically majestic.

There is enough variation from song to song to keep listeners engaged; plenty of thoughtful, almost heavy ballads to balance the jumpy, uptempo tracks, lots of different instrumentation in the arrangements, and an assortment of moods from quiet melancholy to slightly louder melancholy.

Peace & Love remains something of a mood piece--it’s ruminative, not rousing, never succumbing to navel-gazing but not suited for large crowds--which does mean it doesn’t quite have the undeniable power of How to Walk Away, but when a softly melancholy mood strikes, this provides comforting consolation.

With its driving guitars and massive choruses, The Constant is yet another highly catchy album from Story of the Year that will easily live up to their fans' expectations while making converts out of those unfamiliar with them.

Fixin' the Charts really comes down to the jokes and the concept--how much you appreciate it will depend on how much the idea appeals to you in the first place, and how well you can tolerate Argos' sung/spoken/ranted vocal approach, but it's definitely good for at least a chuckle.

As fringe collections go, it is worthwhile, especially for fans of Mathematics. Just don’t be surprised when the faithful turn against the set: they already have too many “pretty good” comps to choose from.

Genuine Negro Jig is perfectly recorded, balanced between the best sound this century can deliver and the rustic, throwback feel of an old-time string band in action at a picnic, dance or rent party in the '30s. That’s the accomplishment here.

While Pearson would likely be flattered to be told that this disc resembles a hybrid of Michael Mayer's Immer (stern, dramatic; Joy Division) and Triple R's Friends (comparatively brighter and outgoing; New Order), he might also find the description a little limiting. Yet this disc does have each one of its elder siblings’ charms: a gentle buildup and easy finish, extended trance-like passages, spongy rhythms, seemingly incongruent tracks melded with ease and restraint, almost subliminally tense transitions from menace to bliss, and even some whispered vocals.

All in all, this is a rare sophomore album that widens the band's sound without narrowing its appeal.

Though this emotional nakedness is an unusual move after Made in the Dark pushed Hot Chip to a new level of attention and acclaim, it also shows they’re in it for the long haul.

Forty years after his debut, I’m New Here contains the artful immediacy that distinguishes Scott-Heron’s best art. The modern production adds immeasurably to that quality, underscores his continued relevance in reflecting the times, and opens his work to a new generation of listeners while giving older ones a righteous jolt.

Horace Andy and Hope Sandoval front some impressive productions, and Damon Albarn's "Saturday Come Slow" is one of his best post-Blur features (including Gorillaz), but overall Heligoland lacks the majesty and might of classic Massive Attack.

The material sits within the band’s canon well enough to please longtime fans, and listeners looking for some kind of middle ground between Evanescence, late-period Queensrÿche and Fall Out Boy will more than likely find a few wicked gems to hang their heads to.

Lacking rhythmic hypnotism and relatable most to those who are experiencing solitude created by romantic desertion, this is not your mother's Sade album.

The sisterly harmonies and country-tinged arrangements are pleasant enough, but they focus on atmosphere at the expense of melody, a move that leaves the listener emotionally stirred but unable to recall a single melody after the disc’s conclusion.

Causers of This sounds like a dance-pop mixtape plunged underwater -- it's all smeary synthesizers, chopped-up dance beats, and washes of reverb.

If Crows was the first album from a new artist, it would certainly be hailed as the debut of a powerful new voice, and the fact that it comes from someone who has already been making fine music in notably different styles makes the accomplishment all the more impressive.

Eyelid Movies is a nostalgia trip at heart, but it isn’t a lifeless pastiche by any means. The amount of care the duo gives to the arrangements, the subtle and successful blending of influences, and above all, the high quality of the songs and performances, mean that the record is a success on its own terms.

Black Noise can't help but feel ever so slightly like a letdown after the consistently mesmerizing rapture of its predecessor. But make no mistake: Weber is still making some of the most enchanting electronica out there, and if this album brings him the increased exposure for which he seems well-poised, there are few producers more deserving.

Ya-Ka-May is not merely a collaborative amalgam of tracks, but rather a unified whole reflecting NOLA’s musical vitality and reveling in it all simultaneously; it's the sound of a musical community being itself for itself, while screaming--in full party mode--into the world that it's alive and evolving.

Truth in advertising, Another Round varies little from Jaheim’s earlier efforts, but for the returning listener, that’s the selling point.

Though they may lose a few fans with their new sound, You Say Party! We Say Die! do a fine job of growing into a truly interesting band on XXXX.

Everybody’s got to miss sometime, and on Haywire, Turner does by a mile, despite his no doubt good intentions in taking some of the slickness off the contemporary country sound.

The energy is, as ever, uniformly positive, albeit with a spirit that is more commonly playful, as on “Simple Advice” (loaded with so much kinetic percussion that it resembles a go-go band’s warm-up session), “Summer Love” (a lighthearted duet with Perkins over crawling, “Cutie Pie”-like machine funk), and “Room Punk!” (45 seconds of happily throwaway pop-punk).

Mechanize isn't quite in a class with Demanufacture or Obsolete, which are widely regarded as two of Fear Factory's most essential releases. But it's still an album that longtime followers will welcome.

Sadly, this time out, the band have put aside the wonderfully corny synthesizers they used on the last record in favor of a 100-percent organic approach that fits their bearded poets of the mountain image.

It’s more interesting to ponder Wayne's reasons for making Rebirth than to actually listen to it, because the end result is a loud and ignorable bore.

The Soft Pack allows this band an almost completely clean break with their past while showing they’re dynamic no matter what they’re called.

While it’s easy to admire his well-cultivated classicism, Who I Am is an awkward growth spurt, relying on songs designed as grooves but given performances too hemmed-in to be soulful and often undone by Nick’s thin teenage yelps.

All in all, A Chorus of Storytellers makes for better background music than a main attraction.

At this point in his career, his best move is to take these types of risks, and when he does so on the ten-minute closer "The Man Who Laughs," with its underlying orchestral score by Tyler Bates (composer for the Halloween remakes The Devil's Rejects and The Watchmen), the results are compelling and unnerving in a good way.

This is one of the most assaultive, addictive albums around, a rip-roaring journey through sonic violence that will leave most quivering in the corner and others (a special few) totally enraptured.

Their combination of crunching riffs, hard-driving rhythms, and howling vocals isn't exactly unique, but their spin on the sound, which adds some touches of classic, early-'80s pre-glam metal to the usual blend of Deep Purple, Black Sabbath, et. al, has a lot of appeal.

Even if Paper Dolls isn’t as ambitious or immediately satisfying as Structure and Cosmetics, it offers plenty of small pleasures for Brunettes fans, who still walk the line between cheery and melancholy in their own unique way.

Grubbs comes one step closer to turning Almost Everything I Wish I’d Said into the underground equivalent of Parachute’s "Losing Sleep" or the Fray’s "How to Save a Life." He doesn't quite get there, perhaps, but the attempt still has some tuneful moments.

This music is fierce and anthemic without ever sounding pretentious, and Pierced Arrows show that a few decades of experience can actually be good for you in punk rock, a welcome revelation in a genre that thrives on youthful snot.

The sheer sense of sprawl created by the two-disc release, accentuated by the sometimes sudden shifts between songs as one variety of feedback suddenly cuts in to replace another, creates its own involving logic.

From a purely instrumental standpoint, this album is the equal of the Beastie Boys' Paul's Boutique, but without the recognizable hooks--every sound here is ultra-obscure and the more entertaining for it.

Where her previous album was ethereal and ephemeral, IRM is exciting and eclectic.

It would be too optimistic to hope that the band would have ever made a record as vital and thrilling as Hold on Now, it’s just too bad that they’ve sunk to the level of bland irrelevance so quickly.

Though it's not as eclectic and whimsical as their earlier work, Teen Dream is some of their most beautiful music, and reaffirms that they're the among the best purveyors of languidly lovelorn songs since Mazzy Star.

Overall, There Is Love in You has the spartan precision of Phillip Glass but also, surprisingly, the warmth and vitality of classic Cluster as well.

By far his most listenable and fully realized work since 1999’s mammoth 69 Love Songs, Realism feels slight because it is. It’s hard to hear someone so adept with a poison pen preen instead of brood, but it’s also rewarding.

It doesn't offer any answers, but The Sea is a testament to Rae's artistic growth as it provides comfort to those left on the wistful side of eternal love, and insight to those who are not.

While it isn’t as immediate as High Time, fans of that album and hypnotic, improvisatory music will love getting lost in The Flexible Entertainer.

Granted, 25 songs of fast, furious, gravelly hardcore punk may seem like a lot to take--and some of the raw alternate takes are in best form in their fully evolved multi-tracked versions on the excellent Chemistry of Common Life and Hidden World albums--but even so, most of the songs included on Couple Tracks are absolute necessities.

While Campfire Songs isn’t nearly as dense or kinetic as Animal Collective’s later work would be, it shows off their penchant for layered harmony and experimental song structures, which makes for a fine piece of atmospheric headphone listening.

Dream Get Together is the rare 2000s album that sounds better played end to end than it does broken down into pieces. A track might sound good in a random mix, sure, but taken together, the effect is somewhat magical.

On their sophomore effort, they stick very close to the formula of their debut: a slew of mid- and uptempo love songs, a sad ballad, and a couple of rocked-up good-time tunes--all self-written with some help from some of Nashville’s most respected writers.

Those who gravitated toward her debut will feel a similar pull to this album, though, which essentially reprises "Oh, My Darling’s" sound with slightly more confidence.