For many, Health's noisy tendencies will be a bit much, but those who aren't afraid to dig deeper will be rewarded greatly.

Apart from these standout tracks, it's a solid album that shows off the individual members' songwriting skills and holds together very well as a display of smart and savvy modern pop.

Even if it's not their best ever, it's a valid comeback that should appease longing fans.

This sequel may have little to do with the original, but if the title helps to point out this is the Shaolin poet's best work since 1995's Pt. 1, then so be it.

This is a much better record than their debut--and that in itself is an impressive feat.

It's all really quite astounding. Neo-soul. Yep. That's what this is. And it's damn good. Soul, neo or not, is soul, and this guy has it.

Fans of his louder music might not play this often, but 55 Cadillac is another step toward Andrew W.K. putting his stamp on every art form.

Even though she's borrowed a lot here--from Animal Collective, from Pakistani music--Bergsman manages to give it all a tender, sad-yet-sprightly touch that's completely her own.

Here Comes Science is another fun, educational triumph.

Deeply atmospheric even for a Kranky release, As Good as Gone's subtlety is its strength, and shows how Foote, Dickow, Owens, and company bring out the best in each other.

He's mastered the craft of writing tight and focused rock songs that transcend their beginnings but make no concessions to current sonic fashions.

Doubt can be crippling, but it also serves a positive purpose here, as Bazan has rarely sounded so convincing in his vocal delivery or songwriting.

Hooks never mattered to the Used anyway, so having a higher grade of execution helps underscore the Used's point, which ironically just makes the whole thing uglier and harder to take.

No longer young upstarts, they wear their years proudly on this terrific album, sounding like the veteran roadhounds they've always aspired to be.

When the Devil's Loose might share some reference points with another singer/songwriter with a similar offhand affection for roots music, but A.A. Bondy seems to be developing a voice of his own despite all the surface similarities, and the result is a quietly powerful album of songs that cut deeper into the heart and soul than you might expect at first glance.

Like most odds and ends collections, The Fine Print is uneven and doesn't match the consistent quality of the Drive-By Truckers' usual work, but nearly all of these tracks are too genuinely good to have been left to gather dust, and even the DBTs' scraps can make for a pretty satisfying meal.

Even if it's not the most persuasive mood album, once the party has kicked into high gear Rebelution will certainly keep it going.

Ride Again isn't a raucous rock & roll album, it's a relaxed good time, a little bit of cheerful nostalgia that's pretty charming.

Juliette Lewis dials down the aggression, amps up the introspection, and adds a dose of weirdness on her third album, Terra Incognita. As always, what Lewis wants to achieve is apparent and admirable, but not necessarily quite what is achieved.

This is as entertaining and frivolous as a one-night stand should be.

What she undoubtedly is, is a pro--she sells these subdued glitzy productions, she makes boring songs interesting, she remains a forceful, tangible presence.

Cyrus has always sounded older than her years, and as she leaves her teens, that's a good thing--especially since The Time of Our Lives shows her music is catching up to her pipes.

Since so much of Humbug is about its process, it's not always immediately accessible or pleasurable to an outside listener, nor is it quite the thickly colored freakout Homme's presence suggests.

Ellipse is some of her most wide-ranging work, physically and musically speaking.

The resultant sound is smooth, classy, and subtle--a sonic horse of a different color from the exquisitely ramshackle earthiness that made "Stardust" so appealing and unusual.

Even if everything seems built for the 12" format and then landed on an album anyway, Guetta's fans get all the well-done house music they desire, and then some.

Despite its ominous (and lofty) title, No More Stories/Are Told Today/I'm Sorry/They Washed Away/No More Stories/The World Is Grey/I'm Tired/Let's Wash Away is a dreamy blend of circular melodies and odd time signatures that requires multiple listens (this is par for the course with any Mew album) and a significant amount of cinematic stamina from the listener, and though it may not appeal to the masses, its mass is definitely appealing.

For the most part, He Was King emphasizes pop accessibility--and it often does so with catchy, likable results.

Add Kahne's instantly accessible production and Light is not only a welcome surprise, but an album that matches his debut.

Shaka Rock squanders the promise Jet showed on their previous work, and even if they soldier on and release another ten albums, this feels like the end of the road for them.

It's a creation that's slicker and sleeker than the debut, but fortunately, it's not quite at the expense of Caillat's simple charms.

In the meantime, this may be a holding pattern, but it's one worth holding on to. Diminishing results are, after all, still results.

These clean, open arrangements tend to make the songs seem catchier than they actually are--the hooks don't grab, they repeat like softened incantations that never quite catch hold--but that does give No Baggage an nice, gentle shimmer that's appealing.

While the six tracks that follow don't wallow in the same waters of failed redemption as the title track, they do cling to Furr's folksier moments, resulting in a solid addendum for those who prefer Blitzen Trapper's Bob Dylan meets the Grateful Dead fetish over their visceral, vaguely psychedelic Southern indie rock jams.

Ingram's latest doesn't fit the definition of a work by an artist, because this set isn't original in any way. It seems that he can not only live with this compromise, but he freely chose it, and celebrates it here.

Even though the album may be enough of a stretch that it could chase away many of the band's fans, if you give it a chance, Memoirs at the End of the World is a completely successful melding of the Postmarks' autumnal sweetness with the elevated drama and epic nature of film scores.

Just about all of it is enjoyable, but not much of it sticks.

The set is both familiar and fresh-sounding at once.

Rarely does an independent album sound so assured, so polished, and so agreeable.

Peñate's enthusiasm for not only his source material, but for the empty canvas of 21st century commercial music itself, feels genuine enough, resulting in an infectious club- and radio-ready collection of cosmopolitan pop that feels both familiar and expansive.

Even if he doesn't quite have the vocal presence to fully inhabit this stage, his taste and melodic skills are suited for this bigger scale so My Old, Familiar Friend winds up as an effective showcase for his craftsmanship even if it never quite grabs ahold the way "Lapalco" did.

Most of the album stays true to a light flavor, and Welcome Joy is a nice, comfortable listen, right up there with "Invitation Songs."

The bottom line here is that Keep on Loving You may jar some longtime Reba fans on first listen, but despite the record's sound it's all her in this mix, and they will more than likely celebrate this.

Ultimately, Blood from Stars is the most sophisticated, redemptive, and romantic album Henry's cut; the love songs are simply raggedly breathtaking.

It's overrun by the dissonance of half-step progressions and minor-chord crunch, and it's constantly excruciating.

Wind's Poem strikes a balance between accessibility and ambition that offers something for every kind of Elverum fan, but never sacrifices its purpose in the process.

Throughout, You Can't Take It with You represents the sound of a band striking a delicate balance between emotional directness and artful experimentation.

Here, Ledisi wails and belts with a kind of power previously untapped--in recorded form, at least--all the while maintaining remarkable finesse.

This is essentially a thinking man's album, though, more indicative of the band's breadth than its ability to make hit singles.

Treat Ursa Major as an EP, forgetting the second half.

Wolf has often stated that he has no allegiance to styles when it comes to recording, but The Bachelor feels most alive when it's wallowing in its own dusky ruin.

To be sure, this is recognizably within his comfort zone--as always, when you do it as well as he does, there's no need to change--but beneath that supple exterior there are a few surprises, chief among them the re-emergence of Strait the songwriter.

That eagerness to sell out can be grating, especially when her 2009 debut slides into glassy ballads, but fortunately she's also picked up (perhaps unwittingly) on the underlying oddness of Aguilera and Perry, turning out purportedly mainstream pop that puts together familiar ingredients in weird ways.

We could have used more of the Incredible String Band or Richie Havens! But these are individual complaints. The set as it stands is the ultimate document--thus far--and will likely be for some time to come.

Hot Mess is a complete success and shows that the band could possibly grow past the comedy and become something else entirely.

Middleton and company burn through a set of excellent songs with confidence, ranging from other quick-as-hell rundowns to calm reflection.

The songs generally sound as tuneful and well-crafted as her earlier work, but Stupid Love sounds curiously chicken-hearted when it reaches for its pop gestures, a shame since the songs where she pushes hardest in that direction are the ones that succeed the most.

The trio dives even deeper into the grooves that drive their music, expanding them and streamlining them into something challenging yet fresh and immediate.

It's a joy to hear, and it's comforting that Sainte-Marie is still writing amazing songs, taking firm social and political stands, performing with spirit, joy, and passion, and pretty much doing what she's always done.

Their music is solid, Southern-style meat-and-potatoes rock at its best; it's a formula they've mastered over the years, and Lean Forward shows it's still delivering soul-satisfying results more than a decade and a half on.

Love and Curses features 14 songs driven by soul, strength and fierce belief, and with a voice as strong as Greg Cartwright fronting a band this tight and effective, Reigning Sound are just about unbeatable; they're one of America's great bands and they're firing on all cylinders with Love and Curses.

Call it sloppy pop (or poppy slop), but even with the raw aesthetic and tinny resonance, the songs are entirely sweet and hummable, sometimes to the point of being unshakable.

Well-chosen guests like Fatman Scoop and Pharoahe Monch increase the thug appeal while earthshaking productions from the Alchemist, DJ Khalil, and Mr. Porter seal the deal.

They're innocent, they're simple, and they're filled with blindingly good hooks. It's all thrown together with a superb sense of knowing what works.

Sometimes, this approach is entirely too slick, particularly when the rhythms are pounding too hard on 'Wild at Heart' and 'You Said,' but at their best, Gloriana can evoke the forgotten charms of '70s studio-centric soft rock in both its mellow and rocking incarnations.

While Interpol is far from a simplistic band, more often than not Julian Plenti Is Skyscraper takes the scenic route, and it pays off with an intimate, subtle set of songs that are strong in their own right.

Tribute To remains reverent despite those unique touches, however, and Jim James (or Yim Yames, or whatever he's calling himself nowadays) sounds fairly fantastic throughout.

The singing may be subdued and the playing quiet, but everything here packs an emotional wallop.

Unfortunately, despite a few great tracks and plenty of pounding productions, Blank hits a lot of familiar notes.

The Ruminant Band is generally a happy affair, though, and cameo appearances by Califone's Tim Rutili and Jim Becker help chart the Fruit Bats' migration from bedroom side project to full-fledged band.

Creaturesque's subtler pleasures may require more time to sink in than the impulsive skinny-dip plunge of its predecessor, but fans of classic-styled melodic indie rock will find it every bit as summery and inviting as the backyard swimming pool on the cover, and well worth the wade.

The bottom line is Troubled, Shaken Etc is an album: paced, sequenced, structured, and produced as such. It's utterly lovely, feminine, and subtly adventurous.

Anjulie is quite impressive as an opening salvo from a talented musical collagist whose minor flurry of hype is well-warranted.

Infinite Light shows that Lightning Dust haven't lost any momentum since the release of their self-titled debut.

Nurses proceed to provide exactly what is expected of them and what their audience presumably expects.

It's not essential Pernice by any stretch, but as a soundtrack to the novel, it works just fine, and its relaxed charm makes it worth hearing even if you don't read the book and are just a fan of the man's music.

Radio Wars demands its listeners heed that siren song, and it's truthfully hard to resist.

Kleerup can certainly be accused of repeating the same tricks over and over, but at least he has some remarkably effective (if not immensely distinctive) tricks — essentially, moderately paced and genially thumping robo-disco beats wedded to majestically buoyant chord progressions, played on synths that somehow manage to sound lush and punchy at the same time, with some bonus keyboard flutters for icing.

Not everything works--Tisdale isn't convincing when she tries to deal in either pain or carnality, but when she sticks to the surface, she makes sure that Guilty Pleasure lives up to its title.

Add it all up and this not-so-conceptual-after-all album points out both the rapper's limitations and his strengths. Call it a draw.

while Midlife could have used a heavier dose of this side of Blur, there's not a bad track here, and the set also brings their glorious, epoch-creating single 'Popscene' back into circulation.

Though her voice has yet to fully develop and lacks the uniqueness running through her bloodline, it's clear she landed a major-label contract on the basis of her talent.

A handful of ballads do add variety to the album's pace, but Owl City is largely a vehicle for the one song Adam Young knows how to make.

Because the sound is of paramount importance, this does succeed as pure radio-ready product, which is enough for Sparks to sustain her momentum if not enough to give her some kind of identity to build a career upon.

I'm Going Away is a departure that fits in with the rest of the Fiery Furnaces' work, and it's only fitting that a band this creative can pull something like that off.

The influence of that 1972 double LP can be heard in the similarly homespun production of Under the Covers, Vol. 2 but where Rundgren was open-ended, Sweet neatly ties up every loose end with the care of a pop fetishist, making sure all the harmonies and guitar licks are in place, never adding any untasteful elements.

Molina has a consistent--if downcast--view of the world in his songs, and the canvas he uses to express it does so perfectly.

Riceboy Sleeps has all the majestic calm of Sigur Ros with none of the dramatic storm, all of the lull and none of the squall.

Not quite as much fun, but still fun.

The record isn't a failure by any stretch; there is enough going on to make it at least worth a listen or two if you love the sound of 1990s American indie rock as much as Wye Oak do.

Alternating between fingerpicked acoustic and electric, the remaining tracks are hardly deficient of introverted charm, but with the exception of the semi-propulsive 'Rebecca,' the pace is sluggish at best, resulting in a collection of songs best listened to in threes, or all at once with one's forehead pressed against the window waiting for the rain to pass.

The textures are right but Our Lady Peace remain deficient in hooks and melodies, something that didn't matter as much when their sound boiled with indignation instead of merely simmering, as it does here.

Nothing here is flashy, which is keeping in a long tradition of Hunter's and is yet another reason why he's often called underrated, but when he's making records as rich and resonant as Man Overboard at the age of 70, it's hard not to listen with not a small degree of wonder.

Sugar Ray can sometimes try too hard to seem younger than their years, pushing the dance beats a little bit too hard, and Mark McGrath relies on some unseemly Auto-Tune, but even with this too-evident aural botox, the group remains a guilty pleasure that's a bit hard to resist.

Megafaun are just as taken by quietly tortured dark-night-of-the-soul whisperings, lo-fi oddities, and shards of feedback shade as they are of banjos and summertime evenings, giving Gather, Form and Fly a bit of an unsettled edge at various points.

It flows. Because it's not as insanely cut as your typical IDM, it works as subtle, non-distracting background music, but it's still detailed enough to make for some enthralling headphone candy as well.

Gorgeous Johnny may be too well crafted for the band's traditional-leaning fans, but its highlights are hard to resist.