The songs "The Ballad of Jimmy McCade" and "Bottle" hail back to "English Rose," while "Jawbone" simmers to funky wah-wah rhythms and swaths of psychedelic guitars. These grab the attention--the other three short selections are essentially incidental music, even "Jawbone Training" with its hyperactive hi-hats--but the album's centerpiece is its opener, "Jimmy/Blackout," a 21-minute suite that builds from atmospheric electronics to a shimmering sung denouement from Weller.

As a collected album, No Fun Mondays is a bit of a lark, unexpected in its energy but not its contents. With two notable exceptions, Billie Joe Armstrong chose tunes that stay well within his punk-pop and power pop wheelhouse.

The main shortcoming of At My Piano is that even though Brian Wilson is playing songs that he wrote, the mellow, elevator music style of these versions doesn't sound any more significantly connected to Wilson than any other session musician or unknown piano player running through familiar tunes as background music at a martini bar would sound. Despite this, it's pleasant to hear these songs in a new form.

Zig ends up being her most focused and mature work to date, one that finds her spreading her wings and expanding her arsenal yet again.

If Model suffers from anything, it's sometimes seeming a bit formulaic in the process, but the good news is that the band is really good at catchy unlucky-in-love songs.

The limited palette and relentless attack wind up a little wearying, especially when married to brickwalled masters.

The album is a bit more raw than previous, so expect more fan favorites than hit singles. Otherwise, this is business as usual, and business is absolutely gangbusters.

The weightless drones and light filigrees are as mesmerizing and familiar as ever when folded into each other.

A tremendous return to form.

Fans and involved listeners are definitely rewarded with increased dividends after multiple listens, but even they may wish for an album that harked back to the simpler days of the Premiers Symptomes EP and Moon Safari.

Few will ever refer to this as a classic, though even fewer will ever think of this as a poor showing.

Highly recommended.

Based on pure sound, Von is just as much of a treat as the acclaimed follow-up.

Best of the lot is "Isn't That Enough," built on a loping riddim in the mold of Sly & Robbie's work on Grace Jones' cover of "Nightclubbing," though Khan is uninhibited and impassioned, as always. Even when a surplus of synthesizers, organs, and flame-throwing guitars threaten to overtake her elsewhere, she cuts straight through with full-tilt, life-affirming power.

Rouse sounds perfectly at ease, as if he were just playing for fun with no tapes rolling.

Scott could probably keep releasing this same kind of crazy, funhouse psych pop record forever and it wouldn't get tired, especially if he keeps writing songs this catchy and keeps giving subtle tweaks here and there.

The mild growth and light sophistication they show in spots doesn't make the record any less of a rollicking good time. Just like they have since their early days, the Orwells bring the songs, the suds, and the knuckleheaded energy to the party.

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

Given that Nelson had built a remarkable career out of mostly doing just what he feels like, this album, charming as it is, isn't as revealing as it might have been coming from other major country artists, though for Willie's die-hard fans, it's a must and it is a sweet reminder of how much Bobbie Nelson has brought to Willie's music over the years.

The whole thing comes off as an imaginary Tricky radio station where the DJ plays his own stuff and mixes himself into other artist's tracks, so if alternate views and unclassifiable collections are desired, Skilled Mechanics isn't a lark or a side project but a necessity.

Dancing and dreaming at the same time is always lovely, and with Apar, Delorean have again provided a perfect soundtrack for just such a pursuit.

Unfortunately, the times the band steps into more lighthearted -- at least musically -- territory are not nearly as successful.

Far from being an album for wallowing in the depths of grief, True Sadness is a record about the emergence of hope.

Green's past albums have all been enjoyable affairs. This one, however, is a masterpiece.

This is as good as it gets right now; it'll be the country album to beat in 2007.

Ultimately, even layers of fuzzy noise and fully saturated weirdness can't obscure the band's hooks or their unique pop perspective.

Add it all up and it's a weird and wonderful set, as hyped-up, hallucinatory, and hot as the film that either oozed or sweated it out.

His newfound control on Estara makes the flowing sounds and uplifting moods that distinguish him within the beat music scene all the more expressive.

This album easily captures Guided by Voices doing what they've always done and always will do--ride their seemingly endless font of catchy tunes and crunchy riffs into infinity, and though this is no career-defining masterpiece, as a make-busy project for five guys stuck in a snowstorm, it's pretty great.

As it is, it sounds like a brave experiment and a sincere effort to explore new creative avenues, but it's a long way from a rousing success. However, its high points leave one hoping that Farrar doesn't stop speaking his peace next time around.

Closing on the soaring, bittersweet ballad "Performer," Black joins the ranks of other pop chameleons on an impressive and engaging reinvention.

Lofgren doesn't shy away from big emotions -- one song, "Nothin's Easy," is explicitly dedicated to his wife Amy, who also serves as the album's co-producer, yet many of the other tracks feel informed by their relationship -- and that open-heartedness is the key to the album's success: it enlivens the studio precision and gloss, giving it a warm human pulse.

This mix of genres at work makes for an exciting listen, another addictive affair of dark melody and bold beats from a trio that excels in intelligent, deftly produced art pop.

Like fellow abstract lyricist Kristin Hersh, her quill is aimed at the introverted, resulting in work that is both deeply personal and frustratingly impenetrable.

There are things that don't work here: there are stilted, wooden arrangements that mar "I'm Am Not Waiting Anymore" with Sam Amidon, and Vernon's duet with Carter on Bob Dylan's "Every Grain of Sand." Otherwise, I'll Find a Way is a fine, if uncharacteristically restrained, Blind Boys of Alabama recording.

This release is probably more for Mac DeMarco super fans than casual listeners, as there's nothing resembling the happy-go-lucky hooks of his best-loved songs, just the incidental sounds collected on a slow, aimless wander.

[A] likeable, meandering, bedroom parlor-pop outing.

The producer likewise incorporates vocals, either mostly or completely sampled, that tend to evoke senses of longing, losing grasp, and persevering.

An album in the old-school sense, with expansive tracks and detours that still add up to a cohesive whole, Last Night on Earth offers more proof that Ranaldo's music is just as satisfying, if not more so, on its own as it was as part of one of alternative rock's supergroups.

Tyevk are still at the best when they keep things short, snarky, and catchy, as on "Underwater 1's" sunken mental asylum rave-up or the road rage rant "Pricks in a Car." Nevertheless, Nothing Fits proves that they can change things up and still deliver music with visceral impact.

New Wild Everywhere may not bring anything new to the table, but what It does bring, as is the case with the best comfort food, has been honed to perfection.

The Strokes' most mature music yet, Comedown Machine is a solidly enjoyable album, even if it lacks some of the band's previous spark.

Röyksopp have little left to say aside from what others have said more clearly in the past.

There's no shame in appealing to a more commercial crowd, and if You Me at Six could have continued to pursue the album's more mature mainstream moments instead of trying to prove their rawk credentials, Sinners Never Sleep would probably have turned out to be a more consistent affair.

Free from vague thematic restraints, this volume works as the most immediately listenable and comprehensible of the Nomad Series and stands alone as another strong volume of the craft Cowboy Junkies have been honing for years.

Get What You Give hits hard and fast, with highlights coming from the epic (by hardcore standards) "White Light" and the surprisingly melodic "Engine 45" and "Dark Horse."

A predilection for brevity and simple pop craftsmanship ultimately tempers their more obstinate tendencies, resulting in a smart, well-executed set of staccato dance-rock anthems that flirt with excess, yet never overstay their welcome.

By the end, listeners will feel like they've been laying out in the sun all day, warm in the glow of the Donkeys' heartfelt love for all things Cali, complete with the sound of washing waves and seagull cries.

The aptly named Run never really finds its mark, as it too often charges brazenly into the ether and is gone forever.

It never feels like Simonetti and Wight are dabbling on The Past We Leave Behind; instead, the changes they explore just add to the feeling that as they say goodbye to what was, they're saying hello to a promising future.

Consider this an exciting double-LP throwback that drops "Even if I die, living legend" during the opening cut and then just gets bigger and bolder from there.

It demonstrates that Jackson is as comfortable with the poppier side of country as he is with the harder stuff, and he can deliver it without seeming as if he's pandering, a feat that is almost as impressive as those generic detours he's taken in the past few years.

A promising debut with a few flashes of brilliance, Lacuna is an appealingly summery set of songs despite a few lulls in its energy.

Another winning record.

With Return of Saturn, No Doubt have made a terrific, layered record that exceeds any expectations set by Tragic Kingdom.

Eve-Olution can't offer as much as either of her first two solid LPs.

So Marjorie Fair's debut isn't an immediate five-star classic. But its backgrounds are incredibly well-crafted... and the songs' blend evening-sun comfort with a quiet forlornness that's somehow welcoming.

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.

This is a harder and faster-than-usual album from the group, and yet there's also a heavier element of control throughout.

Neil is making music for the moment and he doesn't much care if it lasts beyond that day or not, and while living in the moment is a good way to get through life, it doesn't do much for albums.

Several tracks ("heavy," "heartbreak3r," "regret") follow a similar emo-rap style, but On to Better Things gets more interesting when Dior commits fully to exploring different approaches.

As it stands, the album is a decent attempt at a fresh start that won't put off too many Girls fans, but until he figures out exactly what kind of singer/songwriter he wants to be, won't likely earn him too many new fans.

On its own, listeners may be lulled to the chilly deeps of sleep, but paired with the accompanying DVD, they'll be wiping the salt spray from their brows and pulling long rows of kelp out of their teeth.

Clearly, all the partying caught up to [Billie Joe Armstrong], but while he was racing recklessly, he cut this terrific little party record.

Despite lushly detailed arrangements, Bareilles never pushes this distinctly commercial gift too hard, letting the songs flow easily and this gentleness is almost as appealing as those classically constructed melodies, tunes so softly insistent they could conceivably appear on adult contemporary charts anytime from 1971 to 2010.

Here, he reverses that dynamic, playing the studio like the virtuoso that he is, and he's come up with his best record in years, a shamelessly enjoyable piece of aural candy.

Time Is Over One Day Old is a subtle and moody work that somehow manages to keep moving forward with a mechanical precision, giving one the otherworldly, but not at all unpleasant, feeling of standing still on a moving walkway.

Overproduction and a general (and oddly generic) sense of overarching silliness keeps the 15-track set from achieving the lovely balance of dirty wit and sincere heartache that made albums like Wayward Bus and Charm of the Highway Strip so immediate and life affirming.

Green Day are watching the world burn from an air-conditioned dance floor on Father of All.... While the album doesn't deliver their most memorable songs, its wild glam experimentation and attitude-heavy performances show a band still seeking new thrills even decades in.

Silicon Tare is an exciting warm-up for the epic conclusion to the Com Truise story.

There's only one track with any forward motion, and it's the overly slick and one-dimensional "I'll Be Back." Otherwise, Otherness is mostly murky and overcooked ballads, without hooks or much emotional impact.

Unfortunately, by tailoring their sound to the stage, they sacrificed some of the beautiful flow and elegant dynamics that made their self-titled effort so effortlessly brilliant.

A promising debut and one more considered, nuanced, and realized than most bands achieve deep into their tenures.

This is the sound of an artist open to a range of possibilities so vast they can't help but contradict each other, and he just can't be bothered by the confusion or annoyance those contradictions may cause his listenership. In the end it doesn't matter anyway, as Raposa is already on to one of the album's many moments of brilliance by the time our heads have stopped spinning from one of its moments of unfettered oddness.

As a Vaselines album, V can't help but be disappointing. None of the unpredictable magic they used to be able to conjure, in the distant past and on Sex with an X, is on display, and they seem to be resigned to the fact that they are just a good rock band now.

While it's an overall relaxing experience, Truth Is a Beautiful Thing is never boring; it's a comforting and often heartbreaking listen that really gets under the skin, especially with Reid's emotive delivery.

It's largely unobtrusive and serviceable, distinguished mostly by Smith's elastic voice and increased specificity and complexity to the reflective and romantic songs.

The Wagons have a strong track record of their own but there's something special to Expecting Company?; when paired with other singers, the overarching vision of Henry Wagons stands out clearer than it ever has.

Cut Copy may have left behind the monochromatic brilliance of their early work, but the explosion of colors they've added like Jackson Pollock on a bender has only made their growth more interesting and enriching.

Though Innocence Reaches is more than a bit disjointed, offering a mix of styles previously explored and newly absorbed, it's an up-tempo pleaser with songs that promise to be handpicked fan favorites--if with little consensus.

Almost every note, lyric, and sound could have appeared on any Weddoes record of the past 20 years or so without any problem.

While nothing on Dark Light Daybreak is mind-blowingly original, it's all very good, and each song only adds on to the effectiveness and beauty of the next, layering one upon another like the instruments themselves, and making a very solid, even great, album.

No matter what he ends up doing, Strange Desire is a very strong, sometimes thrilling slice of modern nostalgia that gets better with every listen.

There's nothing outstanding here but fans of the band will have no complaints, and for newcomers it's as good a starting point as any, with arguably the same ratio of clever understated brilliance to uninspired mediocrity as any other phase of their discography.

It’s the first half of the album that is more substantive and memorable.

Rhyton stumble through their jams oblivious and dopey, failing to fully connect with each other or take the listener to a place more exciting than a spirited jam session in the practice space.

For the serious Adams enthusiast, this is a nice bonus to a solid album from the ever prolific, often unpredictable singer/songwriter.

Deaf Havana are certain to set themselves aside from peers We Are the Ocean and Lower Than Atlantis with this release, yet they still have the hallmarks of a young band in transition.

Most of the time, Tough Age make it sound pretty amazing, and to both the head and the heart, these folks stand out from the run of the mill garage punk acts of the new millennium.

Not every album has to bash listeners over the head with wild ideas and massive sounds; sometimes it's enough to provide a warm hug or a tender word, and Boys Forever does a fine job providing both.

For diehards who have grown with the band over the decades, this softer and more buoyant sound should be a welcome maturation.

Girls Names do a very good job of keeping the drama, intensity, and twisted emotion in place while taking the music into darker, odder realms. It's pretty far from the poppy place the band started at, but their journey remains one that is very much worth following.

Their Prime is an impressive debut from a group that has already gone a long way toward moving past their influences, and Jo Passed is clearly a band to watch.

While Deer Tick enthusiasts will smile at alternate versions, fun covers, and the spare track or two of credibly considered new originals, the casual listener should begin anywhere else in the band's storied (and often great) catalog.

Volbeat have long been superstars in their native Europe for quite a while, but this album should go a long way to establishing them as festival headliners across the rest of the globe.

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.

The simple arrangements and hands-off production add to the gentle but decisive impact of The Good Life, and the result is a fine calling card for a young singer/songwriter who may not have worked out every last detail of his sound but clearly knows where he's going, and it happens to be a place worth visiting.

Admirers of Griffith's earliest recordings will no doubt delight in Intersection as much for its familiarity as the quality of its songwriting and performances.