There's nothing small or careful about Fantasies--it's a full-on bid for pop glory and it's a smashing success.

It's pleasant enough, particularly when the breathy vocals fade away to leave behind cascades of guitars, but even at its best, it's nothing more than an approximation of Smashing Pumpkins at their peak, with all the interesting parts stripped away.

Grand Duchy have enough fun on the album that more often than not, it's contagious.

You Can Have What You Want falls a little short of the last record, Can't Go Back, just because it isn't as jaunty or light-hearted, but it is still an impressive work that should go a ways in providing some proof that the band has more depth and power than one might have thought if they just stuck to the surface

On first listen, anyone familiar with the Handsome Family will keep waiting for someone to die or go insane as if wondering when the shoe will drop, but ultimately Honey Moon proves they can ease into more optimistic surroundings and not lose touch with the strange and ethereal qualities that have made them worthwhile.

Spinning through 29 tracks in just under 50 minutes, Scott Herren's sixth proper LP as Prefuse 73 offers more of the same musical madness for fans of his no-attention-span cut-ups--and that's a good thing.

Such tunes may not have suited the bittersweet beauty of Stairs, but they're quite good in their own right, making The Open Door EP something more than a fans-only release.

Plenty of rock singers have tried to honor the sound and traditions of period honky tonk music over the years, but you'd be hard-pressed to find one who sounds as ineffably right singing this stuff as John Doe, and Country Club is a casual, no-frills masterpiece.

Pomegranates may need some more time to ripen fully, but Everybody, Come Outside! will still be a treat to some palettes.

Beauty rarely hides where you expect it. Take, for instance, the debut release by the U.K.'s Trembling Bells.

Jeniferever shows some serious potential on this album, but much of it remains to be realized.

Two Suns is nearly as graceful and poetic as Bat for Lashes' best work; it's just that the album's massive concepts and sounds require a little more time and patience to unravel to get to the songs' hearts.

A wild funhouse of an album, Jewelleryis more challenging and idea packed (not to mention more fun) than a lot of self-proclaimed experimental music.

This is still a bright record, however, one that finds catharsis in the gloomier songs and strength in the tracks that resemble Lost Souls' measured anthems.

Without the instantly gripping singles, Jigsaw is as scattered as its title implies.

Fork in the Road is charmingly clunky, a side effect of its quick creation and Young's hard-headedness. Neil might be writing records as quickly as a blogger these days but musically he's stuck in the past, never letting go of his chunky Les Paul and candied folk harmonies.

As immediate as Life and Times isn't nearly as diamond-hard as "Copper Blue," which is a great part of its appeal: it flows naturally, the music never pushes, it settles, comfortable in its own skin.

Yonder Is the Clock is the band's most nuanced effort to date, an effortless piece of Catskills folk and narrative know-how that shows just how far a band can grow in one year's time.

This problematic arrival shows too in the final product, but the problem may not be the much maligned rapper's ability or inspiration but the constant mishandling of his material. So many prime street cuts have been given away to comps, mixtapes, and soundtracks in the five years since Kiss of Death was released that only the slick, polished numbers remain.

Other than the hypnotic 'Work' and the playfully geeky 'Hazel,' the set is punchless, more a pleasant mood album fit for casual background listening, lacking the unnerved tension that runs through the majority of "Last Exit" and "So This Is Goodbye."

The album isn't a total disaster, though, there are a few songs that manage to overcome the record's flaws and deliver some excitement.

A debut that largely lives up to all the surrounding hype championing the group as one of the hottest new indie up-and-comers.

His singing is of a piece with the music, at once clearer and more conventional than ever before and still touched with the reflective spoken-to-oneself melancholy that defines his work.

It doesn't help that almost nothing about Unstoppable is modest, not the sounds, not the sentiments--only the songs, which can't withstand these muscle-bound arrangements.

Forays into medieval trip-hop ("The Last Laugh") and reggae-influenced indie pop ("Jelly Bean") stretch the boundaries of the album's bedrock, but it's fun to see folk music take such unexpected turns, especially when the destination sounds this enchanting.

Though the record could use a few more high points, there are enough hooky songs and exciting performances to make it very promising.

Where the latter two releases felt like "Hail Marys" tossed into the musical ether, Ocean serves as a return to the kind of sharp-tongued, Beatlesque retro-pop that fueled 2005's "Novelist/Walking Without Effort" and the aforementioned "Letdown."

Guilt may be a bad title for a pop-rap album so slick and shallow, the completely ludicrous I Am Hip Hop's Savior was the original plan, suggesting that this project was misguided since early development.

Though their debut album is considerably more polished and focused-sounding than their EPs, the uniquely winsome quality of It Hugs Back's music remains, with buzzing keyboards and fuzzy guitars.

Maybe by the time the next album rolls along it might be time to stretch a bit and get away from the sound they've cobbled together, but for now I Was a King sounds just about right to anyone who is a fan of the history of noisy guitar pop of the last 20 years.

These Thieves do often come off as just another trendy outfit hawking tawdry 20-year time warps, albeit with more streamlined sonics than many.

Apart from two minor issues, the Answer has the right sound and feel on Everyday Demons and that does make them the perfect opener for latter day AC/DC: they work as pleasant appetizer for the main course.

Between its violently happy songs and its softer ones, It's Blitz! ends up being some of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs' most balanced and cohesive music.

Parish and Harvey's idea of fun might be very different than that of many other artists, but hearing them cover so much musical and emotional territory is often exhilarating.

If Peter Bjorn and John keep putting out albums as challenging, intelligent, and emotional as this, there is no reason for anyone to get off the bandwagon any time soon.

There may be a bit too much classic good taste on Quiet Nights--there is no reinterpretation, only homage--but that's not quite a problem because Krall knows enough to lay back, to never push, only to glide upon the gossamer surface.

Defying Gravity builds on the skill set that gave listeners "Love, Pain & the Whole Crazy Thing" and takes it further, seamlessly combining hook-laden crafty songwriting with a pop sensibility in the modern country vernacular that blazes a new trail and underscores Duke Ellington's dictum that there are only two kinds of music: good and bad. This is a shining case in point for the former.

Between these two bookends ['Indian Summer and 'Why Do Men Stray'] is the most consistent music DeGraw has yet made--yes, it gets a tad simpy and he could use at least one hook as big as 'I Don't Wanna Be,' but Free manages to flow easily and warmly, something that couldn't quite be said of the blue-eyed soul bluster of his first two albums.

The pleasure of the popcraft outweighs much of the caution in the construction, especially when the insistent hooks are delivered with such puppy-dog earnestness by Taylor Hanson.

The unsurprisingly inconsistent R.O.O.T.S. is hip-hop like Nas never happened, a flash or fodder album owing more to Lady GaGa than to Public Enemy.

Perhaps fate forced Leonard Cohen's hand to stage the tour documented in part on Live in London, but it seems that fate knows just what it's doing, and this album eloquently demonstrates how much Cohen still has to offer, and how clearly his music still speaks to him (and us).

A handful of marginal highs aside (the minor urgency of 'Courage,' the fluid sobriety of 'Gravity'), it's hard to shake the feeling that Rules would be a lot more satisfying if it broke a few more.

Thirty-seven years after their first album got lost in the shuffle, the Flatlanders have not only survived, they have a lot to say about what they've seen, and Hills and Valleys is proof these men still have plenty of songs in them yet.

On their fourth album, Tony Dekker and his revolving cast of co-conspirators walk a little taller than on previous releases, employing a larger, more band-oriented sound that lovingly elevates (and amplifies) Dekker's simple, refined melodies into something both peaceful and majestic.

LotusFlow3r is constrained by its guitar-heavy concept, offering great moments instead of great whole songs.

On MPLSound, Prince takes his retro mission seriously enough to offer up a few songs nervy enough to be singles, even if the synthesized thrill of this handful of tunes is undercut by a bunch of slow-burning ballads that do their best to rival 'The Arms of Orion.'

This attempt at old-fashioned star-making might have worked if Bria Valente had a smidgeon of star charisma but she's merely a pleasantly breathy crooner, slipping easily into Prince's shimmering quiet storm production.

With almost tangible textures and a striking mood of isolation and singularity, Fever Ray is a truly strange but riveting album.

This is easily the best-sounding album Doherty has been involved with, neither self-consciously "raw" nor overly polished; it lets the music be as simple or as elaborate as it needs to be.

Maturity can be dangerous to your artistic health, but Bromst shows the right way to mature--broaden your vision while still spending plenty of time on what you do best.

Hazards of Love won't convert anybody who already wrote the band off as overly precious bookworms with a Morrissey/Victorian ghost story fetish, but fans who have dutifully followed the Decemberists since their 2002 debut get to take home bragging rights this time around.

Royksopp remain among the best at middlebrow dance-pop, crafting music that can and will rule the supermarket aisles while still having a shelf-life longer than the canned ham you'll find there.

First off, a warning: the best way to encounter Mastodon's Crack the Skye for the first time is with headphones. Reported to be a mystical -- if crunchy -- concept record about Tsarist Russia, this is actually the most involved set of tracks, both in terms of music and production, the band has ever recorded. "Ambitious" is a word that regularly greets Mastodon -- after all, they did an entire album based on Moby Dick -- but until now, that adjective may have been an understatement. There is so much going on in these seven tracks that it's difficult to get it all in a listen or two (one of the reasons that close encounters of the headphone kind are recommended). It may seem strange that the band worked with Bruce Springsteen producer Brendan O'Brien this time out, but it turns out to be a boon for both parties: for the band because O'Brien is obsessive about sounds, textures, and finding spaces in just the right places; for O'Brien because in his work with the Boss he's all but forgotten what the sounds of big roaring electric guitars and overdriven thudding drums can sound like. The guitar arrangements on tracks like "Divinations" and "The Czar," while wildly different from one another, are the most intricate, melodically complex things the band has ever recorded. There are also more subtle moments such as the menacing, brooding, and ultimately downer cuts such as "The Last Baron," where tempos are slowed and keyboards enter the fray and stretch the time, adding a much more multidimensional sense of atmosphere and texture. Still, Crack the Skye rocks, and hard! Its shifting tempos and key structures are far more meaty and forceful than most prog metal, and menace and cosmological speculation exist in equal measure, providing for a spot-on sense of balance. Some of the hardcore death metal conservatives may have trouble with this set, but the album wasn't recorded for them -- or anybody else. Crack the Skye is the sound of a band stretching itself to its limits and exploring the depth of its collective musical identity as a series of possibilities rather than as signatures. And yes, that is a good thing.

This is the problem that bands face when they go from the thrill of making the first record to the grind of having to produce something equal or better than their debut. Not too many groups can pull it off; add the 1990s to the long list of bands who have failed.

Poseidon and the Bitter Bug is not only solid all the way through, it feels fresh, clean, new, and chock-full of beauty.

The slower tracks don't match up to their opposites, or even the bittersweet midtempo cut 'Alienated,' but they're not enough of a snag to prevent the album from being one of 2009's most replayable R&B releases.

It's as much of a prank as an album, but after over 20 years as one of America's most consistently rewarding indie rock acts, Yo La Tengo are entitled to a bit of fun.

This is a solid, consistent date all the way through that is evidence of McBride's long chart success.

Listeners who have managed to remain immune to the trio's idiosyncratic brand of "thespian rock" will no doubt find much of Enemy Mine unlistenable. That said, fans of manic melodies, bohemian pageantry, and synapse melting lyricism have no greater modern champions than Bejar, Krug, and Mercer.

It's quite arguable that this lean, muscular remix is a marked improvement on the original mix, as it's easier to focus on both the songs and group's interplay.

So the Obits might just have the stuff to save rock & roll, or at least keep it off life support for a while, but as good as I Blame You may be, they're going to have to get their songwriting chops in order before they can really finish the job.

Doom hasn't changed a whit, but by the same token, he sounds like he's repeating himself. Deft diction is one thing he's got in spades, but there aren't many lines here that will get burned into your neurons.

On this return to simpler times and the childish wide-eyed beauty of youth, Marsalis has struck a chord with those awkward, precious times in a way that adults can appreciate.

Success has always been Jones' revenge, and while his ringleader ways allow this autobiographical album to sometimes go wildly off concept, it's clearly his most inspired set of songs to date.

Not every moment on Slow Dance is this transporting, but it still has its share of fascinating moments.

Songs whir and whoosh under the production of Michael Patterson (Beck, Ladytron), as thumping kicks, snares, and fuzz basslines keep the dream pop in time.

Loud guitars, gritty vocals, and more soul than a Sunday morning sermon best sums up Carolina.

Accessible and elusive at the same time, The Floodlight Collective is an addictive debut.

Maybe the record could have been improved by splitting up the opening duo of songs, maybe a less fussy production job could have done the trick.

Metamorphosis has a dire determination to its purported good times, its riffs grinding instead of greasy, its rhythms clenched where they should be loose.

Oldham's brand of folk music is certainly old enough and weird enough, but there are noticeably fewer moments of beauty and fewer lyrical revelations than on his best material.

His ability to pump out the music is admirable, now he just needs a filter to sift the crap from the gold. If he hones in on his vision, there's spectacular potential. Until then, we'll have to take the bad with the good or self-compile a "greatest-hits of Wavves 2008/2009" mix tape.

All the charm and fun to be found of "Looks" ends up being pulverized by this bland ambition, and Fist of God ends up being just a loud, inspiration-free, truly disappointing dance album that fails to capture ears or move feet.

If you are patient, there is more than enough here to hold your attention and take you on journeys through love, lust, tragedy, and longing and bring you home again.

The tone stays consistently buoyant, and a catchy chorus or a tasty guitar solo is never far away.

A fine, emotional and heartfelt effort from Marsalis, one of his best since "Requiem," it faithfully pays tribute to those late heroes like Alvin Batiste, Michael Brecker, Freddie Hubbard, Dewey Redman, Max Roach, Willie Turbinton, et. al., while also staying true to himself.

It took Seeland five years to issue Tomorrow Today, but it was time well spent--these unique and immediate songs build on the band's past but never feel restricted by it.

For those raised on dream pop bands and space rock songs, Some Sweet Relief sounds somewhat timeless, a 40-minute offering of neo-psych gospel that's more polished, more promising, and altogether stronger than most of the band's contemporaries.

At the end of the day, the best single word for describing Static Tensions is "unpredictable," and although this characteristic may demand a few more listens before the album's many amazing qualities can sink in properly, the ultimate payoff is very much worth the effort.

Enjoying Slipway Fires requires a suspension of disbelief, a conscious separation between the band's past and the somewhat ludicrous present.

It never seems like a collaboration, it seems like it was assembled by committee, discussed in boardrooms, farmed out to contract players and stitched together on computer.

This is a rare talent and while it's not perfect, largely due to those dreary Tedder tunes, much of All I Ever Wanted does justice to Clarkson's considerable skills.

It's just a solid album, and just another example of Boeckner and Perry's tingling creative chemistry.

Bare Bones is a remarkable work from one of the best artists in vocal jazz.

Ultimately, Love vs Money is Love/Hate's equal, stuffed with hooks, ceaselessly absorptive productions, and clever and often funny wordplay.

Taken as a whole, Not Without a Fight is a pleasant listen, mature in its outlook, and happily adolescent in its vigor.

Where experimentation with layered instruments enhanced the grandness of "Happy Hollow," here it's taken one step overboard with additional flute, clarinets, and violin arrangements added on top of the supplementary horn section, to the point of making this their lightest, earthiest release to date.

Repeated listens help to sort things out, though, and the subtle shadings of Grrr... do become more apparent the more you listen--in fact, the album is a perfect example of the old rock crit cliche "The Grower."

This kind of sophisticated indie pop and singer/songwriter territory is all her own, and (A)spera holds almost as much wisdom as it does hope.

Thank You Very Quickly is that rare thing in popular music as well as indie: that a band sticks it out long enough to find, among the various elements of its individuals, a real musical synthesis that creates a sound that is so much bigger than the sum of its parts.

is still the same Perkins who turned misery into moving music several years ago, but he's learned to dress up those sentiments in engaging Americana attire, a move that softens the blow but rarely cheapens the art.

Tim Hecker's elegantly inventive way around sound art moved into a full decade of released work with An Imaginary Country, one of his most serene and, from its striking start "100 Years Ago" forward, uplifting albums.

It's a weird blend of power-driven grunge and melancholy: a fever dream that sweats out weary sadcore as it primitively pounds out acid rock drudge.

One listen is enough to inform the listener that this is a group of very talented musicians who are quite capable of writing tight pop songs, but don't seem terribly interested--at this point in time anyway--in going that route.

Since the Riverboat Gamblers are regarded as one of the best live acts on the current punk scene, it seems curious that Underneath the Owl follows the strategy of sounding as little like a live performance as possible, and it neuters a band that knows how to get wild in the studio.

The second helping from Montreal's Bell Orchestre holds true to the Canadian instrumentalists' penchant for melodic/atonal slabs of cinematic chamber rock, but this time around they've reigned in the jerky, less-developed aspects of their work, allowing for a smooth, though still volatile blend of post-punk, classical crossover, and straight-up experimental rock.

Having released enough singles and compilation tracks to warrant a collection of them, Owen Ashworth pulls them together on the enjoyable Advance Base Battery Life, pure catnip for committed fans but not without interest to those unfamiliar with Casiotone for the Painfully Alone's way around understated, enveloping electronic pop.

Who Was Changed and Who Was Dead reveals a greater maturity and lyrical polish than much of his previous work.