The Way I Am crystallizes that primal need for grounding via an assured set of songs rooted in themes of family, gratitude, mental health, and retaining authenticity amid the chaos of fame.

More diluted than truly disappointing, Paradises boasts enough standout tracks to please fans -- but with more shaping and a sharper mix, it could've been one of Ladytron's great albums.

An improvement over & the Charm, Written Into Changes demonstrates Emerson's growing prowess as a pop songwriter.

Livingston is a smart and savvy songwriter who also knows when to let the heart cry out, and he's rarely done so with the soulful impact he registers on Cityfolk.

Ultimately Honora is bold and beautifully played, with atmospheric production adorned in warmth, soul, and passion.

Ricochet lives in a contemplative, midtempo state where every song has weight, melodies can blur together, and meaning is found in those few anchors that help one push through the rest of it all.

Although it doesn't re-capture that album's [Things Take Time, Take Time] angsty, barbed qualities, it does embody a similar nerviness in combination with the more singer/songwriter-oriented rock reflections of what came in between.

It's another subtle outing from a band whose energetic peaks once defined them, but in this later period opt for patience over power.

Taken together, it's a set that, like much of Stereolab's output, welcomes the art-school kids, stoners, and indie pop sentimentalists alike.

Parks has always had a light, airy voice, and here it often seems like she's struggling to be heard over the bass, while the breakbeat-driven grooves are more immediate than the songs' hooks. Nevertheless, there's still some quality material on Ambiguous Desire, even if its pleasures are nearly as ephemeral as the nights out that inspired the album.

The Gaia II Space Corps may not be the fulfillment of Motorpsycho's dream, but for listeners it's a resplendent exercise in pure rock & roll pleasure.

Taken together, and with credit to Picton and his dexterous collaborators, My New Band Believe is at least as compelling as it is unhinged.

With its lyrics, textures, and production detailing working together, Life Slime is Pictish Trail's most substantial and affecting album to date.

The most compelling songs rank it above a mere curiosity piece, and fans who cherish both the Melvins and Napalm Death in equal measure will be pumped for this collaboration that extends the range of both acts.

Although the album lacks the emotional punch of Ware's preceding dancefloor-oriented albums, it's always entertaining, full of stunning vocal performances.

Engines of Demolition is an aptly named collection of old-school sonic malevolence that's unapologetic in its commitment to its core sonic temperaments.

If you share Joe Jackson's irritation with the world (especially the United Kingdom) at the present moment, you're likely to enjoy it, but despite its musical excellence, it's hard not to feel that it wears out its welcome by the time it runs through its 35 minutes.

The strange textures she finds in the recording process add to the overall intrigue of these beautifully sad songs, creating a thoughtful -- sometimes pensive -- environment that’s heavy but still somehow really nice to inhabit for a while.

Malik's reliable vocals and the top production quality deliver the goods, but here's hoping the restrained ideas on Konnakol yield a more liberated approach next time around.

Tomora comes off as a good-natured side quest, freely venturing into unexpected territory and maintaining an adventurous spirit.

Altogether, their work is intricately detailed (if never overstuffed), vibrating with unease while somehow welcoming the listener with a sense of comfort.

You'd have to go back to the 1970s to find a Ringo Starr solo album that was as well-crafted with his particular skills in mind as Look Up, and Long Long Road shows Burnett and Starr continue to work together beautifully.

These songs are made all the more touching by tender, intricate performances that revere the small details and internal effects of life-changing loss, heartache, and self-awareness.

A meditative work reflecting on loss and commemoration, as well as nature and the environment. The slowly unfolding composition, divided into two parts, is intended for deep listening.

They don't try to reinvent the wheel here, largely sticking to the rootsy punk vibe of blown-out speaker vocals, overdriven guitar twang, and thumping drums. Yet, there are still some ear-popping moments.

Roxanne's music is still spacious and immersive, but Poem 1 feels realistic rather than dreamlike and abstract.

It’s a mellow experience without being a simplistic or obvious one, and this relaxed environment creates easier points of access for ideas that would be too weird for some listeners if they weren’t couched in welcoming chimes of guitar or smiling synths.

James' own lyrics are plainly stated and confessional, as on tracks like "The Book of Self Doubt" and "Seems Like I," though she often embellishes them with pitched-up accompaniments. The tracks with guests are often the most successful, as they offer a bit more tonal and melodic counterpoint.

It comes off a little too sweet, much like running through an ice cream shop and sampling all the flavors rather than eating a proper dinner.

Anyone expecting the sharp, high-lonesome sound of "How Mountain Girls Can Love" and "Roll in My Sweet Baby's Arms" may be disappointed at the sound of the septuagenarian's old bones croaking together, but anyone who can appreciate the stark purity of honest American folk music will hold this album close to their hearts.

Caithlin De Marrais' graceful, yet abrasive vocals craft the dynamic of the band: well-directed musicianship without the frills of overproduced punk-inspired anthems.

The overall mood is casual, laidback, and relaxed.

The white-girl blues thing very rarely does anybody any good.

Departure Lounge has forged an enchanting record to tune in, turn on, and drop into.

ShelleyDevoto is obviously having a blast, and while Buzzkunst is no thundering masterpiece, the blast is not at listeners' expense.

Long Distance's successful moments make its well-groomed monotony especially frustrating: Ivy polished these songs to a fare-thee-well and invited guests like James Iha and Eric Matthews to play on them, yet they couldn't give them more individuality or emotion.

Despite solid songwriting, glimmering production, and a broad palette of emotions, Breathe shows the Leaves' potential more than anything else.

An added bonus for Orton loyalists.

Maroon is simply charming. It's not outstanding, but the Barenaked Ladies do keep their self-defined whimsicality top-notch.

This release is a bit more synth-driven, and songs like "Taking off for France" and "Taxi" exude a sophisticated disco flair that's naturally linked to Cracknell's sweet but smooth persona.

This is the kind of debut that lurches into the grungy excess befitting trashcan fires, anachronistic outsider idolization, and massive Feeder collections assembled inside Southern Californian suburbs.

It's another conventional rock record, thrashing guitar hooks and throbbing bass lines are in place, but frontman Max Collins has lyrically improved.

The Pretenders' eighth studio album, Loose Screw, is their first on an independent label after 20 years with Warner, but the switch hasn't made any difference in the group's style.

The album's laid-back, off-the-cuff experiments are just enjoyable instead of brilliant, but they nevertheless display the undeniable creative chemistry that the trio shares.

In short, if you've been waiting for Yo La Tengo to rediscover the amps they used on "Mushroom Cloud of Hiss" or "Attack on Love," well, this isn't quite your dream disc but it's a step in the right direction.

It's not something that will convert doubters, but it's done well and performed with conviction

The downside is that, much like his earliest material, Change Is Coming has a light feel that's undeniably enjoyable but also a bit tossed-off.

In a few cases, the songs rival or eclipse material on Sound of Water, but they probably weren't included because they didn't fit the general, easygoing flow of the immaculately sequenced album.

Sure, it could've been worse, but it also could've been slightly different.

[rating only; no review]

The Minus 5 record really works when it gets close to power pop, such as "Got You," the sprightly "You Don't Mean It" and the wistful "A Thousand Years Away."

The changes are so minute and the record so unassuming and melody free that it is really hard to care about the band anymore.

Probably one of indie rock's more dignified efforts of 2003.

He sticks with simple acoustics and subtle string arrangements; however, A New Day at Midnight doesn't possess the heavy heart of White Ladder.

Between the Senses rests with honesty and a tenderness similar to the likes of the Verve, but without pretense.

There is a successful degree of experimentation on the songs that is not only tolerable but helpful for an act to constantly remain on top of its game and be relevant with fans.

Surprises are around every turn.

The sameyness is still there, granted, but like [Neil] Young, his spiritual godfather, Mascis has a way of making his ramshackle melodies are downright endearing, and if you're a kindhearted soul, that'll allow you to forgive the half-assed stuff.

A lounge lizard's idea of heaven.

As with the band's previous albums, Souljacker bristles with pop euphoria and cracking production... but just like those previous albums, Souljacker ultimately falls a bit flat over the course of its extended running time.

Another very good collection of tight playing and propulsive instrumentals.

Thankfully, Kevin Shields puts together some great guitarscapes in Evil Heat -- maybe the best work he's done post Loveless. It's what saves this record, since Bobby Gillespie (as usual) tries to ruin some of these tracks with some pretty silly lyrics.

Like label mates Aphex and Autechre, this all amounts to something of a tough listen, though it is tracks like "Sixnot6" and "Distracted2" which really reward the listener willing to wade through the bleak atmospherics.

The result throughout Velocity of Sound is an impression of the Apples in Stereo as introductory ironists, non-threatening to kids and parents, accessible and enjoyable to all.

There's not a clunker in the bunch, as at least six of album's 11 songs are among the band's finest creations.

A free-flowing, just cohesive enough forty-five minute listen that, in keeping with the booklet contents, has an air of strange melancholy throughout, perhaps most evident on the album's haunting heart, "Cherry."

Resembles what a new Rush album would've sounded like.

The songs, while as elegant and naturally paced as they've ever been, tend to merely drift along.

The fifth album doesn't deviate far from the band's tried and true sound, but it's solid nonetheless.

Though The Little Red Songbook and Stars Forever would be better introductions to the wonderful world of baroque pop, Folktronic is a must-have for Momus fanatics.

Apart from the wonderfully elastic, surprising “Us," it doesn't offer anything striking or resonant.

An uneven and incoherent set of "Kid A Sessions" material that is sometimes strong but sometimes uninspired.

In the end though, Ladd's too good at producing a realistic commercial rap record; Beauty Party falls prey to the same faults, and the occasionally bland material never rises above its satirical value.

Essentially, this is the same album as On the Six, only a little longer with a little less focus and not as many memorable songs. This lack of winning singles becomes a drag, since at over an hour, the record meanders much longer than it should.

Televise is an impressive and adventurous -- if occasionally mopey -- collection of songs.

Though Giraffe is definitely Echoboy's most immediate and cohesive work, it's not perfect: the album takes a misguided turn toward the dark and overwrought on songs like "Lately Lonely" and "Wasted Spaces," both of which recall the harsher moments of Primal Scream's Evil Heat.

Sleepwalk an essential body of work for those who enjoy their electronic music with a little human interference.

Beats and percussive effects are far more present and grounded in hip-hop as much as they are rooted in dub, which lend the tracks an organic touch never before present.

Ultimately, Day I Forgot lacks the emotional poignancy and experimental sonic character present on every track of Musicforthemorningafter.

Not a hint of pretense makes even the most formulaic tunes and lyrics ("Little Baby," "Party," "Come On!") seem inspired if not quite inspirational.

A pleasant sound, to be sure, but not exactly what Young followers were expecting.

The real problem is that Lupine Howl doesn't really do enough here to distinguish itself from other bands, drawing from such obvious influences as the Rolling Stones and the Doors, and in a lot of ways the album sounds like a tour of '90s retro-influenced bands like the Charlatans, Oasis, or even the Black Crowes.

If this record came out in 1965 they'd be superstars; however, in 2002 they would have to settle for cult favorites.

Macy Gray lets her freak flag fly, almost to the detriment of everything else.

Perhaps appropriately, Up sounds like an album that was ten years in the making, revealing not just its pleasures but its intent very, very slowly.

Oskar Tennis Champion would surely please most Momus fans, though it does not match up to his best albums.

As with most of Johnston's albums, there a few songs that just fall flat or come off as a little too coy, but overall, it's a quality addition to the catalog of one of songwriting's true originals.

It certainly doesn't sound that much different from a Mojave 3 record, if not quite as excellent due to the less than prime quality of some of the songs.

Performed with a full backing band, which includes guitarist Dan Sullivan from Nad Navillus, Songs: Ohia stretches out on Fantasma, allowing Molina's songs to breathe but never sounding gratuitous, like a slightly subdued Crazy Horse.

Hearing Miller's unmistakable singing and songwriting style without Murry Hammond's backing vocals and the rest of the 97's chunky country-rock-pop behind him seems a little less than it could be.

Grand Mal isn't going for anything bombastic with Bad Timing, but it's a good dose, a healthy spoonful of new millennium indie rock.

[Kyle] Fischer is normally a quite capable guitarist whose antics and energy have been noticed for some time by fans at live shows. However, it seems here that his guitar work is merely meant to tread water, biding time for some big explosion that never seems to come.

All the restless energy adds up to a few too many diversions.

Volume Two is certainly more cohesive than Volume One, but that doesn't make it the stronger album.... The pop/rock songs here are simply lacking great hooks, though they are quite endearing. While Volume Two is a strong album, Volume One had more ragged, unfocused joys.

They've managed to ignore their ill fortune and suffer through the hecklers, and have -- in the best possible way -- given listeners a 54-minute soundtrack for the paper bag scene in American Beauty.

It's a sassy section of sultry soul and urban vibratos, yet a snarling demeanor asking for a little respect also peeks through the dozen-song set list.

Stirring, unpretentious yet powerful, Halos & Horns effectively continues Parton's glorifying of her mountain roots.

Throughout this collection, Rye Coalition shamlessly worships at the altar of Kiss, Grand Funk Railroad, and Spinal Tap via weathered, punk-inspired chord progressions, muddy bass lines, lead-footed drum patterns, and hammer-handed guitar riffs that will shake, rattle, and roll hockey arenas until the end of time.