It's too bad such a fine record has to end with a misfire, but you can just hit stop before you get there and be completely satisfied with the really good album Son, Ambulance have crafted.

Skeleton is one of the more interesting releases of the summer, and proves that Abe Vigoda are more than worthy of joining their peers in the spotlight.

The album is still enjoyable and damn catchy in spots — but knowing as much as we do about this talented trio, it seems like it could have been so much better.

It's ideal music for headphones, where the clever production can reveal all of its layers.

Despite a few stumbles, Identified achieves its goal: it anticipates that Hudgens' fans will outgrow "High School Musical" soon enough, and gives her a better chance of staying relevant to them as they move on to other kinds of pop music.

Even with its wobbly mix of yesterday, today, a better tomorrow, T.O.S. is much closer to classic than failure and should reassure fans this slow-moving tank is pointed in the exactly right direction.

All in all, Forgiven proves that Los Lonely Boys are around for the long haul, making records that separate their sound from their influences, and further establishes their identity as one of America's premier roots bands.

Dirty Pretty Things move their music forward with this album, but they've sacrificed their clarity to achieve that.

There's no evidence Three 6 had a fully formed "Most Known Unknown"-styled album in them either, so consider the uneven Last 2 Walk a fair and necessary placeholder effort with a bit of "back to basics" thrown in to satisfy the faithful.

What really puts the album over the top as something else is not just its ideas-stuffed brevity (46 minutes in its original form), but its material not made explicitly for the club.

After a while the tracks all begin to sound the same, disco beat with Seal style R&B vocals, no bad thing but nothing much original and nothing to come close to the single 'Black And Gold.'

On Med Sud I Eyrum Vid Spilum Endalaust you can really hear the human hearts behind the wall of sound, and while the emotional impact is on a smaller scale, somehow it is even more affecting.

Real Animal is an album about life--both as survival and as the faces and moments that fill our days on this Earth. How many artists could make two masterpieces in a row that are so different?

Watson Twins' first proper album, but Fire Songs at once confirms the promise of their earlier EP and their work with Jenny Lewis while staking out a stronger and more complex identity of their own, and hopefully it's the first of several personal and compelling albums from the siblings.

Motley Crue has been trumpeting their hedonism for so long and so loudly that it's become more of a caricature than a way of life, and while Saints of Los Angeles is the best thing they've laid to tape since their codpiece heydays, it's more of a walk down memory lane/sunset strip than a legitimate call to arms.

Party Intellectuals is easily Ribot's most fun album to date and one of his best.

Fans of the first two albums might find it difficult to adjust, but Digi Snacks brings that "through the looking glass" feeling and offers a murky world unto itself, one where Wu-Tang Batmans and blaxploitation anime seem entirely possible.

Jayne and company do manage to pull off a few tracks that capture the old fire and brimstone of classic LAL, but the shiny textures and generic songwriting are too much to overcome, rendering Holy a disappointing addition to the band's previously strong catalog.

Superhero Brother will probably sound pretty good as background at a party, but there's not a lot of meat on these bones.

Spaced over 17 tracks and 70 minutes, it's a rich listen, demanding headphones but rewarding the investment.

Lookout Mountain, Lookout Sea reveals more poetic, as well as playful, layers with each listen--and above all, underscores what an inviting songwriter Berman is, whether he's taking a darker or lighter approach.

The greatest thing Coldplay may have learned from Eno is his work ethic, as they demonstrate a focused concentration throughout this tight album--it's only 47 minutes yet covers more ground than "X&Y" and arguably "A Rush of Blood to the Head"--that turns Viva la Vida into something quietly satisfying.

It has that same slightly unnerved but ultimately comforting effect, and like Neon Golden, you might want to take it everywhere with you, even when you can only replay it in your mind.

All in all, At Mount Zoomer is a remarkable achievement, and another soon-to-be classic from Wolf Parade.

As it stands, A Thousand Shark's Teeth is beautiful, more than a little insular, and ultimately intriguing for anyone willing to listen closely.

The problem is not with Katy's gender-bending, it's that her heart isn't in it; she's just using it to get her places, so she sinks to crass, craven depths that turn One of the Boys into a grotesque emblem of all the wretched excesses of this decade.

It's not that the Offspring sound behind the times on their eighth album, Rise and Fall, Rage and Grace--it's that they sound disconnected from it.

Beautiful, sprawling, peaceful, wise, and as tenderly romantic as the world is round, these Dennis Wilson gems are as revelatory as they are stunning.

The songs themselves are hit or miss, with the emphasis falling on the latter, due mostly to an over-reliance on three-chord, midtempo filler, but as is the case with nearly every Priest offering, when they're on they're dead on.

As it stands, this one just squeaks by on the power of some very good songs and their typically energetic performances.

At times, the album's extended jams get a bit wearing, but Ice Cream Spiritual! shows that Ponytail's music is still equal parts challenging, melodic, and fun.

Teddy Thompson has taken a more user-friendly approach on A Piece of What You Need, but he hasn't sold his soul or lost what makes him special along the way, and this is a clever, adventurous, and thoroughly engaging exercise in smart pop that's as thoughtful as it is pleasurable.

Strength in Numbers turns out to be a nice comeback, particularly during the tracks that find that sweet spot between bubbling electronics and stadium Brit-rock.

A beyond stellar debut in both quality and originality.

Supergrass come crashing back to life with Diamond Hoo Ha, an album every bit as cheerfully gaudy and vulgar as its title.

The Charlatans are taking risks again without losing their identity.

Evil Urges ultimately ends the same way it began--with a willingness to explore, to challenge, to poke and prod at My Morning Jacket's past work while creating something entirely new.

Off to Business doesn't break much new ground for Pollard, but what is different is that he's clearly put a great deal more thought and care into this disc than anything he's put out since From a Compound Eye, and the result is an album that sounds like an album rather than the latest bunch of tunes Pollard banged together, and that makes all the difference in the world.

It's a lot like "Jagged Little Pill," but musically this is far closer to the muddled mystic worldbeat of "Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie," thanks in large part to her collaboration with Guy Sigsworth, best known for his productions with Björk and Madonna.

The surfaces of this album may seem less bold than the albums that immediately preceded it, but All I Intended to Be is the work of a consummate artist who is still reaching out to new places even when she points to her creative history.

Filled with bold, entertaining wordplay and plenty of well-executed, left-field ideas, Tha Carter III should be considered as a wild, somewhat difficult child of Weezy's magnum opus in motion, one that allows the listener an exhilarating and unapologetic taste of artistic freedom.

Like a lot of second albums that aren't exactly a slump, Here We Stand is more accomplished than dynamic, but there are still quite a few enjoyable moments here.

In Rubin's hands, Seeing Things plays like a songwriter playing his newest songs in your living room--a seductive feeling that no Wallflowers record ever captured, which is an excellent reason for Dylan to step out on his own.

Despite all the weight, those songs still have a way of seeming as easy and carefree as the moments when N.E.R.D. are simply bashing away (sometimes over agitated drum'n'bass), blowing off steam, and talking ridiculous nonsense. Whether taken as a diversion of throwaway fun or a deeper (or peculiar) look into what makes these men tick, the album succeeds.

While "Real Life" was so fully realized that it seemed to have a life of its own, To Survive feels more like songs written by somebody than something that materialized because it had to.

The Dream isn't just produced well but also programmed well, only slowing down after 73 minutes to a gradual halt on the dreamy underwater backbeats of 'Codes' and the beatless closer 'Orbisonia.'

Sloan have solved their problem by giving each member room to roam, and they're winding up with records that are rich emotionally and musically, illustrating that it is possible for a classicist guitar pop band like Sloan to grow with each passing year.

Loverly is the only reason to avoid imposing a moratorium on the very tired standards genre that has become the bane of jazz in recent years. It cannot be recommended highly enough.

The Hard Way, his debut for Hear Music, is a tad tougher--the horns are more prominent and sharper, Hunter's guitar has more bite to it, and the rhythms cut deeper--and quicker; at times Hunter veers closer to soul-rock than he has in the past, but he's still working well within his favorite genre.

The compelling three-quarters of Definition of Real that seems to have crawled out of the gutter proves that Plies is best off when he does it the ski-mask way.

Loaded with 17 tracks, it's an entertaining and fitting addition to the Warp catalog that makes for some highly hypnotic video arcade/coffee parlor mood music.

The McGregors are ultimately at their best when their dynamic isn't overpowered by too many musical ideas.

This is a graceful set, lit with pretty melodies, subtle instrumentation, and lovely singing from both bandmembers. As introductions go, it's a charmer.

Compared to "Hello Young Lovers," Exotic Creatures does sound a little starker at points, but it's often also subtler and slyer, tempering bombast in favor of sprightly but also uneasy melodies on songs like 'The Director Never Yelled "Cut'"

Beautiful Lie is an invigorating and frequently gorgeous affair, essential for old fans and a good place to start for newcomers.

They're a singles band at heart, though, and they wear out their welcome all too quickly on We Started Nothing.

It's mildly disappointing that the Futureheads' first independently released music sounds more conventional than what they issued on other labels, but This Is Not the World is still a solidly enjoyable album on its own terms.

The problem is, because the songs are so dense, and the lyrics nearly unintelligible, it becomes difficult to differentiate Exiting Arm from the band's other work, and because of that, makes the album a bit of a disappointment.

Velocifero isn't as dramatic a step forward as Ladytron's other albums.

A cheerfully restless record, one where all the parts don't fit and it's better because of it, as it has a wild, willing personality, suggesting that Weezer is comfortable as a band in a way they never quite have been before.

At its heart it's just a collection of songs, but it's that rare thing for a songwriter: it works as a piece of writing and a sterling pop album of its own.

He's a better vocalist and more charismatic than most of the dullards who followed in his wake--but this is still deliberately tepid music, more concerned about appearances than hooks or drama.

So it has the form and feel, but the devil is in the details, the songs that never quite hook and sometimes serve up some patently absurd moments, usually in the form of her overheated lyrics.

Throughout the album, the band sounds wise beyond its years, so it's not really that surprising that Fleet Foxes is such a satisfying, self-assured debut.

This "calm before the storm" aesthetic dominates Rook, and in another testament to its short running time, works beautifully, illuminating the few straightforward pieces like "Century Eyes," "Leviathan, Bound," and the brooding title track like a centuries-old woodcut, and allowing the tension that permeates the entire affair to ebb and flow naturally, resulting in one of the most heady and satisfying albums of the year.

Watershed marks a new chapter for Opeth, one that promises infinitely more than its predecessors.

Bottom line, this is neither a great nor a poor Ashanti album. It's decent, just like the rest of them.

The release of the Cool Kids' debut EP still radiated sonic excitement, a blast at once sharp, funny and intimate. Here, after all, is a triumph of absolute aestheticism.

With Don't Do Anything, Sam Phillips has struck out on her own with a work that's among her most challenging to date, and it reveals that she's held on to the gifts that have made her one of the most rewarding singer/songwriters of her generation while adding fresh accents as she follows her muse with commendable courage and clarity.

The more mature and considered approach the band utilizes on Real Close Ones might make for a deeper, more adult sound, but it's hard not to miss the careening thrill ride the band delivered on "Future Women."

While Indestructible doesn't meddle with the melodic hard-hitting Pantera-inspired formula that fueled its predecessors, the dreaded nu-metal tag that followed the band out of the turn of the century seems wholly eradicated.

Life... showcases a band that has carefully refined its sound, creating an album that is daring and experimental enough for longtime fans, but accessible enough for anyone looking to discover one of Athen's heaviest bands.

At a time when labelmates (and, in the minds of the UK music press, rivals) the Coral are seemingly at a bit of a musical crossroads, the Zutons have made the album that delivers on their early promise.

While the first half of the album is more eclectic, the second half is just as groovy although less varied. Unlike bands like The Maccabees, The Kooks and The Wombats, the album holds up all the way through, never repeating the same formula song after song.

Here I Stand is almost exactly the kind of release you'd expect a 29-year-old Usher to deliver in 2008, and while it is seriously doubtful the album will move more copies than the nearly diamond platinum "Confessions," there is plenty to like about it.

There is no better place to spend 45 minutes than in Lay It Down's dreamy, sensual, gritty, and tender sound world.

Newly focused energy, willfully restrained arrangements, and taut compositions give the set a sheer emotional power that no Spiritualized recording has ever displayed before, making it, quite possibly, their finest outing yet.

Bring Ya to the Brink is one of the more intriguing detours along the way.

Their songwriting and vocals are actually better than Air, closer to Scissor Sisters again in their ability to write great pop songs and deliver them with flair.

Same Old Man shows he's learned a lot since then, and you can hear the lessons shining through in this music.

Consistency isn't Pants' strong point, and the latter half of the CD falters with a spattering of sparse instrumentals that feel more like skeletal after-thoughts than fully developed creations. At the grandest moments, Pants accomplishes his mission of re-creating the dance-happy fun funk of Chromeo and Cameo, and the cardboard-spinning electro boogie of Arabian Prince and Egyptian Lover.

Rap music has rarely gotten more virtuosic and creative than it does here.

Loyal listeners looking for a more "personal" album from the band will have fewer complaints, but the casual fan will miss the more dynamic and vibrant elements of their earlier work.

At its strongest, with songs like the archly titled 'Regal Regalia' and 'Papering Fix,' the band kicks up a huge sounding storm while still providing space for the almost preternaturally clean singing boring through the mix--not as an artificially high volume element, more like serenity in the midst of a storm.

Expanding and improving upon their already striking debut, No Way Down is a stunning accomplishment on so many levels: the amount of care and attention to detail that so clearly went into its creation; its stylistic uniqueness; and its sheer, subjective beauty.

Anywhere I Lay My Head doesn't quite work, but it can't quite be dismissed, either.

Mudhoney remain bloody but unbowed, heavyweight champions of fuzz and feedback, and on the evidence of The Lucky Ones, no one with any sense is going to challenge their title anytime soon; they built this strange machine, and they can drive it better than anyone before or since.

Arm's Way is the sound of a band forgetting what made them fun and highly listenable and instead grasping for a grand statement that is far beyond their reach.

This time out, he's a single short and couple songs too long, but his back is strong enough to carry the weight, proving once again he's one of the Dirty South's most reliable voices.

Considering that it's an album of leftovers--one B-side from "Yes, Virginia...," four unreleased recordings, one old demo, a cover, and five new recordings, to be exact--the songs on No, Virginia... are unexpectedly strong.

In-fashion vocal effects, which Summer certainly does not need, detract from a handful of these tracks, but as a whole, the album won't have trouble pleasing fans who just want to hear their queen have a blast and tear it up.

That's the ultimate irony of 3 Doors Down as they mature: try as they may to pour out their angst-ridden hearts, by riding out their success and smoothing out their music they've turned into mildly aggro background music at malls and movie theaters across the nation.

Most of all it will go down like honey for Mates of State fans who have been following the band's progression from an edgy lo-fi duo to the indie rock hit making machine they have so gracefully become.

If you don't like the Beach Boys, you won't like this.

If you've been sticking by the group for long, you'll be rewarded by El Rey's brutal honesty, hard-won wisdom, and first-rate songcraft, and you'll relish the sound of a band trying to recapture a brilliant sound from their past and succeeding completely.

It's almost impossible to dislike Swimming's pastel beauty, but it's nearly as difficult to work up much enthusiasm about it.

The sound is fleshed out much more than Joan of Arc has been for some time, and it's an easy album to be affected by — at least for fans of confessional post-rock, Chicago style.

Butler's production makes her solid voice and intriguing songwriting into an excellent album; although he stays in the background, the occasional guitar flourishes or sweetened strings make Rockferry a better debut than Joss Stone's or Amy Winehouse's.