Even though the formula is a winning one (and sounds pretty thrilling in small doses), by the end of the album you feel like you were listening to one really long song.

Neon Neon has created an album that isn't so much a straight-up replica of '80s excess as one that puts all of that indulgence into perspective, both emotionally and musically.

At times, The Odd Couple is a more beautiful record than its predecessor. But all too often Cee-Lo relies on the same sort of lyrical cipher as on St. Elsewhere, although none of them are as effective.

Deschanel's songs are simple and sad tales of heartbreak and missed connections, with hooky melodies and not a single artless moment to be found.

It's clear that Kath and Glass are already looking for more ways to expand on this familiar-sounding, edgy, innocent, menacing, bold, nuanced, and altogether striking debut.

Sixes & Sevens is a disjointed conglomeration of different ramblings that can't quite coalesce around any sort of idea.

Welcome to the Doll House is a paler, plainer recycling of their debut.

If you still hold Lanois' earlier recordings to a high ideal, this may indeed frustrate you because it offers considerably more evidence that Lanois has lost his way as a musician.

Visiter's experimental pop is so joyous and liberated-sounding that it's difficult not to get swept along in its wake.

A rare mix of intimacy and experimentalism, Too Old to Die Young will resonate with indie rock fans who know what that album title really means.

One of the better albums of 2008 without question.

It displays both crypticness and honesty, intellectualism and vulgarity in equal measure, challenging and placating its audience in the same drawn-out, undefined, nasally breath.

This is not a remarkable album by any stretch, although its packaging is--it contains a punch-out mobile as a booklet--but it is a further step in the development of a singular and ever elusive artist who possesses a truckload of talent, but is still unsure of which direction to head to realize it all.

While it's never clear how much Snoop actually wrote, the ghostwriters he's admitted to hiring have the thug script down and rarely disappoint. What is disappointing is the woefully long track list, the redundant numbers, and the trimming required to keep from drifting off before the majestic closer, 'Can't Say Goodbye' with the Gap Band's Charlie Wilson, rolls around.

The huge guest list is also a plus since Ross would have a hard time carrying this album on his own, but when surrounded by talent he pushes a little harder and comes up with a handful of rhymes that aren't tired or clichéd.

Not enough to raise him above "the guy who remixed Elvis" and no great disappointment either.

Eleventh Hour is certainly not a disappointment: Del's as good of a rapper as ever, and the way he fits his words into the beats, playing with his and their cadence, is truly spectacular, but he needs to challenge himself--and his listeners--more, lyrically and beat-wise, instead of relying on the same tried-and-true methods, if he really wants to continue his legacy.

This is sheer attack metal, played by a band that has run from simplicity to excess and incorporated them both into a record that is on a level with anything else they've done, even if not all the elements marry perfectly yet. Just get it.

As the group replaces departing guitarist (and founding member) Dave Dederer with Andrew McKeag, while they bring Seattle underground mainstay Kurt Bloch in as producer, all elements that help make These Are the Good Times People perhaps their most eclectic album to date.

Those who think the late 2000s are devoid of bands that know how to rock should devote three seconds to this album — they will instantly see the folly of their ways.

Unfairground is one of the great records to come out of Great Britain in 2007 and adds exponentially to the legacy and well-deserved reputation of one of the great songsmiths that rock sometimes doesn't know it produced.

Music is, by and large, entertainment and escapism, so regardless of whether Young Knives intend to add enlightenment to that formula, their hooks and their ideas--their entire musical package--are too intriguing and exciting to provoke the usual worries about agit-pop.

Go Away White sounds like the four were trying one last time to reclaim the idea of Bauhaus as band and ethos from all the many limiting clichés heaped on it, something which the album title, taken from the song "Black Stone Heart," slyly hints at.

Despite the missteps, well over half of Robotique Majestique is terrifically entertaining; it just seems like the hit-to-miss ratio could have been so much higher without much more effort.

It's an album meant to be discovered and lived with, revealing its jokes and its beauty over time.

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.

Saturnalia is mysticism and hedonism, saints and sinners, dark and light, but this is no clear-cut Manichaean collaboration. Both Lanegan and Dulli represent this, both contain all the good and the bad they sing about, sometimes at different moments but very often together, and it's that joined duality, that very disturbingly human quality, telling us things about ourselves we'd rather not acknowledge, that makes the album so absolutely alluring.

Not since "LP5" has being impressed been so obviously secondary to enjoyment.

At times, it's hard to hear much unique about them. Then again, the boldness of Red Yellow & Blue--both the colors and the album--can't be denied, and Born Ruffians' energy does spark something special occasionally.

They're old-fashioned, but in the best sense: they're in it for the long haul, which the superb Warpaint proves beyond a shadow of a doubt.

An album that accepts its imperfections as a part of its charm, and, all things considered, a pretty irresistible release.

It may sound at first like the makings of a mediocre goth album, but the band's combination of a taut, tense, elegant delivery and poetic lyrics breathes life into each of Red of Tooth and Claw's songs.

Asking for Flowers leaves no doubt that Kathleen Edwards has arrived and made an album that's funny, startling, poignant, and (once again) worthy of repeated play.

Most of the time, however, the band's blazing energy and instrumental swagger is able to lift your spirits despite the depressing subject matter.

While it may not be as striking an artistic statement as its predecessors, the general tone of easygoing bonhomie makes Transnormal Skiperoo a decidedly satisfying release, and the simple fact that it's an album's worth of fine new White material is in itself cause for plenty of contentment.

It's a tighter, less primitive album than its predecessor, but as such, it has a lot more to offer as well.

This, though, is the kind of nice, safe album a listener wants to like badly, but whose flaws ultimately leave one fumbling for the skip button on repeat listens.

Culture clashes never sounded so good.

Ladyhawk just aren't memorable enough to stick in the mind as they could.

One can't help but wish the 15-track set list included more numbers like 'Frankie's Gun,' which features some of Ian's wittiest lyrics and the brothers' spot-on imitation of the Band, but it's hard to find fault in this collection of earthy ballads and barroom jams.

It's clear that Goldfrapp doesn't miss the style the pair perfected on their last two albums, nor should they--this is some of their most varied, balanced, and satisfying work.

The likes of 'Never Letchu Go' (a sweet, glistening ballad), 'Luv' (carrying a brisk, feel-good clap-and-bounce), 'Rollercoaster' (suitably jittery and giddy), and 'Can't B Good' are as innocent, universal, and inviting as anything else in Janet's past.

Immediately moving and yet rather bewildering, New Amerykah, Pt. 1 is an album that sounds special from the first play, yet it will probably take years before it is known just how special it is.

Beach House's dark moods have more shades, and even a little bit of light, making them all the more compelling.

Backwoods Barbie might not break the bank out there, and it would take a good deal of marketing and luck for any of these tracks to hit the top of the new country charts, but it shows that Parton can still deliver the package in fine style and only the fools among us would ever count her down and out, no matter how many bluegrass albums she does.

It resonates with emotion, tenderness, and a sense that she has found comfort in life and her songwriting that may have been missing before.

NY's Finest is a good, solid listen from a deservedly respected member of the hip-hop community, but it's also nothing that will blow you away.

Maybe Mick Collins can't save the world, but he's got plenty of worthwhile things to say on this album, and his global angst beats Bono's for sheer entertainment value any day of the week.

Fans of the fuzzy, decadent and over-driven version of the Raveonettes can be happy that they have their band back; nastier, prettier and better than ever.

The Golden Age may simply be the Eitzel and Vudi show, but that's more than enough to make this a rich and rewarding set of songs whose gentle surfaces belie their troubling strength.

Darnielle can sometimes be too clever, loading in more than a song can bear, but he keeps that tendency in check for the most part on Heretic Pride, and the result is a wonderfully accessible and varied album that hits all the right buttons at all the right times.

Bell X1 don't fit comfortably into any of the pigeonholes of modern indie rock: more down to earth than Radiohead; more fun-loving than Coldplay; and too sophisticated to be lumped in with Franz Ferdinand. Bell X1 occupy a niche all of their own, and long may it continue.

For Emma captures the sound of broken and quiet isolation, wraps it in a beautiful package, and delivers it to your door with a beating, bruised heart.

The album's not faultless: as with Deerhunter, Cox has the tendency to try too hard to be profound, wanting so badly to say something important that he sounds trite and forced, and untrustworthy, but when he's able to forget about conveying some kind of meaning and instead focuses on the actual music, his message--one of pain and love and feeling lost, of trying desperately to understand--is undeniable.

The songs have more bite than those on "Other People's Lives," as do the performances, which makes Working Man's Café more immediate than its predecessor, yet it benefits from repeated plays as well, as those subsequent spins reveal that these 12 songs are as finally honed as those on "Other People's Lives."

There are still some moments that show what Doughty is capable of, where he holds back on the production and instrumentation and lets his acoustic guitar chords and voice take over, like in the darker 'I Got the Drop on You,' which references his Soul Coughing days while still coming across as an original, but this is a rarity among the slick and silly tracks that make up the rest of Golden Delicious.

It is her warmest, most ambitious, searing, and gutsy record yet.

It is hard not to listen to Kula Shaker and their banal, blissfully insulated retro-rock and not be a little amazed that a band can get so many right elements so wrong.

The change does the Godfrey brother's music good, bringing it more in line with the Morcheeba name and the masterful good songs/good vibes combination that made their first two full-lengths so haunting.

Adding harmonies from Curtis Hall, Ron Lewis, and Jeff Montano helps to thicken the melody, and Grand Archives revolves around the strong singalong hooks that turn this debut into a soft rock record for the indie crowd.

There are a lot of bands playing indie pop in 2008, but very few do it as well as Headlights do on Some Racing, Some Stopping.

With Ghost Games, Apes have expanded their sound and pushed their brand of experimental art pop even further than before, making this one of their most exciting and enjoyable works to date.

Less busy instrumentally than P:ano, the band still deals out polyrhythms generously and peppers its tunes with a vast arsenal of instruments that include expansive lap steel, woodwinds, and string and horn sections.

59.59 is an astounding album, quite unlike anything one's ever heard before.

It may be only their first full-length, but Time:Line is a strong showing from both musicians, and promises what could be a very fruitful partnership.

DYLRM should be a mess, but the band has crafted a wintry, nuanced, and bold collection of epic songs that integrate the sweeping theatricality of Arcade Fire-era indie rock without all of the insularity.

The whining hasn't let up (see 'No Love' and 'Generation'), but the fun hasn't either. Credit the producers.

So while Free Somehow can't quite rival the energy of a Widespread show, it still offers something that those concerts cannot, making the album a worthwhile purchase for most dedicated fans.

They're still a quirky band, no doubt, but now they're using those quirks to make their most accomplished album to date.

Crow hasn't been this free or fine since "Sheryl Crow," but there is an emotional directness on Detours that makes this a progression, not a retreat.

So even when Lucky tries to turn down the glow, it still radiates with the oomph of a solid power pop release, making Nada Surf's fifth album a fine finale for a weekend well-spent.

Many of her fans will no doubt be delighted with this artful yet accessible return, and hopefully, those who embraced the younger, wackier, campy aspect of lang's persona will allow for the fact that there isn't anything close to that here.

No matter what instrument he's playing or what he's singing about, his music still feels the same, which is enough to satisfy his fans but not to win him many new ones.

By the measure of pure sound, It Is Time for a Love Revolution is a glorious feast of retro-rock pleasures--a feast of empty calories, perhaps, but sometimes fast food is more irresistible than a five-course meal.

It's a consolidation of Mould's considerable strengths, an album that showcases his gifts as a writer and record-maker, one that touches upon almost every phase of his career, yet it's filtered through a maturity that feels vital because of its unadorned honesty.

It may be considerably more commercial than their first album, but Promises Promises is, crucially, also much, much better.

Where the group used to sound like a bulldozer demolishing rubble, now they're more like a snow plow gently shoving away a winter wonderland. It's still good, but isn't stoner rock supposed to sound destructive?

High-pitched coos gatecrash the song's chorus like they've just been kicked out of the Rolling Stones' "Sympathy for the Devil," and a harmonized keyboard solo injects a bit of the Steve Miller Band into an otherwise minimalist, Southern-styled slow jam. Such unexpected moves seem to be a new thing for Collett, and they combine to make this his strongest solo effort yet.

Whatever the case may be, what's left is a record with some promise but too many flaws to be truly enjoyable.

Circular Sounds is altogether smoother than the musician's previous work, but it's far from slick, packed with enough grit (note the slightly off-key horns in 'Everything Begins') and solid songcraft to set itself apart from the retro-rock catalog.

Really though, just about any song could be singled out for praise. It's that strong of an album, strong enough to satisfy a desire for tattered glamour, for dramatic, inspired and powerful guitar rock that kind that only maybe the Bad Seeds at their best could once conjure up.

This should have been the album where the Mars Volta either wore the formula down to nothing or abruptly turned in a different direction, but instead the band created an album that nearly perfects what they've been working toward.

Fully realized debut albums like Vampire Weekend come along once in a great while, and these songs show that this band is smart, but not too smart for their own good.

Nobody else sounds like Xiu Xiu, and they've made themselves even more singular on this album.

He can certainly sing, but years of providing seamless harmonies for Gibbard have given his pipes a clear, breathy quality that threatens to lull the listener into a trance during the album's final stretch.

Rain balances sophistication and edgy smarts with a winning mixture of grace and confidence.

If "Love and Distance" was the album that pushed the Helio Sequence off the rails, Keep Your Eyes Ahead is the sound of the duo getting back on track.

The moments of rocked-out swagger are fleeting and ultimately drowned out by a musical and lyrical heaviness that turns the album into a real downer.

Protest the Hero is having fun with their creativity here, and Fortress is a better album for it.

As for this being a Shelby Lynne record, its quality and confidence is unassailable.

You get a lot of elastic, post-punk guitar explorations (à la Mission of Burma)--as evidenced by such standouts as the album opening 'Your Movement' and 'Tremble.' But then just when you think you have the Shackelton lads figured out, the Joy Division-ish 'Soft Heart' comes peaking around the corner.

While this is a forward-thinking and cerebral affair, as Yoav has a love of dance music, he often works with funky grooves and rhyming lyrics that should appeal to fans with a club-oriented aesthetic.

It sounds counterintuitive, but the unconventional nature of Human Bell is the very thing that holds it back.

By far the tightest record SFA has released since "Radiator"--boasting no song over five minutes and four clocking in under three--this is a concise, song-oriented record, which is somewhat ironic since it began its life as something as a concept album.

Natasha Bedingfield is a genuine pop talent who often flashes hints of a greater than average ambition that could turn her into something more substantial than the likes of Rhianna, but the awkwardly assembled Pocketful of Sunshine feels inorganic in a way that Unwritten did not, less personal and more vetted by various A&R executives.

Nimol's vocals are as beguiling as ever, Ethan Holtzman's Farfisa organ still swirls, Zac Holtzman's guitars still chime and chunk, and Paul Dreux Smith's drums clang happily along.

It's packed with stuff, but there's enough space here, and wonderfully warm atmospheres, to bring the listener right into the deeper sonic dimensions that Black Mountain is trying to create.

Uneven as it may be, Jukebox is still a worthwhile portrait of Chan Marshall's artistry.