It may take a few listens before the record reveals itself as a relative cauldron of restrained emotion, but it's worth the effort.

This stands as a very good album by Keyshia Cole, also the point where Cole's voice grows from an occasionally powerful emotive device into a versatile instrument.

Some fans will miss Múm's wispier, bygone days, but those willing to give the band a chance to change and grow will welcome the chance to get to know them all over again.

Ultimately, The World Has Made Me the Man of My Dreams, with its irony, sincerity, seeming contradiction, and elliptical paradox, is the most expansive, complex record yet released by this always provocative artist.

Musically it's imaginative, fresh, full of a more studied elegance and a leaner kind of pomp that we heard during her Geffen years.

Last Light is an altogether different album from what we've heard before, as Matt Pond has rarely put himself in such close contact with his idols. Nevertheless, it's a leap forward for an artist who rarely, if ever, heads in the wrong direction.

The Markers strip away the most abrasive parts of their previous work, add just the right amount of melodies and structure, and somehow maintain the free-flowing, experimental heart of their music. It's not much of a stretch to say that the results are something of a revelation.

It gets better with each listen, and stands so far outside the realm of anything her better-known peers are doing today that it's almost scary.

It's interesting that while so many of these songs are peppered with faux-mystical approaches to spirituality, the album is also confessional and looks hard at itself, even if at times it seems cloying, self-indulgent, and preachy.

Invitation Songs is a welcome, and welcoming, debut.

Shocking Pinks is an intriguing introduction for listeners who want to catch up with [Harte's] ever-growing body of work.

These songs sound like they were written as she was fed chocolate-dipped strawberries while sprawled out on a bed cloaked with rose petals.

An uneven sophomore album.

Drastic Fantastic a rare beast: a pop album with a songwriter's heart, and one that works on both levels.

It will seduce anybody already won over by his 2005 debut, "Back to Bedlam," since it's a tighter, more assured record than that. But chances are, they were seduced by Blunt already.

Past a few missteps, the album is a winning embrace of hip-hop with commentaries on beefs, nostalgic pining for better days, and a positive outlook for the future of the genre.

Not only did Moore record Trees Outside the Academy with some of his closest friends, but the album's good-natured sprawl is so appealing that it makes its listeners feel like friends, too

Tthe record is focused more on the future, on creating an impression, than on immediate satisfaction, giving it an appeal that only strengthens as time goes on, and making Spirit If... another impressive, affective release in the ever-growing Broken Social Scene catalog.

Asleep at Heaven's Gate isn't a bad record, it's an unnecessary one and there's really no excuse for that.

H.I.M. isn't a band known for profound lyrics, but, at the same time, most fans of the band don't want to philosophize, they want to hear the group rock out, and this release shows them doing precisely that, even harder than before.

the Donnas once rocked as if they were tanked to the gills but they now sound like they're playing with ferocious hangovers they just can't shake--and it's hard to have a good party if the threat of the morning after hangs over the whole affair.

These songs all feel like a score, and that's not necessarily a good thing. They all seem to be of a piece, but musically there isn't enough imagination to distinguish them, to set the tension of dynamic in motion.

This album was well worth the wait and should win over some new fans and please the old ones too. Best of show.

There's no lull here, just fast-paced fun.

Jourgensen's covers are usually all-party time, but this album holds no hope for and finds no joy in America and expresses it brilliantly.

Ripe isn't all that different than "Awake Is the New Sleep," but it's no worse: it's equally entertaining and endearing, a modest pleasure that's a pleasure all the same.

Everything is suited for Babyface, often to the point where the songs don't sound tremendously different from what he has written during the last several years.

This is the kind of album you can live with and hear new things in with each listen, and proves that the album is an art form that still has plenty of life in it.

In the end, Curtis is entertaining but only impressive in that 50 can run in place and still be on top.

It makes for an utterly compelling, even obsessive listen.

Graduation is neither as bold nor as scattered as "The College Dropout," and it's neither as extroverted nor as sonically rich as "Late Registration." Kanye still makes up for his shortcomings as an MC and lyricist by remaining charmingly clumsy, frequently dealing nonsense through suspect rhyme schemes.

Proof of Youth is a pretty spectacular continuation of some of the most exciting, innovative sounds around.

The result is a muddled album that gets even farther away from Hot Hot Heat's former glory even as it tries to recapture it.

Attaching the Black Francis moniker to this album might ratchet up expectations too high for rabid Pixies fans, but Bluefinger is a good Charles Thompson album--it's still really enjoyable to hear him have fun and rock out, no matter what name he chooses to use.

I'll Follow You is a record that shows off the diversity of Oakley Hall's palette, country and folk and rock, equally important and equally imposed, and because of this, something worth listening to.

Simian Mobile Disco's debut is a dance record that shows a surprising amount of subtlety and flair.

It's a bleak album to be sure, undoubtedly inspired by the downtrodden national mood of the times in which it was recorded. Ann's voice is strong and convincing on these tunes, largely drawn from the '60s and '70s with a few exceptions.

Just Who I Am just manages from sinking into adult contemporary murk, even if it's hard to shake the feeling that Chesney is spending too much time acting how his audience expects him to be instead of just being who he is.

The songs on Help Wanted Nights are all solid, simple, yet melodic, about running away from home and trying to find home and breaking up, but nothing really stands out.

Pinback don't disappoint with their fourth record, Autumn of the Seraphs.

Vocalist/guitarist Emma Pollock has crafted one the group's [the Delgados] finest efforts to date, albeit as a solo artist.

Our Ill Wills is an impressive, depressive album that could scare away all but their hardiest fans in one 48-minute swoop.

Good Bad Not Evil isn't a major leap forward for the Black Lips, but it shows their sound is slowly but surely evolving, and they still rock with a nasty enthusiasm that's bold and compelling; this is quality stuff for your next black light party.

Civilians has as many stories attached as any record Henry's written, but they're so finely crafted now that the singer almost disappears in their flickering appearances on the wall of the mind of the listener.

On North Star Deserter, the musicians working with Vic Chesnutt serve as collaborators rather than simple accompanists, and they've truly brought out the best in one another; this is powerful, adventurous music that's as challenging as it is beautiful, and ranks with Chesnutt's finest work to date.

Harris doesn't need to sing--his electronic noises from the keyboard are quite sufficient.

The whole album is a barn rattler from top to bottom. Play this for anyone who thinks rock & roll is dead and gone. Heavy Trash again prove that theory dead wrong.

Play It as It Lays is, without doubt, the record where Scialfa gives us the full fruit of her exceptional gift as a writer, a singer, as an artist.

Liars wanders wherever it wants to, touching on noise, prog, hard rock, punk, industrial and other styles the band has flirted with in the past, as well as a few uncharted ones.... In a lesser band's hands, this kaleidoscopic approach could be a muddled mess, but it makes for Liars' most entertaining album yet.

The talent, both of Rock and his guests (which, besides El-P, also include Ron Sonic, John Darnielle from the Mountain Goats, Breezly Brewin', and Cage) is impressive, and makes None Shall Pass an album that deserves a lot of attention, both inside and outside the hip-hop world.

A fascinating musical ride that defies any attempt at categorization.

Scatterbrained as Can I Keep This Pen? is, it would have fit perfectly in the catalog of the deceased Grand Royal, but somehow seems appropriate landing in Ipecac's strange and wonderfully eclectic lap.

Whether or not you prefer the rowdier version of Harper and his band, it is inarguable that this recording is a concentrated effort coming down on the side of a couple of musical notions that weave together artfully and meaningfully.

Even in this mellowed state, Gira's still never going to be a majority taste, but Angels of Light come up with a thoroughly respectable and diversely arranged vehicles for his vision on We Are Him, traipsing through an array of interesting moods without diluting the leader's offbeat visions.

Panic Prevention isn't much better than its best three or four songs, and it's due to Jamie T.'s stubborn insistence on being understood only by himself, or perhaps a precious few in his coterie.

There are a couple of standouts here--'Like It or Not' could be a cross between 'It'5!' and the Cure's bizarrely cheerful moments, while 'Nothing's Wrong' shows what the rest of the album should've sounded like--but most of Places Like This is a mystifying misfire.

Kala nearly makes "Arular" seem tame in comparison, magnifying most of its predecessor's qualities as it remains bracingly adventurous.

Challengers is their biggest grower yet, a dense collection of carefully constructed pop and brain power pop.

The rest of Under the Blacklight feels like the Jenny Lewis show and even if this album doesn't push Rilo Kiley to the top, it's hard to deny that it feels like the launching pad for her ascent into true stardom.

Andorra may be a bedroom record, but it certainly doesn't sound like a bedroom record; it has the energy and intensity of group participation, and that makes it Snaith's best yet.

At 20 tracks and nearly 80 minutes, Eardrum is both too much and too little, never quite understanding exactly what it needs to be.

Though the album has its fair share of songs that sound like stylish, smart, but lulling background music on first listen, The Hair the TV the Baby & the Band reveals its catchiness gradually.

Like the best divorce albums, it offers sadness, pathos, and the electric thrill of great music forged in the crucible of pain.

Natural is a quiet but disconcerting snapshot of a world of chaos, which is to say it depicts a world not so different than the one that saw the birth of the Mekons in 1977, and confirms their message has remained constant even when their musical approach has not.

Historical Conquests is above all a fun record. It's got all of the heartache, acute observation, and crushing truth that fans are used to, but it never preaches without a wink and, most importantly, sounds as good blisteringly loud as it does drifting out of a clock radio in the garage.

Their heavenly mix of mix of giddy silliness, pop smarts and pop culture overload makes Hey Hey My My Yo Yo a fun-filled, joyride from beginning to end.

Eisley's mix of old and new, and accessible and unexpected, makes their music utterly charming, and Combinations is a blend of bewitching contradictions.

Though it lacks their star power and radio-ready hooks, it offers instead songs that are written and sung with a heartfelt authenticity neither McGraw nor Hill can rival.

Sheff has proven himself again and again to be a gifted wordsmith, and Stage Names features some of his finest parlor room romanticisms and slacker-poet observations to date.

Sojourner is an aptly titled monolith, one that invites fans of Magnolia Electric Co. with a "thank you for believing," even as it urges them to take in more of the picture than ever before.

Not bad at all, but unless you're a die-hard fan you'll want to be a little selective.

It's hard to call an album this spirited and alive irrelevant.

The album includes a handful of well-placed and effectual guest contributors, including Bilal, Dwele, Lily Allen, Common's dad, and the one and only Primo. Still, it's a shade less satisfying than "Be."

Which may make it a change of pace for Korn, but it sure doesn't break them out of their midlife slump--if anything, it exacerbates it.

There is much to like about Cookies: Jackie McKeown has a perfect yelping voice to pull off the sarcastic, knowing and sassy lyrical pose, the band is tight and raw but able to rein things in on funky tunes like 'Arcade Precinct,' and Butler keeps things quite simple and gets a remarkably punchy sound out of the trio.

Amid the many features and incredible dynamism that mark every UNKLE full-length, there are no songs to grab onto and little of real essence.

Planet Earth is the sound of a working musician working, which makes it a bit of a passing pleasure, yet there's no denying that it is indeed a pleasure having him turn out solid records like this that build upon his legacy, no matter how modestly.

Underclass Hero is ingratiating enough as background music—it's hooky enough to have momentum but not enough to linger in the memory—but they've never sounded quite so toothless and it's all down to this increased ambition.

The only thing lacking after the debut were the pop songs. This was evident with each successive proper album, but this flaw is put into too sharp of a relief on Absolute Garbage.

The songs on the album complement each other, play off the other's strengths, and make the record very much an entity, instead of simply a collection of tracks, setting it off as an impressive step forward in their already commendable discography.

Is Is may not be the Yeah Yeah Yeahs' most immediately accessible music, but it is some of their most compelling work in some time

The Broken String ups the ante considerably, reworking ten songs from the EP cycle and two new cuts into lustrous indie pop notable for its versatility, clever lyrics, and offbeat instrumentation.

The bottom line is that The Horseshoe Curve becomes--perhaps unintentionally--one of the finest moments of Anastasio's post-Phish solo career. This one is absolutely essential not only for his fans, but for anyone interested in any of the above musics. A must.

The production is still huge and full, although audiophiles may be disturbed by the overdriven acoustic guitars on certain songs that give an unnerving sensation of blown speaker cones. It's a forgivable stylistic decision, and doesn't detract much from the overall solidarity of the disc.

Young Modern is a highly ambitious work that happily jumps from glam rock to sweeping orchestral pastiches and almost everywhere in between.

Those the Brokes is a looser, livelier album than its predecessor, significantly less cloying and precious than the debut.

We Are the Night is no departure, although it does reveal Tom Rowlands and Ed Simons showing some build-to-suit character instead of angling for the straitjacket-tight and over-serious dance music of their past ten years.

O pure musical terms they're more gripping than many of their peers, displaying a restless sense of musicality that often makes Paper Walls interesting even if means they can stray toward areas that are just a shade too indulgent for their own good.

This is a decent album; it bears a craftsman-like solidity and many fans will no doubt be satisfied (and, more than that, happy) with it. But <i>An End Has a Start</i> is simply not the best album Editors are capable of putting together.

Calling the World might not be radically inventive, but its solid songcraft and playful shout-outs to rock history are a lot of fun.

With each album, the Cribs have gotten a little sharper and more focused, and nowhere is this clearer than on the brilliantly named Men's Needs, Women's Needs, Whatever, the band's major-label debut.

Beauty & Crime is, without reservation, the defining creative moment of Suzanne Vega's career thus far.

The mere fact they've been able to come together to make an album as solid and coherent as Rise to Your Knees is little short of miraculous, but it pales in comparison to the Meat Puppets best music and suggests that they still have a ways to go before they're fully back in fighting shape.

Corgan repeatedly buries his threadbare melodies beneath squeals of guitar that are too processed to either soar or sear. More than anything, it's this digitally dulled sound that saps Zeitgeist from any impact it may have.

It feels like half of an album by a band making sure their songs that fit the mold of what they've done before, and half of an album by a band using their major-label leverage to push their boundaries.

Concise and lively, Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga is a remarkable blend of focus and creativity.

Admirably random samples dug up from underground sources like '70s Italian prog-rockers Goblin, combined with a reckless abandon and an adherence to melodic hooks, makes Cross one of the most interesting electro-crossovers since Ratatat, and the guys in Justice do an excellent job building on Daft Punk's innovative foundation.

Time on Earth a haunting yet comforting affair that is quite unique in Neil Finn's body of work, yet functions as an oddly appropriate, utterly worthy, comeback as Crowded House.