Earnest, melodic, and slow to unfold, there's not a bad song on here, but surprises are few and far between.

Most of Going Back is devoted to the tried and true, though, the hits that remain staples on oldies stations across the globe, and whenever Collins is singing "Heatwave," "Uptight," "Papa Was a Rolling Stone," "Jimmy Mack" or "Going to a Go-Go," the album inches away from being a labor of love and into pure nostalgia trip, but even then the album is pleasant enough that it's hard to complain.

Every song on Charleston has been ironed flat, so there are no unseemly natural inflections, something that Rucker doesn't need but which helps make Charleston, SC 1966 a gleaming example of polished, pressed, modern country-pop.

The only hint of intrigue comes 40-odd minutes into the record, when Youth takes up his mighty bass for "Chicago Dub," which briefly changes the pace for the better.

The Fool has flashes of brilliance, but Warpaint need to play to their strengths consistently.

Healy's yearning, earthy croon is well intact here, and although he doesn't try to upstage his main band's act, longtime Travis fans and anybody in the mood for heartfelt, smartly crafted folk-pop should find much to enjoy on Wreckorder.

With a slow, minimal style similar to producer Bangladesh, the Pac''s Young L handles most of the production on the album, delivering beats that favor impact over density.

Musical breaks like these not only make For We Are Many a fresh listening experience, but they also prove that the band isn't restricted to a formulaic good cop/bad cop style of metalcore songwriting, allowing the band to engage listeners who are looking for more than the same old thing.

Maturity doesn't necessarily suit the band--there's a natural, flat whine to Joel Madden's voice that dooms him to eternal adolescence--but every step Good Charlotte makes toward a comfortable middle age on Cardiology is a step that succeeds, producing music that resonates louder and longer than the flashy twaddle of Good Morning Revival.

Like most covers sets, this is a mixed bag, and it's for the hardcore Diamond fan more than those who admire Home Before Dark, 12 Songs, or his work from the '60s through the mid-'70s.

Once again, N.E.R.D. are at their best when they abandon all regard for the Hot 100.

Call it reliable or call it boring, As U Were slots into the Lyrics Born discography comfortably, as an album any hip-hop fan could enjoy, but hardly love.

Apart from that pair of stiff originals, the whole thing is cheerful and engaging, a worthy sequel to its predecessor.

Amoral or not, this album serves as a reminder that the superficial can still sound pretty super.

Despite [a] couple of dragging moments, Coal Miner's Daughter is for the most part filled with solid, respectful versions of excellent songs and serves as a worthy tribute to an enduring icon.

It's an excellent way for Jenkinson to branch out and try something different--his playing and programming is definitely up to his high standard--but aside from the sweet retro vibes, it's hardly a classic.

Bittersweet songs like "Grey Clouds" and "What I Lose" are more subdued than prior work, but ultimately The Inevitable Past is a solid addition to the discography of an indie rock fixture.

Loud would not sound quite so slapdash if it did not follow Good Girl Gone Bad, one of the best pop albums of its decade, and Rated R, one of the most fascinating pop albums of the same time frame.

Those speedy songs ["You and Me" and "Go Away My Lover"] are the exception on this album, not the rule, but they're still the highlight, balancing Ziman's ruminations on a love gone wrong with something much brighter.

Small Black haven't quite mastered balancing their newfound polish with memorable songs, but New Chain's sound is so appealing that it could be considered one of the first chillwave albums aimed at the mainstream.

Wasted in Jackson is the work of a music industry pro who also has a genuine, unaffected natural talent for vintage soul and blues styles.

Flockaveli has enough hooks and attitude to keep those bottles poppin' all night long, and whether or not you remember any of it the next day, it does serve its purpose.

Winner Stays On will undoubtedly continue their stratospheric rise from the ghetto to the mainstream, but despite flashes of ingenuity, it's a strangely formulaic and over-familiar listen.

Not every DJ dream team is up to the challenge of creating great original tracks, though, and it's hard to criticize Swedish House Mafia when their mix is otherwise such a blast.

Most of these songs are not quite up to Hart's usual caliber. His inherent charms are hard to deny; they just feel slightly threadbare this time out.

From the beginning of her career, Duffy's voice alone was clearly not her most potent weapon. Here, she oddly attempts to build an album out of it, not succeeding with anything close to the power and elegance of Rockferry.

Bedingfield plays it exceptionally safe, to the extent that she even tones down the self-empowerment of her first two records, preferring pristine blue-eyed soul and adult contemporary ballads, all tailored for an aspirational upscale lifestyle.

Highlights are pushed to the front, so consider the last four songs or so bonus tracks. You'll still be left with a substantial good time.

Red Barked Tree is another strong effort, and while Wire is still making music that shatters expectations, after 30 years they're sounding a lot like the mainstream rockers they once despised.

The sheer ballast of [Jack] White's vision can be exhausting, the individual elements clanking chaotically and never quite gelling. Jackson gives as strong as a performance as she can, tearing into the oldies with ease and valiantly attempting the new songs, but she sounds most at ease with the quieter moments.

Swamped by the same safe, repetitive, and unadventurous production, the majority of the ten tracks are indistinguishable from one another, making Science & Faith a solid but pedestrian and uninspiring affair.

Perhaps the performances aren't enough to warrant a reassessment or revival, but they're consistently strong and a testament to Pearl Jam's endurance.

For better or worse, this album is polished and mature -- words that never would have described Cold War Kids' music before.

The Fall winds up a little ephemeral, its pleasures as fleeting as the scenery passing outside the windows of a tour bus.

Theoretically, this loosening of expectations would give him some freedom to roam on Musica + Alma + Sexo, and it does to the extent that he does not feel compelled to devote the record to the English language.

There is a lot to admire here and maybe that's the main problem....he often favors rambling, low-key country numbers that get you to quietly consider the bittersweet nature of our existence rather than lose yourself in the song.

The rest of the tracks are more like exercises in sound manipulation and reduction than songs. The approach is no-fault, but Blake pares it down to such an extent that the material occasionally sounds not just tentative but feeble, fatigued, even.

It is these more upbeat electric moments on the album that truly stand out. That said, much of People Problems is filled with more acoustic, ruminative moments that, while pleasantly melancholic, detract somewhat from Oh No! Oh My!'s more driving pop inclinations.

While Golden Worry isn't quite as deep as Terrible Two, it's an exciting follow-up, nonetheless.

Just after returning from a European tour in support of their breakout debut, Girls upgraded their recording equipment and chose six of their favorite new songs for the surprisingly conventional-sounding Broken Dreams Club EP.

Even if the newly formed Canadian quartet is still searching for its individuality, when Suuns' strengths come together--as they often do on Zeroes QC--the mix of sparse beats, razor-wire guitar, and downer melodies can be compelling.

The result is an affable album that soothes but rarely dazzles, and In the Cool of the Day winds up functioning better as a contemporary reading of older songs.

They may not have as much depth as their influences, but at their best, their shiny surfaces are a lot of fun.

There's an unquestionably seductive flow about Young the Giant's debut that's sure to lure in many wandering postmodern rock children, looking for alternatives beyond the same old blockbuster bands name-checked above.

Sometimes this professionalism results in a tad too much slickness, particularly when the duo eases into ballads that surge so strongly no emotion registers, but when the JaneDear girls are flirting with tacky, spangly four-four beats and hook-heavy crossovers, they wind up with appealingly glitzy, crisp country-pop.

Fans of the early dream pop stuff may have difficulties accepting a cleaner, more synthesized pop approach.

The lyrics are odd throughout the album but when they're dressed up with swooning harmonies, they always seem to make enough sense.

If anything, Gloucester County proves that Smith is willing to let his unique style mature, which may at some point provide some insight into one of the underground's most elusive personalities.

For her second solo album, the Dresden Dolls' Amanda Palmer slapped together an album-full of songs about Australia and New Zealand to coincide with her 2011 tour of the Australian continent.

It's hard not to draw parallels to the Decemberists--fellow Portland residents whose frontman, Colin Meloy, shares a strikingly similar voice with frontman Ryan Sollee--but Dead Reckoning is further proof that the Builders and Butchers are building their own identity.

A straight play, from start to end, the album thrives on the hypnotic rhythmic drive of Krautrockers like Neu!, with bulky synth riffs that make many of the songs sound like the intro to Van Halen's version of "Dancing in the Streets," or Jan Hammer's "Theme from Miami Vice," only beefed up, elongated, and entangled in guitar delays.

Shea and Klauber's approaches are distinct; she favors shimmery electro-pop and cooing vocals that evoke Kate Bush as much as they do Olivia Newton-John, while he trades in earnest, earth-toned vocals and acoustic guitars.

Overall, it's a darker and more uneven album than the debut, but notwithstanding a few oddities (three reprises, and Arrington de Dionyso's Gregorian throat singing, namely), it's a respectable follow-up.

Evans' fans will eat this up as welcome return to form. However, a more critical listen will reveal this set as a concession to Nashville's ever more restrictive, formulaic studio system.

Lavigne once again seems to be grappling with emotions just beyond her reach, never articulating her angst or crafting a melancholy melody, making Goodbye Lullaby feel affected, not genuine.

Lasers offers more substance when the reins are loosened.

Who You Are is a singularly ironic title for a debut that finds Jessie J trying on discarded threads from every British pop starlet of the last half decade.

If Long has captured the style necessary to make him the next New Dylan, he hasn't quite figured out the issue of lyrical content.

As a showcase for Barker's production and drumming skills, Give the Drummer Some definitely gets the point across, proving that there's room for more than just Phil Collins and Dave Grohl in the world of drummers successfully going solo.

Let Me Come Home never really develops into the lump in the throat it wants to be, though it certainly isn't for lack of trying.

Ottewell isn't the first Gomez bandmate to pursue interests outside the band, but Shapes & Shadows is the most accessible solo effort to appear from that group.

While it provides a fair amount of material for those who prefer either release, Immersion also stretch out here, leaning heavily toward industrial-style rock on a handful of tracks while veering toward metal on "Self vs. Self."

Although the rage gauge occasionally hits the red, the melodies are too sugary and catchy to feel sincerely scathing.

The combination of songs, sound, and performance make this another near-perfect album from the trio. Those who have fallen under their charmingly sweet spell can only hope it doesn't take another six years for the next one.

As with their last album, the prominence of the violin continues to diminish, but what the strings lack in ubiquity they make up for in impact, making an impression when they appear rather than just fading into the background. This kind of refinement of their sound paints a picture of an older and wiser Yellowcard whose members are confident enough in their abilities that they can step away from the gimmick that initially set them apart from the pack and let their songwriting do the talking.

It is not quite prime Soundgarden; the band is pushing their OK 1996 effort Down on the Upside, and while there isn't much palpable tension in the performances, they're not quite inspired, either. The group is in full-fledged pro mode, hitting their marks with efficiency and occasional power if not much flair.

It's not particularly big or, indeed, clever, but it's a return to form that might just stop the rot, even if it's unlikely to reverse their fortunes dramatically.

Ultimately, while it is clear based on Factorycraft that Found aren't the same band you'd expect to hear playing at an art opening anymore, they are a band you might be pleasantly surprised to run into at a local pub, and that's something a lot harder to find.

In sum, Live at the Aragon is a mixed bag aurally and visually, though the Crack the Skye movie is killer.

Navigating this 21-track session is the hard part, but once fans do the necessary trimming and pull out their favorite 14 or so, Doggumentary becomes a fine addition to Snoop's catalog.

Ultimately, it feels as much like an exercise in self-justification as it does in personal revelation.

A tribute album starring the man of honor himself, who also curated the whole affair, See My Friends is a bit of a curious creature.

Turner walks a fine line of providing hushed mood music for a film, and delving into someplace deeper; his tunes aren't mere background music, yet there's a casualness to his Submarine songs that keeps them from truly resonating.

Of limited appeal, but appealing nonetheless.

The band sounds ready for battle, but too much time is spent slogging through the swamps of defeat, many of which are adorned with forgettable choruses and melodies that arrive at dead ends, only to bash themselves against the wall hoping for some kind of merciful respite.

Bloodless Coup gets rocky at points, but there are more than a few scattered gems here.

This blend of the new and the familiar makes Disguises a refreshing entry in the Aiden catalog, and makes for an album that fans should have no problem losing themselves in.

The lo-fi production often makes Baenziger's laments hard to decipher, but her delicate voice drips with a heartache and loneliness that makes the tunes hard to resist.

Credo could have been the perfect opportunity to prove to their devotees that they haven't lost their touch, but although there are a few flashes of their heyday's magic, it's a strangely low-key affair which is unlikely to inspire any future synth pop maestros.

Nothing much changed over their time off, and the guitar-driven material on Safeways Here We Come is the same fervent but melodic pop-punky stuff that Chixdiggit! fans have come to expect.

Despite this lingering scent of stale nicotine, alcohol, and leather, The Taking does make a brute impression, McKagan's Loaded playing with a vitality that almost compensates for how they fetishize the past.

[An] odd, somewhat bewildering, and perhaps hopefully transitional effort.

These relatively dry songs lack the edge of the album's first half.

If the show doesn't quite manage to be memorable, it is certainly engaging, a worthwhile 38 minutes even if it doesn't quite have much more than a historic hook to warrant repeated plays.

Ultimately, a full album based around relaxed, Rhodes-based ballads is probably too bland for thrill-seekers, but Start & Complete is the type of one-off that might be of considerable interest to fans.

ATE doesn't shy away from their debts to the Killers and the Strokes, they brandish their influences so brazenly the echoes reverberate upon themselves and turn into something not quite their own but not quite recycled: it's insistent mood pop designed for its moment, getting enough momentum from its bounce and melody to be something of a pleasure.

Ultimately, though, the tracks and Memphis May Fire themselves are the sum of their parts and little more; like many young bands, they haven't learned yet that writing a bunch of parts isn't the same thing as writing a song.

As always, it's a treat to enter Herren's soundworld, but he could've made much more of an impact with the tools on display.

With this hybrid sound in their arsenal, Silverstein don't need to worry about reinventing the wheel, but rather are able to think about refining the very good wheel they've been selling for over a decade. While this approach probably isn't going to make new fans out of anyone who just doesn't get what the band is going for, it certainly makes Rescue an easy sell for the initiated.

[Woomble] continues his journey into cozy-pipe-and-slippers-middle age on 12 folk-pop tracks which further distance him from his angsty, indie rock beginnings.

There is nothing in the fiery spirit of "Low End," but there are some dynamic moments where songs like "Pushing Out" or "Looking Out" crescendo almost to a majestic rock-out. However, most of the album is more in a mellow Americana/alt-rock style that favors bluegrass instruments, and lush orchestration.

So while Walls generally finds An Horse treading water, enjoyably enough for the most part, it also suggests that they've arrived at a slight impasse as to how to proceed from here; how to balance artistic development and expansion with the youthful urgency and directness that has marked their best moments, at least so far.

It's not markedly different, better, or worse than previous BFS albums, with the main distinguishing factor being that there's nothing with a killer hook along the lines of "1985," but for the legions of faithful fans, more of the same isn't necessarily a bad thing.

Within the digital production, which is acidic and cavernous, there are hints of the Kills (fuzz blasts, crunchy mechanical drums), Clinic (vacant vocals), and Animal Collective (watery, circular melodies).

Though it has plenty of appealing moments, it just doesn't capitalize on Morrison's vocal and star power.

Even if the primary common characteristic of this stuff is how exceedingly pleasant it all is, there's always a place for that, regardless of what month it is.

While a few of these songs stick in your ear right away, perhaps not surprisingly for a band named after small statues, the overall tone of the album is one of detailed intricacy.

Inclusions is not an album for any typical audience, though those with more esoteric and adventurous tastes may embrace it.