Scab Dates is yet another intriguing window into the Mars Volta's world, instead of just a live album holdover.

While it's often an absorbing listen, it's hard to fathom this appealing to anyone but the terminally obsessed.

While the album's ambitions occasionally get the better of the actual music, For the Season's intermittent brilliance is worth digging and waiting for.

This is for all the listeners who liked Phish's good taste, eclectic nature, and Anastasio's playing, but never liked one of their albums.

A bland, friendly affair that disappears into the ether the moment it's finishing playing.

This is a gorgeous recording, one that in a very intimate way opens up an entire universe of possibility for understanding, integration, and brokenness. A fitting tribute indeed.

It's simply unlike anything else out there -- except perhaps Just Another Diamond Day.

The album cements the band as a love-them-or-hate-them proposition, but the Fiery Furnaces remain true to themselves.

With Descended Like Vultures, Rogue Wave have become just another indie rock band, one that has delivered a strong album without a weak song on it, but a real band just the same.

The group sounds freer than ever before, almost as though they've never bothered with rock in their lives, and have only happened upon a bare few LPs before beginning their recording career.

The Campfire Headphase lacks the transcendent grace that made Music Has the Right to Children and even Geogaddi classics in their field.

Like the best Depeche Mode, almost everything on the album will make an initial wowing impact while remaining layered enough in subtle details to surprise and thrill with repeated listens.

With this outing, Harvey establishes himself not only as a fine composer, but as a songwriter.

At its most chaotic, Hypermagic Mountain could tear open a wormhole into Comets on Fire's Blue Cathedral.

A uniquely powerful and moving set of songs.

No matter how hard Simpson tries, no matter how foreboding the surface, beneath it all she's still light and frivolous. But that doesn't mean, by any stretch, that this is bubblegum music, since that term implies that this music is frothy, fun, and, most important, hooky, and I Am Me is none of those things.

A Time to Love finds the two halves of Wonder's adult career finally coming to home to roost in peaceful harmony with one another, and it's one of the finest records he has done in decades.

The skimpy run time is noticeable and downright perplexing coming from an album that ambitiously delivers otherwise.

Somewhat more reminiscent of Rage Against the Machine than the Beastie Boys or Eminem, the group... is as good as any rap outfit at expressing anger; in fact, they're more eloquent than most.

Despite a few sleepy moments on the album's second half, Strange Geometry has more flair and movement than Violet Hour, and perfects the band's ability to be uplifting and heartbreaking at the same time.

Classic without being too traditional or contrived, Tournament of Hearts is the sound of the Constantines operating at the peak of their powers.

The best album of the year in the hip-hop underground.

Even though the manic intensity that characterized work like Reveille is missed a little here, The Runners Four is still a far cry from typical indie rock; in fact, it sounds more like one of Deerhoof's older albums played at half-speed than anything else.

This is the Dirty Three as you have never heard them before.

One thing that remains unchanged, to no surprise whatsoever, is the enduring vitality of the material.

There's no sense of storytelling or momentum to her performances: she starts the song in one place and stays there riding in circles until the end.

One of his more satisfying solo albums.

Since the beats are monotonous, since the songs are insipid and forgettable, since the girls not only can't sing but have no on-record charisma, since there's no sense of style and, most importantly, sense of fun to this whole enterprise, Dangerous and Moving is the worst kind of pop music: the kind that is better to theorize about than to listen to.

Even though there are no radical changes here, Gimmie Trouble sounds more like Adult. sharpening its edges than running in place.

There aren't many bands around that manage to create music as good as this out of such familiar and somewhat obvious sources.

Dios (Malos) emphasize their way with hooks and downplay the hazy sonics of Dios for an album of sunny, instead of smoggy, Californian pop.

Closing In is numbingly derivative, not just because it wears its influences like a bat in its mouth, but because there's nothing even remotely memorable or engaging about it.

Theatrical and heartfelt, Celebration is a fully realized debut that promises even better things to come.

Cinematic, fantastic, and essential to all who want their music larger than life and rambunctious, Thunder, Lightning, Strike is the kind of record that makes you glad to be alive.

It all glides by easily enough on its surface, but dig a little deeper and The Magic Numbers reveals itself to be not just a crashing bore, but an irritating one.

Extraordinary Machine may be more accessible, but it remains an art-pop album in its attitude, intent and presentation -- it's just that the presentation is cleaner, making her attitude appealing and her intent easier to ascertain, and that's what makes this final, finished Extraordinary Machine something pretty close to extraordinary.

The 14-song set is as bright and moving as the band's previous efforts, but Broken Social Scene holds more charisma, more depth, and surely more complexities.

You Could Have It So Much Better probably would've been better if Franz Ferdinand had waited until they had a batch of songs as consistent as their first album, but as it stands, it's still pretty good.

Witching Hour is the album that Ladytron always seemed capable of, and its dark, dreamy-yet-catchy spell makes it the band's most sophisticated, and best, work to date.

Z is intuitive, intensely creative, classicist-minded, nearly flawless.

Pleasant but dull.

Dynamite singing, a killer band, and wonderful material do a fine album make.

If you hack off the misguided finish, Fall Heads Roll proves they can still live up to their legend.

Once upon a time, Mark Eitzel seemed incapable of writing a bad song, and while that doesn't quite happen on Candy Ass, enough of the album comes close enough to suggest this guy needs to hook up with American Music Club again, and soon.

Despite all their newly developed relative nuances, Nickelback remain unchanged: they're still unspeakably awful.

They prove that rock & roll as urgent, trashy, and fiery as the Stooges' first three albums, Back in Black, and Appetite for Destruction can actually be thoughtful articles of democracy and righteous rebellion.

Albatross can sometimes be too insular for its own good.

Jacksonville City Nights still ranks as one of Adams' stronger albums, not just because he's returning to his rootsy roots -- after all, this isn't alt-country, this is pure country -- but because it maintains a consistent mood, is tightly edited and well sequenced, and thanks to the Cardinals, has the easy assurance of Cold Roses

In Space is an album that should appeal to anyone who digs Alex Chilton; however, anyone expecting a Big Star album is going to be more than a bit puzzled by most of these tunes.

While the first half of the album may sound like a watered-down Blazing Arrow, everything picks up when the duo unveil two of the grooviest message tracks since Stevie Wonder's "Livin' for the City" in "The Fall and Rise of Elliot Brown" and "Black Diamonds and Pearls."

The album seems to be one of her most consistent records and one of her best.

Past Presents the Future falters between a coalesced pop sound and its pristine fragments.

Both a total curveball and pleasant surprise.

They have never shown such control on a record before -- previously, their best albums were exciting because they went all over the place, and did it well -- and it's quite intoxicating to hear them ride one groove, finding different variations within it, for an entire album.

They'll change your life.

Despite all of its strengths, neither the recording nor the songs are as memorable or as fully realized as his late-'80s/early-'90s comeback records -- Freedom, Ragged Glory, and Harvest Moon -- let alone his classic '70s work.

On Collisions, the band wipes the sleep out of its eyes and produces a set of songs that is more inspired and vital, even if it's equally embittered and dejected.

While Wilson's always refreshingly brash as a vocalist, the arrangements are only satisfactory.

Maybe it is too much to ask for Trinity to be as good and surprising and full of life as Dutty Rock; maybe it is unfair to ask Paul to catch lightning in a bottle twice. Probably so, but it's still disappointing for Trinity to be as empty and unenjoyable as it is.

A meandering drag.

Hefty Fine finds the Bloodhound Gang in a Catch-22 -- they've never wanted to be anything other than a dumb, silly hard rock band, but their shtick is getting tired, yet they're trapped by the confines of what they want to be.

Part traditional, part African rhumba, part smart avant-garde electronica, Congotronics is the sound of an urban junkyard band simultaneously weaving the past and the future into one amazingly coherent structure, and not only that, you can dance to it.

American Analog Set have been accused of writing the same song over and over - and over - again, and Set Free isn't immune to that.

Call it an age thing, but Siberia makes total sense for where Echo and the Bunnymen stands 20 years on as a band.

Similar to 2001's dazzlingly slick Funk Odyssey, Dynamite reveals Kay as a dance floor eclectic, inclined to grab as much from Chic and Parliament as Kajagoogoo, The Police and Terry Callier.

If Certified has one problem, it's the overabundance of features that eats up too much time.

Conceptual plots aside, this is an album that finally lives up to the heavy metal promise and unapologetically delivers the goods with a full head of steam.

You only have to do a little trimming to make Clothes Drop one of his best.

Ten Thousand Fists does start to sound the same after a while. But those bloody zombies aren't going to stop pouring though the doorway, so it's a good thing it has at least 12 burly alt-metal rockers.

Quite simply, Alive & Wired captures a great band on a great night.

The band's third record is consistent, but that also means that there's no standout song that can bring these guys into the limelight.

Ultimately, Cripple Crow is a roughly stitched tapestry; it is rich, varied, wild, irreverent, simple, and utterly joyous to listen to.

Where You Live is yet another elegant and easy album from Chapman, just the kind her fan base has come to expect.

A disappointment mostly in comparison to the seemingly out-of-nowhere brilliance of La Maison de Mon Reve, Noah's Ark might fail to charm those not already bewitched by that album, but it won't break the spell for devoted fans.

Something this indulgent could only be a labor of love, but even die-hard Dandy Warhols fans might find embracing this album to be too much work.

A rewarding listen for the faithful who have the time, patience, and inclination to dig into this, but for those whose dedication isn't so strong, this is sweet, gentle, and ultimately forgettable.

Fans of both bands will want to get In the Reins because it rates favorably with their best work.

The quiet nature of Chaos and Creation may mean that some listeners will pass it over quickly, since it's a grower, but spend some time with the record and becomes clear that McCartney is far from spent as either a songwriter or record-maker.

Once Upon a Little Time may not be as immediately gripping as How Animals Move, but it grows on you, slowly and insistently, creating its terrain.

Gone are the big washes of sound that Don Was added to her Grammy-winning recordings, and the sound Raitt has chosen for herself is a bit edgier, far more adventurous than Silver Lining.

Takk... is still very much a Sigur Rós album, due in large part to the ever-present, otherworldly vocals, but also because the only real changes are the activeness of some arrangments.

A game of "name that influence" runs rampant from the album's start to its closing seconds.

Perhaps it's a little disappointing on some level that Love Kraft is merely a very good Super Furry Animals [album], with few surprises outside of its alluring sleekness.

The Weight Is a Gift is Nada Surf's most honest and earnest record to date.

Gold and Green may be the band's most approachable album, but as with all their releases, it's a charming reminder that experimental music doesn't have to sound like it was hard work to make.

An album that's not just one of Yearwood's most entertaining albums, but one of her richest records, in both musical and emotional terms as well.

A radical -- but successful -- departure, We're Animals might have slightly fewer instantly memorable songs than In My Mind All the Time, but it shows that Numbers are continuing to develop and experiment in ways that make this album exciting in a completely different way than their previous work.

Unfortunately, the forced and false-sounding songs outnumber these bright spots by a wide margin.

An impressive 13-song set that's reliably original and streamlined.

A lovely collection of Sunday morning melancholy that's as gentle as it is weary.

It's less glossy than either of its full-length predecessors... and in addition to a bit of grit there is a stronger rhythmic center to what is happening here as well.

Cole's Corner is glorious, magical, and utterly lovely in its vision, articulation, and execution.

What they really are is a 21st century version of a good old Southern rock band who know all too well that the hills of North Mississippi are alive with real folk music.

A strong, engaging, cohesive Rolling Stones album that finds everybody in prime form.

In comparison to the dry, raw production of Transatlanticism, Plans is warm and polished, the kind of album expected from a band obsessed with the sound of Fleetwood Mac's Rumours.

West and Brion are a good, if unlikely, match.

While that may disappoint some waiting for a masterpiece, there's no shame in mining the same ground as long as they make records as tight and tuneful as this.

Knitting Needles & Bicycle Bells is the 2005 American indie rock equivalent of the kind of records the Kinks were making in the Village Green era: parochial, intimate, painfully literate, and pretty close to brilliant.