These United States are trying to transport the listener back to a conversation among a group of weed-smoking flower children circa 1971/1972, but lyrically, they continue to miss the mark and end up sounding pretentious instead. Nonetheless, they do have an appealing sense of melody, and despite this album's shortcomings, one doesn't want to give up on These United States just yet.

On MPLSound, Prince takes his retro mission seriously enough to offer up a few songs nervy enough to be singles, even if the synthesized thrill of this handful of tunes is undercut by a bunch of slow-burning ballads that do their best to rival 'The Arms of Orion.'

Language is short on originality, but Zulu Winter's polished musicianship and warm confidence may be enough to win over listeners who enjoy the bands they reference here, and when they do succeed in shaking things up it's enough to leave listeners wanting more.

As sheer performance, Eminem's vocals remain a thing of wonder, which is why it's so dispiriting to hear him circling the drain, relying on old tricks instead of expanding his worldview. He has the musical skills to mature; he's just refusing to let himself act his age.

Often, the individual pieces of this patchwork pop are more captivating than the overall image, yet there's still an undeniable appeal to Urie and Smith's crazed earnest energy.

There are plenty of bands who literally spend a decade working up to an album as well-crafted, confident, and powerful as The Head and the Heart, and these folks managed to knock it out in a bit over a year; is they can make this particular bit of lightning strike twice, we may be looking at one of America's best new bands.

Sometimes things get a little too sweetly sleepy, but at its best this is a handsome, enjoyable listen.

Way to Normal may win a few fans back who balked at the newfound sincerity that peppered his last two or three records, but a little more nuance and a lot less displaced teen angst would have made it palatable for everybody.

Engaging songwriting, with lyrics mostly of the love variety here, also anchor her solidly in worthwhile territory--Work It Out is far from a sellout-type effort.

Ultimately, with WALLS, Kings of Leon have struck a nice balance between the garage band passion of their early work, and the large scale bombast that made them stars.

While the album feels daring all the way through, early tracks like "Alien Days" feel relatively straightforward, mining the ornate pop sound of their previous effort.

He's never been one for lyrical subtlety, but this set contains several stretches of monotonous, joyless carnality.

It's this mixing of old and new dynamics that makes Nightfreak and the Sons of Becker such a compelling listen.

Despite the politics, there are still a few more of the ethereal masterpieces Thievery Corporation have made a hallmark in the past.

You're Going to Make It is convincing proof that Mates of State are far from that less-than-thrilling fate [of playing the oldies circuit].

Xenophanes is proof that even as he reins himself in a bit, Rodriguez-Lopez cannot help but to push the envelope; this time it's as a rock & roll songwriter who knows too much to keep it simple, yet understands the instinct to draw the listener in, time and again, with layers of subtlety, powerful emotions, sleight-of-hand aural magic, and sheer power, as well as sophistication.

There's certainly a hooky immediacy to much of Keep on Smiling, but it's given depth by Two Door Cinema Club's increasingly artful and sardonic pop approach.

Battle for the Sun, the band's sixth album and first with drummer Steve Forrest, is given a steel-reinforced production by David Bottrill, a sound that could conceivably be placed on mainstream rock radio if that format still existed, or if it were used as a vehicle for something else than Placebo's music, which remains resolutely pitched toward a niche audience, no matter how many little frills of horns or farting synths grace their guitar grind.

This is by no means an embarrassing stroll down memory lane. It can be quite fun, actually, even if it is somewhat baffling.

A state-of-the art country-pop record, a modern update of urban cowboy that works because it never hides its soft aspirations but never makes a fuss about them either.

Sure, most fans of the duo will reach for the original album 9.99 times out of ten, but it's hard to look askance at the playful spirit behind the album and the thoroughness of Cornershop's complete deconstruction of one of their career highlights.

Though their debut remains the high-water mark of production, catchiness, and vitality, Washed Away is a fine set to buffer Rooney's catalog.

Not an essential Scratch album, but it still has plenty of inspired moments.

The songs on French Touch are idiosyncratic and free of drama. But they are chock-full of tenderness; Bruni delivers them with keen insight into the lyric meanings these melodies convey.

An album that sustains a mellow, melancholy mood without quite distinguishing itself as a collection of individual songs. Then again, that's kind of the point of the album: it's a pensive soundtrack for a specific season, nothing more and nothing less.

Introducing is strong enough to qualify Brilliant Colors as one of those bands to keep an eye on.

Fans won't be thrilled doubling up on tracks they already have, but the set is definitely more for them than for those who know little beyond the classics.

For all of Orca's nods to heavyhearted ennui, its expressions of despair, regret, and disappointment fail to rise above vague, superficial levels.

The Brooklyn lovebirds stick to what they do best on their third album, which reprises the formula that made their previous record, Grand, an underground success.

The glimmers of vitality lurking around the edges of the album tend to make it all the more frustrating -- just a few more distinctive songs would've gone a long way towards making this a really solid album instead of just an intermittently entertaining one.

No matter whose music he was reformulating, however, Orbit worked gently, creating an album that, if it technically belonged beside Wendy Carlos' Switched-On Bach, actually was more reminiscent of Brian Eno's Discreet Music.

While the acoustic treatment is more effective on some tracks than others (certain Alex lyrics and melodies demand noise, including "Filthy Luck"), the naked distress of these versions often delivers its own power.

Even though Albumin doesn't quite hold together as a coherent statement, it's a densely packed, often fascinating work and a welcome return.

He's a back porch strummer and fireside singer, playing for comfort, and that's precisely what All the Light Above It Too provides.

Certainly, part of the variety is down to the multitude of producers and writers on Stronger, but the album's success is entirely due to Kelly Clarkson, whose personality and professionalism turns it into her best album since her Breakaway breakthrough in 2004.

Even if Crazy Clown Time isn't as accessible as some of the collaborations that arrived shortly before the album, Lynch fans will appreciate it as another example of his ability to put his unmistakable stamp on every art form he attempts.

Still, despite a handful of throwaway cuts, Manifesto has more than enough heat to prove that Deck's mike skills still stand up up to any of his Wu brethren.

This shifting back and forth between tradition and avant-garde tradition, as it were, defines much of the rest of the album -- call it maturing or call it other interests, but it's a comfortable enough listen, as appropriate for the schizophrenic beast that still gets labeled indie rock as anything else.

There is a chasm that separates "Video Games" from the other material and performances on the album, which aims for exactly the same target--sultry, sexy, wasted--but with none of the same lyrical grace, emotional power, or sympathetic productions.

Though obviously unconcerned with finding a place in the mainstream, this release just as cool and catchy as anything by Evanescence.

The guys still place more emphasis on mood than movement, but they're learning how to create atmospheres without resorting to stoner rock, which makes Sugar a step in the right direction.

A really good record by a potentially great rock & roll band.

It would be nice if some of the titular burn could be felt on Dierks Bentley's fourth studio album, but Feel That Fire is an atypically cautious, calculated affair from one of Nashville's best singer/songwriters of the 2000s.

Ultimately, there is a musical sophistication and higher maturity level to the Wanted's sound than you might expect.

Sound may have a slight edge over the originally released version of this material, if only because it's truer to the band's initial intentions, and Dandy diehards will certainly find it worth checking out, but more casual fans who already own Monkey House can probably skip it unless they're looking for an intriguing lesson in the nuances of mixing.

Apart from the breakneck 'Must Be Santa,' which barrelhouses like a barroom, Dylan doesn't really reinterpret these songs as much as simply play them with his crackerjack road band, dropping in a little flair--restoring "we'll have to muddle through somehow" to 'Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,' singing the opening of 'O Come All Ye Faithful' in its original Latin--but never pushing tunes in unexpected directions.

Fans hungry for SM material won't mind at all, since after three years a redundant track beats no track, and while all of it seems familiar, the crew deliver the material with new life, suggesting they're mad happy to be back on the grind.

Though Donkey Punch the Night isn't the best place to jump into Puscifer's work, it's a well-crafted and thoroughly entertaining EP that will definitely keep Keenan's fans hungry for more.

A couple more bitchy bits like this ["Wanna Be"] and the album could win over old fans with ease, but if Lip Lock isn't mean enough, well, neither is Eve. She's sweeter than before and musically more adventurous.

Argentinian punk rockers Los Enanitos Verdes close the album with a squalling "Traveling Band" that snarls, churns, and nearly goes off the rails. A couple of other selections are less inspiring, but the vast majority of Quiero Creedence makes for a truly fine and original tribute record.

On Believe, Disturbed takes the sort of jump that their heroes in Soundgarden and Pantera made after their respective breakthrough records.

An overdone, unamusingly ironic '80s fetish dominates the first half of the album, dragging down tracks like "Molecules" and "Different Kind of Love" with slick synths and affected singing.

Ultimately, it's hard to avoid that Auf Der Maur is living in the past, re-creating 1996 and acting like she's still 24.

The album works more as a selection of striking individual pieces than a coherent whole; there are moments of brilliance here, but they're inconsistent, and the album has more than its share of false endings that muddle the pacing.

Baby feels more like a leftover relic from the '90s than the game-changer the genre needs.

The songs generally sound as tuneful and well-crafted as her earlier work, but Stupid Love sounds curiously chicken-hearted when it reaches for its pop gestures, a shame since the songs where she pushes hardest in that direction are the ones that succeed the most.

Bittersweet World is the first time that she has made a record that lives up to her happily empty persona, something that's truly fun junk.

The Portrait Is Finished and I Have Failed to Capture Your Beauty blends influences from two generally antithetical musical subgenres--hippie psych-folk and '80s U.K. art pop--into a languid, low-key whole that's perfect for both lazy, cozy lie-ins and middle-of-the-night headphone listening.

Unfortunately, the final product often feels joyless and manic, and many listeners may give up before sitting through the entire beast.

For the most part, The Gift is indeed predictable in its sound--a continuation of the glassy, stately march of I Dreamed a Dream--and songs, relying on carols, not secular seasonal tunes.

On There Are Rules, the Get Up Kids never sound like they're trying to relearn how to do what they do: they manage the deceptively difficult trick of evolving without turning into something else, and they've made a powerful, engaging album that's worthy of their legacy.

For all its heart, though, Underwater Sunshine still lacks the unborrowed inspiration necessary to come out of the gates as a stand-alone record.

Wolf is as honest and, in a greater sense, as generous a songwriter as we have, and Mumps, Etc. may be his finest gift yet.

In some ways, The Connection is perhaps the band's most contemporary-sounding album, though it still remains reverent to the nu-metal sound of the late '90s when it comes down to the overall feel of each tune.

Fans that feasted on the band's seven previous outings and enjoyed the minerally aftertaste will likely rate Gravebloom a success, as it descends as deep or deeper into the abyss, but those with more curious palates should probably bring some snacks.

As her first official salvo into the pop arena, Speak Your Mind hints at an enticing amount of potential for Anne-Marie and her engaging vocals.

As a whole, 10,000 feels indebted to a particular school of '80s and early-'90s underground rock, but pleasantly so, and with its own bouquet of freshness and distinction.

Black Dice maintain the high experimental standards that made their other records cult favorites, and manage to present their spectrum of squelches in a more focused way than usual, without sacrificing playfulness.

The productions are steeped in soul and R&B, offering a more upbeat and clean sound than the usual Wu murk and a Masta Killa companion to Ghostface's retro effort Ghostdini the Wizard of Poetry in Emerald City.

The album is a lean, mean machine of singalong revolution songs and baggy jeans dance music from folks old enough to be wearing fitted by now, but the hunger to survive and flourish is as palpable as it was on their debut.

Amos doesn't record as much as most artists, and it must be tempting to give fans everything she can, but in this case, it's hurt her a bit. Still there, are many tracks here worth adding to one's Amos shelf.

After Glow & Behold, the only thing Yuck seemed ready to do was break up and get day jobs; Stranger Things shows they weren't quite ready for that as it vaults them back into the noise pop/shoegaze conversation, where they seem poised to stay for a good long while.

There's none of the emotional mess that has enlivened some of P!nk's best work, and while this sense of calm may be well earned, it does result in a tamer record.

For all its faraway humming and quietly steady pace, Windsor for the Derby has still made a "band" album.

It's lively and fun, and it's Sting's most satisfying record in a long time.

The execution is inarguably impressive, but the Head and the Heart have made much better music with simpler technique, and Signs of Light is the sort of album that confirms a fan's worst fears about an indie act signing with a corporate label.

30 Seconds to Mars are no longer afraid to dabble with disco--"Up in the Air" puts all four on the floor and there's an overall tendency to push big beats over hard attacks--and this loosening of their stylistic confines results in their boldest, brightest, most imaginative record yet.

Except for the occasionally bumpy ride, though, The Less You Know, The Better is one of the most entertaining albums of the year, with countless moments of brilliance.

The similarity of Meteroa to Hybrid Theory does not only raise the question of where do they go from here, but whether there is a place for them to go at all.

May well be the best album of her career.

While many will no doubt see this as an unfocused record, those who take it on more of a song-by-song basis will value it as a respectable addition to RZA's body of work.

Except for these stylistic detours (two tracks from Blade Runner, with one each from Dead Can Dance and the group's vocalist Lisa Gerrard), Another World is the same old trance album. There are a few intriguing anthems that manage to wear out their welcome over the course of seven minutes and up, plenty of breakdowns to maintain attention on the dancefloor, and an overall pleasant sound that simply floats by without making much of a positive impact.

Very much like its predecessor, Devil's Music derives most of its noteworthiness and novelty (and arguably, for better or worse, much of its musical interest) from an impressive, sometimes head-scratching roster of guest vocalists drawn from pop, rock, rap, and reggae.

When she gets heavy with either beats or ballads, This Is What The Truth Feels Like slows to a crawl. Cut away these excesses--these moments of emotional bloodletting or thirsty appeals to the top of the charts--and This Is What The Truth Feels Like manages to be as fleet, giddy and charming as Gwen Stefani ever is.

A record that tries hard to please but never does because the labor is always too evident.

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.

Given its experimental beginnings, Too Much Information might not be the band's most immediate album, but it affords them more possibilities than they've had since their debut.

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

The upshot is that Justice is one of Bieber's steadiest releases, among the easiest to play from start to finish. The only overdone aspect is the low self-esteem and unworthiness the lyrics either suggest or flatly express in almost every song.

Up to Now may be somewhat overwhelming for casual listeners — it's quite extensive, with the traditional hits sprinkled throughout a double-disc track list--but there's no better destination for a fan looking to consolidate his collection.

A constantly and unexpectedly thrilling comeback from a resurgent band who have upped their game when it matters the most.

It may not be a formula designed for critical acclaim or longevity, but pop music has always been exactly like this and HCR would make Bobby Vee, the Archies, and the New Radicals proud.

Haiku from Zero may be Cut Copy's most Cut Copy album yet, full of hooky songs and breathlessly danceable songs. The only thing it is missing is inspiration or invention, which also means it is their least successful record yet as well.

Strictly for the devout fan base.

It's intimate and powerful and, at 48 minutes, it's also a perfect length. Requiem for Hell is simultaneously a perfect introduction to and summation of Mono as a band.

Emotional Traffic is McGraw's most ambitious offering to date--the credits list is enormous and the range of styles on display is wide. That said, its balance is impeccable.

This is stately, sweet Europop, the kind that could have been released any time over the last 30 years, but it's given a warm, reassuring quality by Agnetha Fältskog, who retains an appealing, easy touch that separates her from her successors and still resonates all these years later.

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.