It's mellow in the canyon tonight, so lie on your back and stare at the stars, let the music wash over you and don't "stop paying attention to the things that used to make you shine."

For most of the album, however, Jessie J shows how wide her range is.

The beefy, Steeleye Span-meets-MGMT rocker "The Sixth Wave" are spilling over with ideas, and would probably have fit right in on Terra Firma's ambitious back end, while the amiable title cut, a breezy two-chord shuffle that should please fans of the band's hook-filled debut, delivers the EP's most instantly gratifying moments of pop acumen.

Hansard and company play it safe on the title cut... while the three original cuts, the evocative "Pennies in the Fountain," the soulful "Renata," and the empowering, completely a cappella "Step Out of the Shadows" should please fans of the Once star's 2012 solo debut, Rhythm and Repose.

What follows is a sort of half-comforting, half-sad jamboree with Oberst and a small army of friends at his house playing through Christmas standards.

Deaf Havana are certain to set themselves aside from peers We Are the Ocean and Lower Than Atlantis with this release, yet they still have the hallmarks of a young band in transition.

Sometimes, Davies' blend of hard rock and healing doesn't quite jibe--it can lose form and drift or it can hammer its points home too hard--but there's a dogged individuality to his mission that's appealing even when the music itself is not.

A Mary Christmas won't likely reach the high status of, say, Mariah Carey's Merry Christmas, but it's a full-effort holiday release that many of her fans should be able to enjoy for several years.

Ocean Colour Scene are agile within the confines of their wheelhouse so it's enjoyable to hear them play and construct records, even if they rarely give you a reason for a return visit.

Frustratingly, the quality of Diary does dip in and out, with "What Am I Supposed to Do?" providing an unimaginative guitar bounce, for example. But when it works, it really does produce some memorable moments.

Cobble out the stellar EP inside or consider it a pre-mall mixtape because the puzzling Underground Luxury mixes mack daddy music with mall rat tracks, even if B.o.B's conviction throughout suggests he sees them as equals.

September Girls sound like a copy of a copy of a copy, not quite reaching the heights of their immediate predecessors, let alone the classic bands they're all aiming for.

No one doubts the power in Nettles' throaty contralto, but some of these songs feel too calculated or require more subtlety to completely pull off. That said, these simple shortcomings won't--nor should they--deter her fans.

While much of Have Fun with God will be reserved for Smog and Callahan superfans, or those who loved Dream River so deeply they'd need to hear it in dub, casual listeners will find something to ponder in the mumbling percussion, deep basslines, and scattershot echo vocals of tunes like "Expanding Dub."

When it works, it feels lived-in, loved, and just occasionally lurid enough to satisfy the fans who hold "Golden Streams" as the litmus test by which all Hidden Cameras songs must be judged, but tracks like the slight, early Depeche Mode-throwback "Carpe Jugular," and the seemingly endless, dub-kissed "Afterparty" feel like they were tossed in to make what would have been a solid EP into a filler-laden long-player.

They've found a capable formula that will appeal to many, but some more personality would go a long way to seal the deal.

As a collection of unabashedly melodramatic, dear-diary poetic, and tastefully lush happy/sad dream pop anthems, In Roses delivers the goods with the sort of restrained panache that’s sure to win over the NPR crowd.

Volume 14 of the Kompakt label's Pop Ambient series contains a surprising amount of material that is aggressive, almost piercing--certainly less lulling--compared to gentler series highlights like Donnacha Costello's "Dry Retch" and Triola's "AG Penthouse."

Even though the album's well-intentioned concepts don't always work, Rostron remains an artist with bold ideas.

His hardcore following will no doubt celebrate it abundantly. Given its willful indulgence, however, others may find it a tipping point in the other direction.

Given the dominance of slow material, the album is a bit stifling; Glover loosens up a little for only "In the Middle," co-written by Fantasia Barrino with a touch of "Ting-a-Ling," yet even that has some heartache.

Skaters' knack for writing infectious melodies often offsets their enthusiasm, so although Manhattan is an uneven record, its bright spots still have capacity to shine like Times Square.

The album does tend to be more engaging than stifling, as well as a little more graceful, than previous releases from patten.

As a whole, Like It Never Happened benefits from its lower-budget production. It is, if anything, more imaginative than her previous albums.

Call it a wobbly when it comes to quality, or a showcase for the young that's stolen by the old, but it's best to consider it a simple roster-promoting label compilation that just happens to come with an EP or so worth of fire.

Taken as a musical statement, Sisyphus works fairly well at times, but it's the kind of collaboration no one asked for and much like their mythological Greek king namesake, getting all three artists' styles to gel is a bit like pushing a boulder eternally up a hill.

Michael is in good form but he's coasting, doing no more than he needs to, satisfying fans without surprising.

There's a bit more maturity and personality to some of these tracks that speaks of a band coming into its own. Still, for fans of their first two releases, Weird Kids provides plenty of the snarky sendoffs and he-said/she-said breakup rockers that drew people to the band in the first place.

Though Sex and Love tries hard to walk the tightrope between the personas displayed on Iglesias' two previous outings, he leans more to the club side here. Your feelings about the album will depend on which side of the divide you lean toward.

This already busy album becomes even busier with so many cooks in the kitchen, and shoots off nonstop fireworks as if this was Skrillex's audio variety special, sponsored by the wing of the stereo industry that sells, re-cones, or fixes subwoofers.

Imperfections aside, this is a strange, oddly compelling addition to his catalog.

There's a refreshing, devil-may-care cavalier attitude to Education, Education, Education & War that eradicates much of the desperation that was beginning to creep in after 2007's Yours Truly, Angry Mob, but it still doesn't change the fact that you've heard it all before.

Once again, Band of Skulls have proven that they have the chops and the moxie, but they still need more than a handful of memorable songs to seal the deal.

About Last Night shows that Sleeper Agent have diversity and ideas to spare, but the album's more mainstream approach regrettably removes much of their bite.

As it stands, it's a hard album to get your head around and it's a hard album to fully embrace.

It may not deliver a knockout punch but it's not intended to be powerful; it's a grower, sounding better with repeated exposure, repeated listens revealing the craft in the songs and the subtlety in Nail's execution.

The final product is intelligent and often fascinating, but it doesn't deliver like the Afghan Whigs do at their best, and ultimately comes off as a brave but somewhat unsatisfying experiment.

Amphetamine Ballads is a debut that shows real promise, but if this band really wants to put the fear into the world, the first step on their reign of terror should be to hire a rhythm guitarist.

Taken in as an album and Azalea's constant "bow down" attitude makes this a cuckoldish experience, so think "some will pay for what others pay to avoid" and approach accordingly.

Arguably, it fares better as a decent Frank Black album than an anticlimactic Pixies album, and fans who can appreciate that these songs don't diminish the legacy of the band's previous music will probably enjoy it the most.

Although this by no means makes the album unpleasant to listen to, it's more likely to have you reaching for some of the classic albums of decades past than giving it a second spin.

Not easily understood as dance music, experimental music, or rock music, Enclosure considers, rejects, and reconsiders all of them on a second-to-second basis and stands as one of the more listenable of Frusciante's ever-obtuse solo albums.

Rowe seems even more like an instrument rather than a lead voice, but it's all comforting, if not revealing, made more for background or late-night listening than complete emotional immersion.

There is much to like about Green's music, but if Haul Away! is indeed part of a potential trilogy, let's hope the songwriting on her third offering outweighs its stylish ambitions.

Tuning out the conceptual aspect is close to impossible, but there are some moments--as in the hypnotic "Shanghai Freeway"--that can be enjoyed on a purely musical level.

Without the energy and the sonic thrills, they are just another pop band making music that's little more than a momentarily pleasant diversion.

There's a consistency to the EP that can get lost when a band is trying to work their way toward a longer running time, so although fans might not be getting a big a dose of new Down material as they might crave, they're certainly reaping the benefits of quality over quantity.

While Whitechapel's capacity for hatred and discontent is nothing new (especially in the world of death metal/deathcore), the relentlessness of the album's execution is impressive.

Dark Arc is a mixed bag.

It was obviously inspired by the live recordings of Lynyrd Skynyrd, and it blisters. Despite the single misstep, Live Rain is a worthy stopgap between studio recordings.

Forget the World plays more like a collection of 12"s than a well-tempered album.

If you're just looking for some furiously raw background music, Trash Talk will do just fine, but if you're hoping that the songs will hit as hard as the band does, No Peace is a real letdown.

New Eyes remains such a small, subtle, and soft record that by the end, it doesn't feel very daring or different.

This Machine Kills Artists is a worthy experiment, and a few tracks work rather well, but ultimately Osborne should aim for a more distinct game plan before he goes acoustic again.

Consider it the album before the album, and it plays out as interesting and often awesome, but put this next to his major works and it seems a bit off and quirky.

It doesn't take long to notice that the men of Camper Van Beethoven were having a lot more fun up north, while El Camino Real finds them playing with a technical skill that puts their early classics to shame but sounding curiously short on the joy and spontaneity that were once this band's trademark.

There are certainly some strong tracks here and it will be interesting to see how Mr. Little Jeans develops, but as a whole, Pocketknife is an uneven debut.

Their voices are strong and clean (maybe too clean) and the parts are played well enough, but when you remove the punk from pop-punk, the attitude goes with it and you'd better be sure that the material underneath is something of greater interest than these largely forgettable acoustic emo ramblings.

When the scale tips too heavily toward rhythm--as it does on "Booty" and "I Luh Ya Papi"--the productions don't do Lopez many favors, burying her in their thrum.

The album is refreshingly spare, especially in light of the lofty production work Schlarb got into previously. However, as nice as these low-key guitar wanderings are initially, the longer pieces drag on into aimlessness and never really reach for any resolution or greater narrative.

Musically, Charmer is a more polished and pop-oriented album than most of Tigers Jaw's previous work, but the core of their melodic style has changed little, and the moody urgency of the lyrics is as strong as ever.

Best to part it out and party, because if there's a blueprint for the vocal EDM album, A Town Called Paradise follows it too closely, spinning through all the usual breaks and drops without pausing to consider the full picture.

In My World is an argument that the drugs are getting better, and maybe even too good, but it proves that freaky hallucinations are hard to string together, and that the impish can be irksome when clever is pushed to its limit.

Ultimately, NoNoNo have a good feel for the past, but an even better feel for the present.

It boasts a refreshing and inclusive, old-fashioned '70s style prog-pop vibe.

After eight albums that synthesize post-rock, home-listening electronica, and dub, the trio otherwise aren't up for much of a shakeup in their approach. None of the remaining seven instrumentals is novel, but they're all enjoyable on some level, cunningly shaped as ever.

Such overwhelming softness means The Morning works best as mood music, setting the tone for either a lazy day in bed or a productive day at work, or any number of activities that take place during the hours of breaking dawn.

The story itself is compelling, but musically the album hovers somewhere between bland acoustic roots pop and overly earnest alt-rock.

At this stage, Body Count haven't changed much, and really aren't likely to, which means that if you were on board with their earlier work, then Manslaughter has even more rap-influenced metal to fuel your rage. However, if you weren't sold on these guys in the first place, this album isn't likely to change your mind.

Through several clumsier moments, it's evident Robinson's still getting the hang of making music that translates outside clubs and festivals. Going by what he has accomplished and what he aimed to achieve here, his development should be fascinating.

The Wytches show some genuine promise on Annabel Dream Reader, but they need to come up with a few more ideas of their own in addition to the many clear influences they draw from.

Five choice covers and five new originals that flirt with the fantastic, yet avoid an unnecessary trip down the rabbit hole.

He has highs, he has some lows, but spends most of his time somewhere in between--largely because he's doing it the same he always has.

Coming from the creative hotbed of modern-day Berlin, it seems like they could have pushed the envelope a bit more.

Given the atmospheric and diaphanous makeup of most of the tracks, along with titles such as "Casiopeia" and "Redshift," Whorl is more likely to enhance stargazing than to provoke movement.

Aiko can be maddeningly platitudinal and singsongy, but her one dimension is a specific balmy backdrop provided by no one else.

They want to be everything to everyone and, in attempting to do so, they've wound up with a record that appeals to a narrow audience: fellow travelers who either thrill at the spectacle or dig for the subtleties buried underneath the digital din.

The dreamy otherworldliness of Kenedy's voice transforms even the tunes that border on upbeat scrappiness into lush dream pop.

The album feel as though it's fighting with itself, ultimately leaving the record feeling more conflicted than confrontational.

Ultimately, Dead Man's Town is a good idea executed poorly, an effort to peel back the veneer from Springsteen's songs that manages to toss away much of the core at the same time.

Cheek to Cheek is a record where the music and even the songs take a backseat to the personalities.

Intriguing but muddled, Tyranny puts plenty of musical distance between Casablancas and the Strokes, but too often it lacks the clarity to be anything but challenging in the wrong ways.

While it's nice to see Rowe explore more, all the stylistic gymnastics leave Madman feeling, at times, a bit disjointed. Despite this, the album is easily the singer's most accessible and eclectic record to date.

If the album doesn't offer any startling surprises along the lines of the furious "Black Sweat"--there's not much abandon here--there's joy in hearing Prince embrace his lyrical eccentricities as he accessorizes his smooth jams and coiled, clean funk with such oddities as laser blasts and spoken introductions from what appear to be British nurses.

If the songs on PlectrumElectrum don't stick the way those on Art Official Age do, it's nevertheless a quiet thrill to hear Prince spar with worthy partners, as he does throughout this record.

Electric Youth's debut is a well-constructed, carefully thought-out debut that belies its long gestation process and will make people who fell in love with them thanks to the Drive soundtrack very happy in a melancholy kind of way.

As a Vaselines album, V can't help but be disappointing. None of the unpredictable magic they used to be able to conjure, in the distant past and on Sex with an X, is on display, and they seem to be resigned to the fact that they are just a good rock band now.

While Hold on Pain Ends is generally well played and well produced, little new ground has been broken and by and large it comes across as a fairly standard, mainstream pop-oriented metalcore record.

Like much of Boratto's previous work, it's all superbly crafted but not much of it leaves a lasting impression.

Ware continues to express a multitude of emotions with superb elegance. The material, unfortunately, is on a lower plane.

If In Flames' last decade of material has been your cup of tea, than Siren Charms is likely to sit well with you, but for those still holding out for a return to the glory of their work from the '90s, the wait continues.

While Sweet Talker's lack of a clear artistic voice makes it wildly uneven, it just might be loud enough to regain American listeners' attention.

The results are approximately as scattered. Gray's obvious comfort level and charm, however, help compensate for the less than ideal quantity of magnetizing material.

By emphasizing melody and feel over art and angst, Lambert's come up with a debut that goes down quite smoothly.

As a songwriter, Ubovich still seems to be getting his sea legs; many of these tracks seem to be more about jamming than delivering melodies that will stay with you after the record comes to a close.

Some of the styles are undeniably tacky but, hey, bad taste is part of Idol's legacy and Kings & Queens of the Underground touches upon that garishness along with his exaggerated swagger, fondness for hooks, and an irascible snarl, and that makes it an autobiography even if it never tells a story.

His father's son through and through, Baxter Dury not only sounds a bit like his old man Ian, he is attracted to a similarly chintzy production that pushes attention away from the arrangements and to his words. This is especially true on 2014's It's a Pleasure.

Undoubtedly, she has the charisma and chops to be convincing on both bubblegum and ballads but 1989 is something else entirely: a cold, somewhat distant celebration of all the transient transparencies of modern pop, undercut by its own desperate desire to be nothing but a sparkling soundtrack to an aspirational lifestyle.