The likes of 'Never Letchu Go' (a sweet, glistening ballad), 'Luv' (carrying a brisk, feel-good clap-and-bounce), 'Rollercoaster' (suitably jittery and giddy), and 'Can't B Good' are as innocent, universal, and inviting as anything else in Janet's past.

There's less of the wry humor Germano usually allows to shine through once in a while... This is also her least gauzy-sounding album since Slide... Despite these differences, In the Maybe World is still a strong addition to her body of work.

Grand Romantic is a fittingly grandiose, occasionally silly, passionately effusive, and ultimately very catchy album.

While having their most celebrated drummer on hand adds an element of stability to what is a pretty far-out concept even for Primus, the addition of Bass and Dillon allows Primus to really push their sound to its creative limits, making Primus & the Chocolate Factory one of the band's oddest, yet most strangely compelling, releases to date.

The surplus of ambling ballads, especially during a stretch in the latter half that features the soft voices of Justin Vernon, Yebba, and Hynes, blurs the line between pleasantly languid and laborious. Near the end, there's a slight uptick in intensity.

Bangerz's take on R&B is most convincing when it's balanced with Cyrus' country and pop roots.

LotusFlow3r is constrained by its guitar-heavy concept, offering great moments instead of great whole songs.

He has created a record that might not be as wildly eclectic on the surface as Play, and it certainly lacks club-hits on the level of "Bodyrock" or "South Side," but it's a warm, enveloping, humanistic record with real emotional resonance, which surely is a noteworthy artistic step forward.

At times, Le Bon and Cox hit on something entertaining or interesting, but it's far from essential work from two of the best songwriters of their era.

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.

Since Dan Deacon is a personal friend of Boeldt's, it's no surprise that club music would rub off, but even when the wheels start spinning and electro funk is cross-referenced, the all-too-cute, retro '80s aesthetic is ever present.

There's no denying that Zeus are very good at what they do, and refining their process with each album; there's no real call for false modesty when you're making albums as good as this.

The 21st century version of the Zombies are, not unexpectedly, a band with a different sound and feel than the '60s cult heroes, but Still Got That Hunger reminds us Rod Argent and Colin Blunstone still have the talent that made their names, and there are enough moments here where it shines through that fans will want to give this a thorough listen.

Stone Roses fans who haven't tracked Brown's musical progress after that band's breakup will find much to love on Solarized, another mini-masterpiece that perfectly balances mood and melody.

On Dignity she makes some serious headway into turning into a mature recording artist, which makes this an effective, strangely endearing album.

Blackout is state-of-the-art dance-pop, a testament to skills of the producers and perhaps even Britney being somehow cognizant enough to realize she should hire the best, even if she's not at her best.

For anyone who was left out in the cold after Def Jux closed their doors Ox 2010: A Street Odyssey is the album you've been looking for.

At her best, like on the slow-burn opener 'I Hate the Way,' the lovelorn Xanax and sambuca anthem 'Other Too Endless,' and the rousing single 'Nitrogen Pink,' she successfully bridges the gap between teen pop and adult alternative rock, but when she gets stuck in the confessional too long, the results are more indulgent than powerful.

Be prepared for an experience somewhere between a star-studded soundtrack and a DJ-helmed mixtape.

Fully energized and tightly concentrated, the producer's first studio album in three years is a concise and infrequently relenting set of nine songs that rail against those who have caused emotional and planetary harm.

Drenched in Auto-Tune and more frustrated than a ringtone rapper should be, Lil Durk turns in a surprisingly down effort with Remember My Name.

The sound of For Me, It's You, is less strident than that of the band's previous offerings, but it's edgier and digs deeper into older musics and styles.

The material sits within the band’s canon well enough to please longtime fans, and listeners looking for some kind of middle ground between Evanescence, late-period Queensrÿche and Fall Out Boy will more than likely find a few wicked gems to hang their heads to.

Once rumored to be a true Wu-Tang Clan release, Legendary Weapons arrived as another compilation of Wu whatnot, with affiliates and second-string producers running the show as core member GZA sits things out.

HTDA's debut EP doesn't consist of dressed-up leftovers from The Slip: some of Reznor's obsessions remain recognizable, but having collaborators opens up the music and Maandig softens it, giving this EP a different feel despite some familiar sounds.

They've turned into savvy old pros who know when to flex their muscle and when to lay back, and that canny musicality and camouflaged maturity make Push and Shove a satisfying comeback.

While some listeners will welcome this growth and expansion of sound, longtime fans will doubtless lament the lack of pure intimacy and calm melancholy that enveloped Spain’s first and second albums.

You Can Feel Me is a genuinely funky, finely produced album that often bypasses white b-boy cheekiness.

The young hell-raiser has grown to be one of modern country's most compelling and multidimensional artists.

The band's best record in some time, and for anyone not a purist, it's possibly Morcheeba's best ever.

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

[Goatwhore delivers] another album of relentless and refined blackened death metal that speaks volumes about the band's level of craftsmanship.

You and I's stranger moments reveal that Cut Off Your Hands have more personality than the album's more tasteful songs suggest.

No one tunes in to hear Yo Majesty wax on a provocative level, and they're wise to this. Dancefloor fun is the cornerstone of the record, and the primary lesson to be learned is that there's nothing wrong with grindin' and shakin'.

Hacienda have made a solid album under his [Dan Auerbach's] direction.

Ultimately, while it's the hum of Allan's inner demons that drives most of the album, there's no white noise on Later...When the TV Turns to Static.

Generously spackled with clever instrumental bits and imaginative but never flowery lyrics, Used Future is the most effective and compelling distillation of the Sword 2.0.'s sound to date.

Empire of the Sun's debut offering of electro-pop experiments and dancefloor daydreams is well timed indeed, arriving just as the buzz surrounding MGMT's "Oracular Spectacular" has started to recede.

As a collection, there is plenty of range in tone and emotion as Flogging Molly both decry and celebrate the wild mess that, depending on one's outlook, does indeed make life good.

The album is relatively streamlined and sleek, containing no guest appearances and showing no overt attempts at chasing trends.

Despite the title, Self-Taught Learner was anything but the work of an amateur, and here Trullie is clearly the queen of her post-punk castle.

Rye rips it up on this disc, recalling equal parts vintage AC/DC and Led Zeppelin, with a little KISS thrown in to keep things playful.

"Karaoke, TN" and "Coat Check Girl" are good neo-power pop, but what gives Wasted on the Dream its kick are those earlier moments, when the band wants to be a different band than it is.

While Duran Duran have worked steadily since their 1993 comeback, "The Wedding Album," they haven't always sounded as stylish and creatively tuned-in as they do on 2007's Red Carpet Massacre.

He makes no bones that he's here for a good time, and the appealing thing about Postcards from Paradise is that it's as much fun to hear as it must've been to make.

The main difference here is the overall feeling of buoyancy, as Hutchcraft and Anderson apply their top-shelf pop songcraft to a decidedly more energized and euphoric collection of tunes than we’ve heard from them in the past.

Uneven, especially compared to their earlier records, and less ambitious than the "bring it on" misinterpretation of the title might make you think.

It's not the worst thing imaginable to make a nice, pleasant record that wouldn't trouble anyone; it's just that Vandervelde (seemingly) promised more than just a peaceful easy feelin', and Waiting for the Sunrise is an almost complete disappointment in that regard.

OneRepublic adds many production flourishes to their second album Waking Up: sawing strings, children's choirs, minor-key piano, cavernous U2 reverb, long ponderous instrumental sections of piano and orchestra duets, a title track that bears echoes of the Killers.

World Wide Rebel Songs, is, without question, a welcome call to arms.

The approach is dubwise, but the result is unique -- it simultaneously pushes familiar musical buttons and sounds like nothing else that has come before.

That weary yet warm acceptance of his middle age is why First Kiss works: it's a bit bumpy and sometimes sleepy but it finds old Bob Ritchie settling into his comfort zone, knowing that he's in it for the long haul.

If there's a scattershot quality to Always and Forever, that seems partially due to the band just dumping a decade's worth of ideas. Either way, it's their liveliest record and possibly their most interesting to boot.

The musical realm that exists inside of Claypool's head is a bizarre one, but the songs on Four Foot Shack have a weird knack for worming their way into your head, turning your waking world into a surreal, country-fried cartoon version of itself that's oddly endearing.

While some of the tracks sound like rough sketches that were simply given a bit more shading, most of Senior captivates as a full-length experience.

The whole idea of Birdy sounds like a transparent attempt to court a more credible audience, but thanks to her haunting tones and a tasteful yet compelling production, it impressively avoids being the try-hard affair you'd expect.

Anyone who bought the limited edition of MM..Food? has the video proof, as much of this album is an audio rip of that package's bonus DVD. Redundancy aside, this is a fantastic show fans won't mind revisiting.

The three songs for The Ganzfeld EP manage to go all over the map in under half-an-hour.

In the meantime, this may be a holding pattern, but it's one worth holding on to. Diminishing results are, after all, still results.

With Neon Icon it's just as easy to tune in, drop out, and twerk.

Ultimately on Birthmarks, Born Ruffians let go of some of their punk rock ramble and hit the pop song sweet spot.

In a lot of ways, Stereolithic sounds like a classic 311 album.

All the new songs find Bryan looking back over his shoulder at all the fun he's had over the years. Even when the songs get a little funky, as they do on the descending blues riff of the title track, there's a slight melancholic tinge

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.

The album serves as a reminder of the flexibility and resilience that have allowed Snoop Dogg to remain an enduring figure in hip-hop.

To his enormous credit, Laurie never sounds like a dilettante among this group; he holds his own, working his way into the marrow of the songs, playing credible piano throughout the record.

As inspired, awful, and awesome as their debut, the only bummer about Donker Mag is that H.P. Lovecraft, H.R. Geiger, and H.R. Pufnstuf didn't live long enough to hear it.

Lupine Howl does give the band more freedom than they previously had, as they embrace electronic effects, synthesizers, neo-psychedelic guitar riffs, and Cook's trademark harmonica. It doesn't always result in quality songwriting, however, and that will make it more laborious to avoid the "ex-members" tag.

Creatively, My Private Nation, Train's third album, is the moment this band has worked for since it started making records.

The end results are a bit unwieldy, perhaps, and not always successful, but it is interesting and certainly different than a Dave Matthews Band record.

Throughout The Last DJ, Petty sounds utterly lost -- and instead of liberating him like it did in the past, it paralyzes him, boxing him into a corner where he can't draw on his strengths. It's the first true flop in a career that, until now, had none.

Despite the natural feel of these songs as sung by Wilson and performed by his talented backing band, anyone who's paid attention to his solo career of the '90s and 2000s won't hear any surprises.

Much of the album is infused with a Casablancas-meets-RSO Records aesthetic circa 1980. Ultimately, it’s just that style, matched with musical substance, that helps Cruel Runnings register as a lot more than just retro hipster pastiche.

Anyone who missed Hype Williams the first time around should start with any of the group's early albums rather than this, but there's no guarantee that they'll make any more sense.

In the end, the infamous LP isn't the album of the year, but it isn't an artistic flop either, just a pleasing effort from a punchline-dealing party gangsta who knows the power of a good hook.

While the powerfully cathartic Big Mess does feel overlong, it may serve as a rare case where that's masterfully appropriate.

He may be able to capture the sound of a band playing in a room but in this case, it feels like the room is a rehearsal studio, with the band stuck playing rough drafts at maximum volume. A bit of tightening and a bit of polish would've gone a long way here.

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

The beats are fully outfitted, and several are suitably immense, but they blur into one another as they serve as a spirited if mostly unremarkable summertime backdrop.

The concept is artful and logical, yet ARTPOP never insinuates or settles in the subconscious; it always assaults, determined to make an impression even when all it has to say is that it doesn't have much to say.

It's undoubtedly steadier and unified [than its self-titled debut], built for beginning-to-end listening.

This problematic arrival shows too in the final product, but the problem may not be the much maligned rapper's ability or inspiration but the constant mishandling of his material. So many prime street cuts have been given away to comps, mixtapes, and soundtracks in the five years since Kiss of Death was released that only the slick, polished numbers remain.

If it is uneven, that's because there's much more here than is necessary, rather than a sad dearth of ideas.

Few of the songs are worthy of life outside the context of Empire, yet it's impossible to imagine the program, an unequivocal hit, being half as appealing without them.

As a whole, Winter Women/Holy Ghost Language School is a lot to process at once, but untangling the mysteries of Friedberger's music feels like more fun than it has in a while.

Ultimately, Every Man Should Know is a record with something for every Connick fan.

Tracks like "Wishing You the Best," "Pointless," and the unexpectedly clubby "Forget Me" are soundtrack-ready anthems that nicely showcase Capaldi's throaty croon.

Ya Know? is a loving and generous tribute to a beloved hero of the New York rock scene, but the results never match the energy, focus, and sheer rock & roll fun of even The Ramones' lesser efforts, and it doesn't work as well as Don't Worry About Me.

It sounds counterintuitive, but the unconventional nature of Human Bell is the very thing that holds it back.

The Return of Dr. Octagon doesn't always make a lot of sense, but that's the beauty of it.

Caithlin De Marrais' graceful, yet abrasive vocals craft the dynamic of the band: well-directed musicianship without the frills of overproduced punk-inspired anthems.

Living Outside is as conscious a follow-up record as there can be, but it's likely also the record Sense Field would've made anyway, even without the band's mainstream ascendancy.

The intensity and energy get a little too repetitive toward the end of the album, but the returns aren't as diminishing as they have been on the Catheters' previous work.

If there is a fault to this album, it is that it is too smooth; while the listener is surfing these waves of happiness and cushiony pop, an occasional desire for edges and bones surfaces.

With practically no dependence on laptop recording tricks, Stills sounds completely lost in another era, and all the darker and truer for it.

Galore the band isn't as distinctive as its influences, and many of the album's songs are so polished and streamlined that there's little chance for Dragonette's personality to shine through. However, their more adventurous side surfaces on the album's second half.

For the most part, Songs from the Pale Eclipse once again finds Bobby Hecksher following his muse through the night skies, and the chase continues to bring him worthy results.

The LP includes the singles "Malibu," "Caroline," and the propulsive, boot-stomping title cut.