Vines and Trying Times the seams are showing, which makes it a little bit harder to enjoy, even if there are certainly moments where all their craft and charm click, resulting in some fine pop that points out what's missing from the rest of the record.

This kind of "redo-the-hits" project--very common from veteran artists in the 21st century--is almost always a mixed bag, and Never Been Gone is no exception.

Ultimately, the beauty of Sacred Hearts Club is that it sounds like a Foster the People album without unnecessarily rehashing the sound that made them famous.

Divided by Night is indeed varied and polished, and it includes guest features by the bucketful, but it reveals again that, more than anything, the Crystal Method are merely clever regurgitators of the past, particularly chained to making extroverted dance music that never innovates and rarely excites.

It all adds up to a good but frustrating album of really solid highs and really annoying lows.

Ultimately, it’s Haerts' combination of straightforward, rootsy melodicism and more experimental, ambient inclinations that helps them grab your ear and your heart.

There's no evidence Three 6 had a fully formed "Most Known Unknown"-styled album in them either, so consider the uneven Last 2 Walk a fair and necessary placeholder effort with a bit of "back to basics" thrown in to satisfy the faithful.

Boyle isn't an interpreter, necessarily, finding new meanings of songs; instead, the songs are pitched toward her specific skills, so there's an inevitable sameness to her albums, as they all consist of slow, pretty versions of songs you know by heart.

R.E.M. have never seemed as directionless.

Grubbs comes one step closer to turning Almost Everything I Wish I’d Said into the underground equivalent of Parachute’s "Losing Sleep" or the Fray’s "How to Save a Life." He doesn't quite get there, perhaps, but the attempt still has some tuneful moments.

Produced by the band itself, these songs help bridge the gap between Annuals’ two full-length albums, taking their wild eclecticism from "Be He Me" but keeping the melodies that anchored "Such Fun."

While Dancing at the Blue Lagoon brings Cayucas' shortcomings to the fore, more often than not it's more blandly pleasant than irritating, serving up a watered-down tropical drink of an album that just doesn't connect the way Bigfoot did.

Cajun Dance Party aren't doing anything too unique or special here, but they do what they do with conviction and guts--and that's enough to make this a very good debut.

Instead of a magnum opus from an artist reaching the next level of his craft, or even a serviceable new album, Rolling Papers 2 feels like an awkward mixtape (or two) without much to say and too stoned to realize it's been rambling.

Once again, this probably isn't an album that's going to bowl you over and set the world on fire; it's a grower. And it shows once again that Gomez know what they're going for and how to achieve it.

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.

Think "winning formula" instead of "formulaic" and you're close to the value of Evolution, which along with Ferry Corsten's equally great WKND makes "trance ain't dead" the unofficial motto of 2012.

For what it's worth, buried beneath the posturing and obnoxiousness lies a glimmer of promise. However, Bhad Bhabie requires some polishing and maturity if she's ever going to grow beyond a mere novelty.

For the most part, however, Bouquet is a hollow shell of the artistry that Stefani once displayed at every turn. As basic, personality-free country-rock records go, Bouquet is perfectly serviceable.

This is the most enjoyable album of Warren's and Nate's careers to date, by a long shot, and it's among Snoop's most enjoyable as well.

Despite being heavy with unexceptional tunes, Seal IV has enough going for it to warrant the next four years of anticipation.

Certainly a vast improvement from their sophomore effort... what makes Twisted Tenderness so vibrant is how Electronic placated their lushness for more of a moody demeanor, mysteriously similar to the likes of U2's electric distortion found on 1997's Pop.

This is an average album by a promising band who needs to find a distinct identity.

Sounds fresher than anything the group has attempted in a long time.

The Mark, Tom and Travis Show is indeed a real rock show and catches Blink 182's shameless personalities and childlike giggling about oral sex, dog semen, and masturbation.

Wasif tries too hard to make lines interesting and profound, and they end up sounding awkward and a bit forced.

As the group replaces departing guitarist (and founding member) Dave Dederer with Andrew McKeag, while they bring Seattle underground mainstay Kurt Bloch in as producer, all elements that help make These Are the Good Times People perhaps their most eclectic album to date.

If not quite as enjoyable as "Unpredictable," Foxx's ability and personality make it easy to ride out the sags.

At 15-songs long the album can stand tall after the required trimming, making Rise Up a giant leap in the right direction after the lukewarm "Till Death Do Us Part."

Doin' It Again is unlikely to cross over in the same way as its several collaborators have done, but hardcore grime fans should be satisfied that at least one of their originators hasn't surrendered to the ubiquitous electro-pop sound just yet.

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.

Peroxide showcases Nesbitt's sweet voice and personal yet universally relatable lyrics, which she frames in bright, often acoustic piano and guitar-driven arrangements.

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.

Ultimately, while Fitz & the Tantrums' contemporary dance-pop sound is decades away from the aesthetic of their debut, it works, and it's hard to imagine fans not wanting to take make the leap with them.

She's created a cool, sensual sound for Close Your Eyes, spinning off of her signature subdued adult alternative pop but adding in significant elements of electronica, particularly an echo of trip-hop past.

The songs on Saturday Night, Sunday Morning are the kind you could easily see getting placed in the background of TV shows or used in commercials. Taken on their own, these are fine songs and Bugg's reedy alto is showcased to nice effect throughout.

The release is a set of moody trap numbers with sharp beats and stark lyrics about hustling and street life. He also spends time roasting online haters and addressing Internet drama.

The compilation was offered on CD in three-disc and one-disc sets. The latter is more like a sampler with no discernible method to the selection process, and those who take that option will miss out on the Clarke and Wilder mixes, as well as numerous highlights.

It's a comfortable and familiar fit that poses only one significant problem: nobody bothered to write any songs; they're just playing for the sake of playing.

Everything here, from the sound to the songs, is about improving the brand of "Luke Bryan: Party Bro" and if he never seems to inhabit that role, he's nevertheless able to sell it.

Mostly, Let the Bad Times Roll sounds like what it is: the work of middle-aged punk lifers who don't change their style, sound, or perspective.

As much as the vocals, however, the fault for Dirty Vegas lies with the unambitious production; Dirty Vegas make a crossover group like Underworld sound positively edgy in comparison.

Hooks never mattered to the Used anyway, so having a higher grade of execution helps underscore the Used's point, which ironically just makes the whole thing uglier and harder to take.

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

Asleep in the Bread Isle is an everyday suburban rap album, if there is such a thing.

O'Brien helps them articulate their ideas, giving them definition and muscle, attributes that are appealing when the songs lack distinct hooks.

The range in quality here indicates that superior work is in reserve.

Pond still fills his lyrics with snark and deadpan cynicism, a move that gives complexity to his otherwise soothing music, but even that has gotten old by now, and The Dark Leaves rarely distinguishes itself from the music that came before it.

An album of big alternative pop tracks which are confused, confusing, and impressively hard to enjoy.

It's hard to blame her for playing it safe, particularly because she wound up with such a strong pop album, one that reconfirms her gifts as a singer and savviness as a pop star.

By grounding it so heavily in the metal that served Spinal Tap so well, Shearer turns Smalls Change into a bit of a grueling hourlong experience--there may be the occasional taste of prog pomp or a Richard Thompson cameo, but it's all in the context of hard rock--but listened to as a series of EPs, the craft behind its silliness shines through and it's quite palatable. Which makes it not all that different from a John Entwistle album.

This cuts back significantly on winding jams, upping the ante with tight songs and performances, a clean muscular production, and a lack of vocal histrionics from Popper

With Rule 3:36, Ja Rule takes a step forward from his impressive debut album, spending less time trying to act hard, and focusing more effort on crafting a diverse album.

It seems like Parquet Courts might be taking notes from labelmates Girl Band, producing some of their most uncompromising work to date. Monastic Living is a very curious move for the band.

This triumphant self-possession comes so naturally to Christina that it's hard not to wish that she acted so boldly throughout Bionic, letting the entirety of the record be as distinctly odd as its best moments.

As a performer, the smooth Derulo--made even smoother by Auto-Tune--delivers it all so effortlessly that none of that persuasive debut hunger comes through, making this stylish and short set one to admire rather than advocate.

Without that soulful kind of anchor, Nothing But the Beat offers the same experience as one of Guetta's numerous remix sets, which is a compliment if you're a dancefloor and a caution if you're a pair of headphones.

While the band sometimes flirts with modern sounds -- witness the overheated neo-new wave beats fueling "High Steppin'" -- they usually default to an affectless folk-rock that shows a considerable debt to Bob Dylan.

Love: Part 2 winds up as the group's most effective album yet: it channels their '80s hero worship into something propulsive and distinctive.

What At the End of Paths Taken means for the Cowboy Junkies: it's like a renaissance.

To say the record isn't "challenging" is an understatement, especially when looking at his early work, but it's easy to overlook how skillfully the man crafts positive music that's sunshine, and yet not sugary.

Backstreet Boys don't have any songs that will lift them out of the adult contemporary world--but the audience who has turned from teens to adults with them will likely enjoy its easy sound, as there is nothing bad here. There's just nothing great, either.

The Fray's sophomore release picks up where How to Save a Life left off, reprising the same blend of piano-led ballads and midtempo pop/rock that helped establish the band in 2005.

It's a wonder why a few of these cuts didn't pop up before this, but as a collection of outtakes, they hold together better than some of the band's proper albums.

Just as pretty but more purposeful than Jones' previous output, Tranquilizers makes good on the promise of Dog Bite's debut and then some.

End Titles...Stories for Film wears the signs of its creation poorly, unlike the quite-good odds'n'sods collection "More Stories," which despite its high quality was released only in Australia.

A sophisticated, epic, slow burn of an album, The Temper Trap finds the band taking the creative long view, and updating its bombastic guitar rock with a moody, somewhat synth-oriented sound.

It's an enjoyable record, but it's hard to escape the nagging feeling that Garbage has painted itself into a corner: they haven't found a way to expand their sound, to make it richer or mature -- they can only deliver more of the same.

Whereas the first solo effort was somewhat lo-fi and reminiscent of Lou Barlow, Golden D, which is named after the musical chord, focuses on rock -- the hard and fast variety -- and suggests Sonic Youth and Sex Pistols.

Everything to Everyone is probably Barenaked Ladies' most honest album -- always touching, but serious and completely open for the first time in their 15-year career.

Neither horrible nor great, Time of the Assassins is an unassuming album, a working holiday that was probably more enjoyable to make than for anyone besides die-hard Strokes fans to hear.

Few things are more excruciating than hearing shallow frat guys try to sound deep, and these tracks can really make you wince. Ultimately though, when 3OH!3 stick to the anthemic, glorification/satirization of their own lifestyle, the good certainly outweighs the bad on Omens.

Certainly the musicianship and arrangements are impeccable, but even with differing vocalists, all of the tracks are so similar that it ends up being as tedious as the producer's later work.

The whole package ends up having this strangely alluring glimmer. It's like discovering California Babylon after being lost in suburbia.

Cycle is ultimately no more than 50 minutes of standard-issue desolation, but the softness of many of the tracks gives it compassion, something most of Staind's peers have no time for.

It's the sound of an artist who's given too much freedom too early and has no idea what to do with it.

Ingle's ability to write a pop melody is promising, perhaps, yet it's too hampered by nasal vocals to make much of an impression, and the album’s short running time proves to be one of its biggest assets.

These jaunty experiments are some of Hagerty's most insular work in a while, but that doesn't make Wilson Semiconductors any less enjoyable.

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.

Morningwood still feels like calculated fluff, even if it's calculated fluff that's mildly fun.

Turns out Odd Future benefits greatly from this duo anchoring their wild universe, as Purple Naked Ladies is one of the collective's more sensual and sensible releases to date.

Staind may not be much more than noise -- it's not especially hooky or melodic -- but the group wins points for unexpectedly delivering something visceral.

Ultimately, Partners works as guided tour down Streisand's memory lane, and with her resonant voice still in supple shape, any excuse to hear her sing is a welcome invitation.

A mature and workmanlike metal monster-piece.

The musical redefinitions taken on by the Cherry Poppin' Daddies seemed to be creatively suiting and for the listeners who take time to believe in it Soul Caddy will be impressively surprising.

The Black Magic Show is a decent move forward for Elefant. A little more sincerity and a little less swagger might have been nice though.

Sometimes, the group achieves a delicate balance between the two extremes--"It Was Always You," "New Love," and the aforementioned "Feelings"--but the best moments on V are when Maroon 5 embrace the tuneful, slightly soulful adult contemporary pop band they've always been.

Without clear-cut standouts, Operator is really a full-album listening experience. This may hinder casual fans--there's no "Bounce" or "Heartbreaker" here--but diehards and lovers of more challenging electronic music will appreciate the chaotic journey of Operator.

Once, or if, expectations related to personnel are set aside, there are some meaty post-punk tunes among an uneven selection on Science Agrees.

Brain Holiday may not be reinventing anything, and Furlow could stand to take a break from his '90s worship, but the album does sound amazing and anyone who likes their guitars loud and melodies strong will find Brain Holiday something well worth digging into.

A Dramatic Turn of Events, while not a perfect offering, has enough of what makes Dream Theater attractive to make it a necessary purchase for fans.

The quartet sound more cohesive than they've been in years, benefitting from a single producer's vision in a similar fashion to what Brian Eno pulled off with Viva La Vida.

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.

Mainstream Sellout feels mostly like a middling attempt to further cross over into pop-punk, this time lighter on ideas and cohesion.

It's appropriate imagery: Mount Ninji is a hedonistic party in a trash heap.

Conceptually muddled, qualitatively uneven fifth full-length.

"Tell Me It's Over" sways with echoes of a '50s slow dance, "Crush" is so light it floats into the stratosphere, and "Bigger Wow" swells with strings reminiscent of vintage Vanessa Carlton. Such moments provide a needed contrast to the motivational ones while also connecting to Lavigne's bubblegum roots, a move that makes the overall maturation of the album feel earned.

The lack of musical and emotional evolution doesn't necessarily hamper Born Here Live Here Die Here -- it was designed as slick entertainment and that's exactly what it is -- but it does suggest Bryan may be playing with some borrowed time.