If there were any justice, Ain't No Grave would be the last album released under Cash's name. It is not only a compelling contribution to his legacy, but an offering that closes the historic American Recordings series with the same stamp of quality that began it.

Dear God, I Hate Myself is also the band’s most overtly electronic album in some time, with several songs composed on a Nintendo DS that gives the darkness of “Apple for a Brain” and “Secret Motel” an unpretentious, somehow friendly feel.

Michael Trent receives co-writing credits for roughly half of these tracks, but I Liked It Better When You Had No Heart is a Butch Walker album through and through. It’s also one of his best, proof that Walker still can’t take a step without bumping into a usable hook.

Yet despite the gadgetry that went into the album’s production, Fight Softly is still a sunny piece of work, filled with gorgeous pop melodies that are complex but rarely challenging.

Though the concept and the band’s handling of it are impressive, listeners don’t have to be aware of it to appreciate the almost tangible moods Liars create on each song.

On Winter of Mixed Drinks, they focus and polish Organ Fight’s epics--and add a healthy dose of optimism.

Condors is an impressive mini-debut that's just long enough to show what the band can do, and suggest that they're well on the way to making all of their ideas gel into a cohesive whole.

While it's impressive that the band fills such big shoes, the biggest achievement of The Monitor is that it feels so significant in its own right.

With an overall sound that seems inspired by a searing mix of old-timey blues mixed with a hypodermic blast of melodic noise, there is a driving, wild-eyed intensity to many of the tracks on Beat the Devil's Tattoo.

So once again, they're preaching--at top volume--to the converted. Which is fine, because they remain very, very good at what they do.

While this album sounds like the Chieftains playing in fusion mode, it is so much more ambitious than anything they’ve attempted before. Some of the music here is contemporary, though much of it is over a century old; yet it reaches past its settings into the present day, telling of the indelibly rich meeting of two cultures oppressed by a third.

Since a big part of the Stripes’ live show also rests on their visuals, the Under Great White Northern Lights DVD gives the complete experience, but this album is satisfying enough to make it a must for most fans.

While it's hardly the stark, across-the-board tonal sea change suggested by several of its most immediately ear-catching cuts, And Then We Saw Land is at once an adventurous outward journey and an invitingly familiar return from an always intriguing, intrepid, and under-heralded band.

While the music of Wolf People is undeniably vibrant, vital, and visceral, it does not attempt to put any modern (or post-modern) spin on its building blocks; rather, it embraces all the aforementioned influences and moves out into the world as a living, breathing, very natural extension of them.

Archie Bronson Outfit might be testing their limits by taking so many stylistic risks on Coconut, but it all works surprisingly well for them; they never sound like they are pushing for the mainstream or losing their sense of individuality.

Like the previous album, Volume 2 would suffer under the weight of its own pastiche if it weren’t so darn endearing, filled as it is with call-and-response vocals, studio reverb, sweeping orchestrations, and other bygone tricks of the trade.

Many bands start to lose their way around the time of their third album, but on Two Thousand and Ten Injuries Love Is All sound better than ever and well-positioned to keep making smart, hooky, passionate records for a long time to come.

If the album seems somewhat slight, it’s purposefully so: Head First is a love letter to the frothy, fleeting, but very vital joys of pop music.

I Speak Because I Can delivers on nearly every level, upping both the production value (thanks to Ryan Adams and Kings of Leon producer Ethan Johns and fellow indie folk darlings Mumford & Sons) and the songwriting.

While Pearson would likely be flattered to be told that this disc resembles a hybrid of Michael Mayer's Immer (stern, dramatic; Joy Division) and Triple R's Friends (comparatively brighter and outgoing; New Order), he might also find the description a little limiting. Yet this disc does have each one of its elder siblings’ charms: a gentle buildup and easy finish, extended trance-like passages, spongy rhythms, seemingly incongruent tracks melded with ease and restraint, almost subliminally tense transitions from menace to bliss, and even some whispered vocals.

Stuck on Nothing isn’t going to change rock & roll history even a little, but for a good time, give the album a listen and you won’t be disappointed.

The slocore tag Picastro received early on in some corners has a vague relevance, but on a song like "Pig & Sucker," the sense of compelling, unsettled strangeness is much greater than most bands could pull off.

Bieber makes all the right, charming moves for a teen, and he covers all the bases. The dance-pop songs are light on the ears yet memorable; the unrequited material sounds deeply felt; the ballads have all the necessary us-against-the-world teen-love dramatics.

Make no mistake, the beats are coming, as is the dread synth (that sounds like The Terminator reborn), but it's all done in the context of music that is as engaging as it is experimental.

The Way of the World is not a comeback album; Henry had a nagging suspicion that Allison might have something new to say and Allison obliged. In the process they created a gem of an album that proves the pianist and songwriter still has many tricks up his elegantly tailored, eternally hip sleeve.

If Sigur Ros never releases another album, as long as Jonsi makes records this thrilling, it'll be OK.

This self-titled album is a fitting tribute to Toure’s and Diabate’s genius and friendship, and is a beautiful farewell.

The energy is, as ever, uniformly positive, albeit with a spirit that is more commonly playful, as on “Simple Advice” (loaded with so much kinetic percussion that it resembles a go-go band’s warm-up session), “Summer Love” (a lighthearted duet with Perkins over crawling, “Cutie Pie”-like machine funk), and “Room Punk!” (45 seconds of happily throwaway pop-punk).

Some listeners may pine for the less streamlined, less electronic, arguably more personable style of their debut, which after all peddled a distinctly different shade of retro-pop nostalgia, but those willing to move with the times (or rather, the 20-year revival cycle) will agree that the 'Beat have crafted another winner.

A Sufi and a Killer is nearly impossible to place or categorize, and this ageless quality is only embellished by Gonjasufi's vocal work, which at times sounds like a mystic channeling spirits from another dimension. Truly visionary.

This music is fierce and anthemic without ever sounding pretentious, and Pierced Arrows show that a few decades of experience can actually be good for you in punk rock, a welcome revelation in a genre that thrives on youthful snot.

Pizza Box is a long way from the punky bluegrass of the Bad Livers, and may be the best album Barnes has ever made.

Pictures is one of the rare albums that manages to hold tight to what is good about a band (in this case, energy and hooky songs), and add on new things (wider instrumentation, better arrangements) without compromising their strengths.

The Bird & the Bee manage to make these very familiar hits sound fresh without radically reinventing them. That in itself is a much trickier move than turning these all into slow acoustic dirges, but it's better still because these arrangements are true to both Hall & Oates and George & Kurstin.

Musically, there's much greater richness and variety in the arrangements now, heightening the shadings that have always been there, and bringing them to the fore, while also making it easier for a wider audience.

Yellow Swans' literal swan song found the two still exploring their way through often majestic drone--if the roots of the band had always been as much in uncontrolled experimentation as in serene contemplation, here the two sides found a fine fusion.

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.

Return of the Ankh is a relief in that Badu does not attempt to trump herself with a set that is even more intense and powerful than its predecessor.

While the experiment with a more edgy, rock-oriented sound worked well for the British duo, singer/songwriters Olly Knights and Gale Paridjanian are obviously most at home with their comfortable brand of melodic folk-inflected pop, and that is the sound that makes up most of the tracks on Outbursts.

The sheer sense of sprawl created by the two-disc release, accentuated by the sometimes sudden shifts between songs as one variety of feedback suddenly cuts in to replace another, creates its own involving logic.

Big Echo takes a page from Pet Sounds by allowing the production to shine on its own, highlighting the studio embellishments but never shifting focus away from the band’s own hooks.

As languid as the whole affair is, it’s hardly sleepy, as Dienel can switch from pixie crooner (“Moon Jam”) to sweet soul sister (“Begin Again”) at the flip of a switch, resulting in a collection of bedroom songs that not only engage upon first listen, but beg to played throughout the rest of the house, as well.

The result is a globe-trotting pop album that sounds like nothing he's attempted before, yet still retains enough of his signature arrangements to make Rouse’s multi-ethnic transformation a believable one.

In the end, the unexpectedly loose, protean feel of Rush to Relax makes for a wholly satisfying step forward from one of Australia's finest bands of the first decade of the 2000s.

And while the story hangs together quite well, the main impression you are left with is that Byrne and Slim have impeccable taste in female singers.

All this would be surface charm if the group didn’t deliver songs, and they do--songs that swagger and stir the soul, fitting within tradition without being beholden to it, songs that prove that Sharon Jones & the Dap Kings are the real deal.

Wolf’s touch here is easy and assured, so it feels familiar upon the first spin but better upon repeats, when the songs truly take hold and the conversational nature of the performances settle in, revealing the warmth and skill beneath the surface.

The sound is pretty awe-inspiring, with huge molten streams of guitars, thundering drums, swirling voices, and all sorts of keyboards, sound effects, and stray noises combining together into a great, layered wall of sound that rivals My Bloody Valentine’s Loveless in terms of sonic construction.

Happy Birthday may be bedroom lo-fi from the fuzzy sound to the scribbled cartoon cover art, the buzzing guitars to the off-kilter subject matter of the songs, but they transcend any limitations of the style (real or imagined) by writing songs that would be great no matter how they were recorded.

Woman + Country is somewhat of a grower--it's so purposefully hazy it seems to pleasingly fade into the slipstream upon the first play, but those repeated spins reveal the deep craft at the heart of Woman + Country, deep craft from both the songwriter, his producer, and musicians.

Where Vol. 1 presented shorter versions of singles from their earliest incarnation and shaped them into a seamless full-length, this set is different in approach and sound, though no less worthy. It covers a wider sonic scope and brings us up to 2009 in their evolution.

Several of the songs here are top-tier extrovert post-punk, neatly organized threshings as invigorating as any material from Mission of Burma or their farther-flung counterparts.

More than most Bonnie "Prince" Billy records, this is one of those austere records, filled with lyrical archaisms -- fans will think first of Master and Everyone -- but Kelly and company prove a capable foil for the monolith of Oldham's rustic songwriting and singing.

Careful listening reveals a newfound looseness and emotional range here.

Sometimes it's enough to write really catchy and fun songs and play them with a minimum of fuss. Harlem has done that on Hippies, and for that, they deserve all kinds of praise.

Yeah, it's that stoney and weird, but it's also really, really good. Potentially their most accomplished work.

As a band, C&C either inspire rabid adoration or complete dismissal; that won't change with Year of the Black Rainbow. That said, any fan of heavy progressive rock music may find this music to be of compelling interest, whether one buys into the conceptual nature of the Amory Wars or not.

Leave Your Sleep is easily her most ambitious work, yet because of that welcoming voice, it provides familiarity enough to gather listeners inside this world of sound.

So even though you could call this move toward the dancefloor a surprise, Swim retains all the qualities that make Snaith and Caribou so impressive. It just dresses them up for a night out at the club; no, make that a great night out at the club.

The song, as with most of of All Days Are Nights, is a bold, absolutely emotionally naked statement that still retains Wainwright's devastating talent for artful, universally compelling songcraft.

If the album has a flaw, it's the excessive length — 14 tracks in 45 minutes should have been shaved down to ten in 30. But overall, this is a solid effort from a band with a lot to offer fans of aggressive rock who aren't too worried about categories.

Basically, the album plays out like hit song after hit song. Love or hate the new direction, the Apples have made a long, long career out of constantly changing and reliably creating songs and albums that overflow with hooks and happiness. This may be their hookiest, happiest album yet.

Further spins reveal the charms of the non-single tracks, and the whole thing ends up being one of the best examples of all the things that help make Swedish pop so magical. For once, all the pre-release hype and anticipation has been justified; the Radio Dept. have delivered the best work of their career.

This may not be an expectations-defying album, but it is a satisfying and well-rounded one that shows once again what a well-oiled man-machine Trans Am is.

Like with any of Haggard's great albums, much of the pleasure lies in the details, whether it's the sly lyrical turns of phrase in his writing or in the suppleness of his performance, things I Am What I Am has in spades.

Produced with exquisite balance, these ten self-penned songs reflect what Lynne's learned about the studio process in her 20 years as a recording artist.

Mary Chapin Carpenter doesn't sound especially concerned with how much product she'll move on The Age of Miracles; instead, she's made an album that speaks with honesty and clarity about the mysteries of love and fate, and she communicates well enough that it's hard to imagine anyone who has ever thought about the ways life can turn on a dime not being moved by the beauty of this music.

Fornever is one of those rare, late-career triumphs. There are no weak tracks and it’s entertaining throughout; every bit as much as Murs’ best early outings.

He’s an amazing ringmaster for the age of mash-ups and wonky pop, and for his debut album he’s equally thrilling as the main attraction.

Endless Falls' mix of old and new maintains Morgan's reputation as one of the most consistent, and consistently interesting, producers out there.

For the most part, the cutesiness is kept just controlled enough to make the songs intriguing.

Allan had a hand in co-writing five of the songs on Get Off on the Pain, which will likely go down as one of the best albums of his career.

The album has a quality about it that's sweeping without being out and out uplifting, feeling more informed by the rigors of touring than the denizens of the Twin Cities and their lapsed Catholic revelations.

If there's darkness and pain in these grooves there's also plenty of lightness and joy, with a consistent, compassionate message of redemption through acceptance — as Burhenn sings on "Ways of Looking": "It can be easy if you just let it." That simplicity informs both the album's unstudied songwriting and its deft, uncluttered arrangements.

Luckily, the endlessly creative and surprisingly fluid Forgiveness Rock Record dispels any notion of opportunism by sticking to what the group does best: crafting clever, ramshackle, occasionally soaring bedroom pop songs (listen close for sirens) in a big expensive studio.

More than any other of the New Pornographers' albums, this feels like a group effort, each element united to create uniquely cerebral power pop.

Above all, it’s a mature album: Deftones skirted the obvious response to their tragedy, realizing that the left turn is a more rewarding journey.

Equally steeped in Southern and Midwest Gothic Americana, the son of a pair of neuroscientists has crafted his most unique collection of songs to date, borrowing characters from mythology, literature, and world history and letting them run wild in the increasingly adventurous, neo-traditional folk style that his become his forte over the last decade.

Per usual, the music is skewed and exhausting (in the best way imaginable) and the rhythmic interplay between bassist Jacob Long and drummer Damon Palermo is fantastic.

This Is Happening doesn’t quite reach the monumental heights of Sound of Silver, but it serves as a almost-there companion and further proof that LCD Soundsystem is one of the most exciting and interesting bands around in the 2000s.

Dynamic bombast is his specialty, and amazingly, it all fits perfectly within the confines of Italian pop. As outlandish as Mondo Cane is, it all somehow amounts to the most easily digestible thing in Patton's scattered discography.

As is the case with nearly every other Frog Eyes release, Paul’s Tomb may be riddled with claw marks, broken needles, vomiting angels, and eternal suffering, but it’s well worth the visit.

It’s an explicit leap into new territory for the band, and though the second half may drag a bit, songs like “Natural Selection,” “Joy Factory,” "The Answer," and “On a Wire” make for some of UNKLE’s all-time best singles, ones that rank right up there with “Rabbit in Your Headlights” and “Lonely Soul.”

A couple ballads are sonically lukewarm and lyrically platitudinal, but even so, this is easily the singer’s best work since The Heat.

Though it's distressing to hear yet another artist hop about the retro-stylized British soul-pop bandwagon, rapper-turned-singer Ben Drew nonetheless comes up with an impressive and fairly unique album that transcends the usual comparisons to Amy Winehouse vocally and Mark Ronson musically.

For those who let it sink in, Infinite Arms could be a contender for the year’s best summer album, not to mention the band’s most cohesive album to date.

As a band, AILD has grown most is in their songwriting and production skills (the latter of which are now off the charts in terms of precision). The Powerless Rise, delivers on what their previous outings have handsomely promised.

Distant Relatives is this African contradiction explored further with hip-hop, dancehall, and by way of samples, jazz, and African music showing the way. It's a royal and a striking reminder of why these two artists have reached legendary status.

Understanding all this stuff enhances the enjoyment of the album, but it is not required. A few tracks merely push the album along, and a gaudy Of Montreal collaboration is disruptive, but there are numerous highlights that are vastly dissimilar from one another.

It feels utterly natural, a continuation of the emotional navigations she's spent her career documenting with characteristic insight and sensitivity.

Given that Sleigh Bells' sound is so big--and undeniably exciting-- songwriting falls lower on the band's list of priorities than taking all the dramatic moments from everyone's favorite songs and turning them into songs in their own right. That doesn't stop Treats from having a boldness, immediacy, and sense of fun that's missing from too much other music.

The second Crystal Castles may not be as immediately and consistently satisfying as their debut, but it shows that the band has more to offer than just an immediately distinctive--and confining--sound.

The uptempo songs are full of life and happiness, the few slow songs have a subdued grace that is trademark Club 8, and when taken together, they add up to the band’s best record to date.

Now in her mid-sixties, LaVette is singing better than ever, and if she isn’t a household name, she ought to be. This is a remarkable album because this lady is a remarkable singer.

Dirty Side Down is a tad long, but when the songs are this good, WP gets a pass. This is easily the band's finest studio offering in over a decade.

Nothing Hurts is a strong debut, even when it's gentle.

Pretty much every track on Spirit Youth sports a bewitching melody that makes perfect use of the hypnotic swirl of guitars and electronics, moving in an elegant arc as it unfolds. You can hear it in the delivery, too, with nuanced vocals that seem to say "Hey, after all the trouble we went to in writing these tunes, we're damn well gonna give ‘em their due."

Blasts of feedback and other dissonant elements crop up at points, but otherwise this is an album of focused calm in both singing and playing, a vision of concern and empathy amid unease.