At times, Wolfmother's unintentionally bizarre amalgams are kind of delightful, and the group does have a basic, brutal sonic force that is pretty appealing, but even at their best, they never banish the specters of the bands that they desperately mimic.

The whole album is pop on the one hand but pop of a self-consciously other kind, transformed from easy hooks and direct flow into an arch blend of past and present, something where 1981, 1993, 2001, and 2012 recombine and intertwine.

Haines is still a force of nature, more Uriah Heep than David Copperfield, and his sharp-tongued critiques, especially of his chosen field, though tempered with moments of sentimentality, remain as volatile as ever.

While plenty of folks might pick up Dungeon Golds because some well-known musicians are on board, even with a cast of unknowns Scott McCaughey would still be writing fine songs and singing them with heart and humor, and that's what makes Dungeon Golds worth your time.

While the added mainstream polish, hooky melodies, and guidance from blink-182's bassist do make No Grace sound distinctly like a big pop-punk record, PAWS' attitude here is ultimately more sober as they trade in some of the wit and exuberance of their earlier outings for more adult-oriented themes.

The album is a challenging listen but there's plenty of craft here, making it an improvement upon their debut.

The Notwist blends all of these sounds and eras together organically and with an excitement that suggests they'll never tire of finding different ways to combine their pop and experimental sides in concert as well as the studio.

With Popular Manipulations, the Districts make their first grand statement, setting a new bar for themselves in the process.

Anenon's music sometimes seems to explore contrasts, but it does so in a manner that is easy to follow and absorb, and his music ends up being relaxing rather than challenging.

Among Ras G's more contemplative releases, Stargate Music is a woozy, enticing interpretation of the human life cycle.

Happiness Begins feels immediate in way so many big pop albums of the twilight of the 2010s do not, but individual tracks are crafted to slide onto as many cross-genre play lists as possible.

The effect of his well-matched partners' work is only a little less intoxicating than it is on the preceding numbers.

Birding delivers listeners back to populated, earthbound spaces with the warm piano and wind chimes of its instrumental title track. It makes for an exquisite and fitting debut for the Bella Union label.

Pharrell Williams is on the couple's perseverance anthem "Work on It," a wobbly ballad, while Illangelo was involved with "Holy War," where some dulled drums interrupt a mostly acoustic number about backward societal views of war and sex. These songs, like a fair portion of the album's remainder, are not lacking in energy or conviction, but they're raw as in crude.

It's a joyous thing to hear, a record that recaptures much of the magic of Leon's Shelter records without being fussy.

Out Hud have, in a roundabout way, developed into the most original dance band on the planet.

Although the album lacks the emotional punch of Ware's preceding dancefloor-oriented albums, it's always entertaining, full of stunning vocal performances.

It's a remarkably coherent and listenable album that goes down very smooth, but not without the occasional moment of real emotion or foot-tapping fun.

A deeply poetic record.

Here, the pre-recorded sequences of fan favorites "DVNO," "Tthhee Ppaarrttyy," and "D.A.N.C.E." are born again; flipped and redecorated with aggressive house beats to the point that they feel fresh, but they still retain enough familiarity to get fists pumping and mouths singing along.

The Dangerous Summer may not be original, but it is available.

Instrumentals 2015 feels like a successful reinvention after such a lengthy absence, but at the same time, it could've been beamed in at any point during FSA's existence, as its elemental, bare-basics construction isn't beholden to any trends, and therefore it feels timeless.

Through it all, Kasher offers affecting material that's persistently tense but also loose and lively.

It's not a fun listen by most metrics, but investing some time in its lonely chill eventually reveals a deeper side of DeMarco's musical vision, one of slow rumination that's just as valuable as the combustible spark of his earlier days.

My Morning Jacket are clearly having fun, and they're learning how to be "out there" without being outlandish.

They give the old noise pop formula enough of a kick to make this a very worthwhile addition to any noise pop fan's collection.

Random Desire doesn't necessarily sound like the Afghan Whigs in their glory days, but it does a much better job of summoning the emotional energy and musical tension that made Congregation and Gentlemen classics, and it's the best music he's made since the end of the Whigs' first era.

With Two of Everything, Brian Olive is two for two in making smart, distinctive albums that push his blues and R&B influences in unexpected, compelling directions, matching and building on the strength of his debut.

Lady from Shanghai intrigues more often than not, and shows that Pere Ubu can tap into paranoia, loathing, and the downright weird with nearly as much ease and eloquence as they did almost four decades before.

While these certainly aren't pop songs designed to grab you in the immediate sense, they are gorgeous and poetic recordings that stick with you long after the songs have ended.

Ultimately, Music for Drifters ebbs and flows with the documentary, moving from idyllic seaside splendor to foreboding mid-ocean swells and back again.

Wilder and stranger than Anika's previous work, Exploded View is an unpredictable ride that suggests listeners should follow wherever she beckons.

They work best as intimate revelations about his own experience and never achieve the level of universal pop standard that his forebears made their stock and trade. Nonetheless, there are a few memorable moments here in the cheeky, synth pop-influenced "Never Had the Balls" and the orchestral R&B groover "It Gets Better." Both songs make good on O'Connor's developing talent, and prove he has the ability to translate his quirky, wordy aesthetic into the occasional hooky anthem.

It all adds up to an album that slowly works its way into the subconsious, sounding deeper and richer with each successive play.

While a trimmed-down version of the album might have been more consistent, …And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead are going for dream-spinning pageantry, and XI: Bleed Here Now is more proof they'll always be true believers in rock's power of spectacle.

Beal quietly weaves an environment for listeners to drop in on, ignore, or linger in as they choose.

She may have been through the ringer recently, but she's choosing to be positive--or, as she sings on Shawnee Kilgore's "Abraham," "When I do good/I feel good"--and that gives Joy Comes Back a relaxed richness that's quite restorative.

The songs are all about stressful experiences, conflicts, and struggles, and this uneasiness is felt throughout the record, but all of this cathartic energy is harnessed in a highly skillful manner. Messes almost seems too accomplished to be referred to as a debut album.

Tobacco's production throughout the album isn't quite as lo-fi or dirty-sounding as his solo work, and his presence is clearly felt, but he doesn't overpower Aesop. The two are a fitting match for each other, and their collaboration works as well as fans would expect.

Despite the group's experimental inclinations, there are still plenty of hooky moments here.

Pollen is yet more proof that Tennis make the kind of music that feels comforting and exciting at the same time. It's rare that a band can ever manage to find that magical sweet spot, even more amazing that a band can hold steady right in the middle of it for as long as they have.

Turner's big expressive voice and gift for everyman poetry loom large over the proceedings, but there's a newfound musical effusiveness at play here as well, due in part to some tastefully simple yet sharp production from Rich Costey.

Howl of the Lonely Crowd will get some notice due to the people who produced it, as it should, but at its core it's further proof of Comet Gain as one of the great hidden rock & roll treasures of the last 20 years.

While this album and Dust Lane sacrifice some of his recognizable sound, the possibilities laid open for Tiersen are too intriguing not to pursue.

Sugaring Season is sophisticated, mature, and rife with quiet passion.

Supremely joyous and creative, Ens feels like the beginning of a new chapter for Holtkamp, and it's one of his most enjoyable works.

Rostam's music didn't need much altering, but on Changephobia, it's more artful and heartfelt than ever.

Captaining the expected band of L.A. studio stalwarts with easy grace, it's an album full of strong performances, few missteps, and the weary charisma that has been one of the singer's hallmarks.

Infinite Light shows that Lightning Dust haven't lost any momentum since the release of their self-titled debut.

Immunity is nothing if not consistent in providing Clairo's confessional lyrics and seemingly thematically detached vocals with a cushiony-soft landing. What she loses here in charm, she makes up for in lyrical depth and an enveloping sense of comfort, if drowsy melodies tend to waft by rather than stick around.

To say it's her most accessible album yet doesn't diminish it or her previous albums; instead, it's the sound of Furler owning her success.

Equally meticulous and mischievous, this is some of Matmos' most engaging work, especially for fans who are as fascinated by their process as their results.

Waterhouse's approach here is as painstaking as ever, and the writing is on par with the best across his discography. What puts this set over the top is his performances, which are more spirited and less mannered, consequently less like those of an entertainer.

Appearing after the release of an album Smith composed for the purposes of yoga, Mosaic has a similarly meditative flow, but with much more expansive arrangements.

Cohen uses Paint a Room to circle through a deceptively wide spectrum of ideas and arrangements, organizing his various strange and beautiful sounds in a way that keeps drawing the listener's attention back, like trying to focus your eyes on something just out of view and figure out exactly what you're looking at.

Compared to You Are Not Alone and One True Vine, the quality of the material is more variable.

Recorded alone by Malkmus with the support of a stack of synths, drum machines, and a handful of guitars, Groove Denied doesn't fundamentally push at the boundaries of his music. Whatever electronic influence there is here, it's grounded in a stylized nod toward the pioneering, eerie analog experimentalism of the post-punk era.

I'm Going Away is a departure that fits in with the rest of the Fiery Furnaces' work, and it's only fitting that a band this creative can pull something like that off.

Bringing the scale back down to something human while injecting some jazz and sunshine into the I&W sound proves to be a very good strategy for Beam, and it makes Ghost on Ghost one of the most satisfying albums the group has done to date.

For the Devil Wears Prada's fourth album, Dead Throne, the Christian metalcore six-piece is at its most technical and most brutal.

It seems designed to hover in the background, covering the sound of clinking glassware and forks tapping plates and blending smoothly with subdued conversation.

It hammers the anger home in most tunes, and that's exactly what he feels young people around the world are projecting. He's telling them they're not only heard, but that he feels it too.

They probably could have sold themselves as a revival band or pretended to re-form in their poppier guise; that they have made an ugly, snarlingly dark album like Hidden Fields instead is truly impressive.

Creatively, Gensho is so rich and expansive, fans of both acts should find it indispensable.

Elasticity's 78-minute running time can be daunting and exhausting, but A Sagittariun's abundance of creativity and positive energy is admirable, making the album a rewarding experience.

The only time they stumble is when they get a little heavy, like on "Half Hour," where some of the musical choices overpower Simpson's tender vocals. It's a minor quibble that's easy to overlook, and it doesn't make the album any less enjoyable overall.

It's not a showy record and it's not going to bowl anyone over, but it is sneaky good and shows that Primo are definitely on the path to doing something really special.

As Dreaming in the Dark's songs confront pain and choose love in empowering--and sometimes uncomfortable--ways, they reveal Tamaryn as a mature, fully formed artist.

It's tender and sad without any of the distance that he sometimes puts between himself and his listener, instead offering just a few uncluttered country-leaning songs that are simple, direct, and a little bit lonely.

While Homecoming is missing some of the eccentricity and intimacy that made Lung Bread for Daddy so powerful, its frankness and playfulness proves Du Blonde can give her music a pop makeover without losing what makes it real.

Integrity Blues is Jimmy Eat World's most immediately accessible and focused album in years, a peak in the decades-old catalog of these reinvigorated and endearing stalwarts.

With music like this, the line between undercooked and overdone is a pretty fine one, but II: Void Worship shows that Pilgrim are a band more than capable of walking it with an album that's sure to find purchase with doom purists looking for something less fussy than the post-metal albums the genre influenced.

Under the guidance of Lee's gentle melodies and calming voice, all the songs mesh together, though, only slightly shifting, like an afternoon under a late-summer sun.

They may never make a record as unhinged and beautiful as Hold on Now, Youngster..., but if they keep making records as tough and exciting as Hello Sadness, Los Campesinos! will always be worth keeping up with.

Even though the manic intensity that characterized work like Reveille is missed a little here, The Runners Four is still a far cry from typical indie rock; in fact, it sounds more like one of Deerhoof's older albums played at half-speed than anything else.

"An Evening with Dusty" further reveals why Dunn's work is so consistently enjoyable.

Their approach is basic and there are moments of yesteryear reflection, but (with the exception of a few too many crunchy guitars) almost everything on this EP fits perfectly in place with a band that nailed the vibe of a simple good time decades prior.

While some of these cuts work better than others, the range is impressive, as is Grande's measured, assured performance.

Gift of Sacrifice, in comparison, is noticeably more accomplished and better thought out, and Dunn's presence as a collaborator certainly helps Osborne make this into something memorable, though if he's smart he won't get rid of his amplifiers just yet.

The album is a varied selection with solid performances and production throughout. Much like the title suggests, The Off-Season feels like Cole running through different exercises as he gets in shape for something bigger.

After a few more adequate songs without sonic or lyrical linearity -- a tender collaboration with simpatico Afrobeats producer/singer Pheelz stands out most -- the album hits its stride with a sequence of slow jams demonstrating that Usher is at the top of his game as a singer, still much more than a mere entertainer.

Beat Pyramid begins and ends in the middle of the same sentence, literally and figuratively, but it doesn't come across as contrived or insincere, thanks mostly to Barnett, who conveys his words in a manner that is simultaneously solemn and half-winking, as if he knows they could be totally wrong, but he's going to say them like they're all he's got left, anyway.

For all its ambition and poetry, Big Station is consistently great fun. The songwriting and recording employed here take Escovedo's populist and sophisticated art to a whole new level.

This is an impulsive album, an odd piece of work that manages to be puzzling without alienating the listener.

Probably one of indie rock's more dignified efforts of 2003.

The fireworks do not ignite the way they might have, but that is the nature of experimentation. Nevertheless, this is all great fun, a function of Shipp's slippery mind, and the results are not only danceable but disconcertingly so.

Fans who have stayed with the band this long will probably find the album a breath of fresh air.

Here with Me is a cozy and wholly comfortable album, one that begs to be played during rainy days and Sunday afternoons.

Its members share a similar sensibility, so that, although they alternate selections as if participating in a song pull, the album holds together in the same spirit... the familiar one of the drunken slacker full of gallows humor, and the folk and folk-rock music, appropriately, is played in ramshackle, thrown-together arrangements.

This is music that's lived in and deeply felt, so it resonates long after the album finishes.

He glides into even mellower, more sentimental territory here for a set of brazenly unapologetic love songs.

Its sonic audacity is so bracing, it's relatively easy to forgive the lyrical stumbles, which crystallize on the dirty puns of "It Girl," but that's nearly beside the point because, unlike Love Stuff, Shake the Spirit never seems indebted to Elle King's idols. Instead, it embodies her own bold, bawdy heart.

Standell-Preston's vocals can border on grating, and sometimes the band's approach feels formless instead of abstract. Nevertheless, Braids' uniquely feminine experimental pop is largely a success.

Although the uniformly sweet pop songs on Kicking the National Habit sound influenced by the likes of the Police, Men at Work, Duran Duran, and the rest of the more commercial side of the early MTV era, the arrangements are more electronic in nature.

Throughout the epic set (which seems to have been played to less than 50 people from the minimal amount of cheering and banter between songs), Phillipps and the umpteenth update to his backing band maintain an air of autumnal detachment and sinister cool, true to their best moments even though the performance happened so deep into their career.

Ford is a rare talent and, for now at least, she's got the right band and seems headed in the right direction, not that Untamed Beast is a transitional album. It's a full-tilt arrival.

Presented with genuine humility, these relatively simple songs are nonetheless brimming with moral authority.

It's a clunky end to a disappointing album; one that sounds less like a reinvention and more like a giant step down a path best left unexplored further. Maybe they can strip back down to a trio, get their pedals back, and return to being a first class psych band instead of second rate indie rock troubadours.