Paramore is a veritable pop opera about a band reborn, phoenix-like from the ashes of a broken lineup, better and stronger than any previous incarnation.

Of course, the songs are amazing, but just as impressively, Stuart Murdoch's vocals are heartbreakingly sincere and soulful, and the band definitively belie their image as shamblers by sounding tight and together.

By turns raw and reflective, Monomania is about shaking things up; it's not as grand or cohesive as Microcastle or Halcyon Digest, but with repeated listens, its quick shifts in sound and mood feel more like different sides of the same coin than a split personality.

There's a great deal of variety to the record, something that sets them apart from the vast majority of the bands that pay homage to the '60s, but also something that keeps them from developing a distinct identity.

A delightful but slightly faceless blend of lounge pop, subtle beats, found sound and mellow jazz influences.

The depth of his production sense and the breadth of his stylistic palette prove just as astonishing the second time out.

This record is no fun at all, the tension is rarely resolved, and -- oh no! -- it isn't exactly revolutionary, though some new shades of gray have been discovered. But you shouldn't allow your perception to be fogged by such considerations when someone has just done it for you and, most importantly, when all this brilliance is waiting to overwhelm you.

Gimmicks abound on this dark carnival of an album, and if you can't hang with some murder talk and misogyny, it's best to stay away, but this fat, epic effort is still a swift thrill ride and doesn't bore despite its size.

Jarosz lets her considerable instrumental prowess submit itself to serving the needs of her songs instead of merely adorning them with a precocious imagination. She can do this because she possesses not only self confidence in her material, but in her discernment, which is rare for a musician so young.

Some of these quieter moments can be sad, yet this album isn't depressing: it's hushed and moving, ultimately a comfort.

With Chemtrails Over the Country Club, Del Rey shows her softest moments can be her most powerful.

The stated intention for The Way Out was for each track to be "its own rabbit hole," and the album does indeed manage to survey an impressively disparate set of worlds and modes.

This collection of their singles released between March and September 2007 (plus three harder-to-find tracks) is an entrancing introduction to the band, and it stokes the fires of anticipation for their first full-length album.

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.

Source, with its adventurous, kinetic, and sophisticated approach in wedding modern composition, improvisation, and production to rhythmic and harmonic traditions, is one of the very best.

It proves McBride has plenty to offer an entirely new audience, and showcases her transition from country singer to skillful performer of elegant, hooky, adult contemporary, pop/rock music.

Indian Ocean is sad, sweet, and warm as an August afternoon, and while its charms may feel old-fashioned and better suited to vinyl, the hardships it details are undeniably contemporary, and their conclusions oddly comforting.

It may lack the cohesion of her last outing, and her steadfast derision of anything resembling a hook can be taxing, but it makes up for its meandering with a strength of character that eludes many of her contemporaries.

Fans of any of Mason's earlier projects will find something to love on what is easily the gifted popsmith's best solo effort to date.

It's not quite Hunx and it's definitely not punk, but Seth Bogart is a blast.

Throughout it all, Dr. John remains at the center, occupying attention even when he's offstage because it's clear that this blend of jazz, soul, R&B, rock, and pop is distinctly his.

It finds the group evolving while holding on to what was best about their first LP, and they remain a singular and bracing punk rock band for people who think they're too smart for punk rock. Well worth your time and attention.

It's a bit of a shame that the band's name may turn potential fans away at the door, but PPC work pretty hard to overcome their self-imposed handicap and turn in an exciting and solidly built third LP.

Mead delivers each of these songs with understated soul and that's what gives Close to Home its comforting spirit: it feels as cozy and nourishing as home itself.

Liza Anne isn't merely bloodletting here, she's writing with barbed wit and raw feeling, a combination that gives Bad Vacation an impact that lasts long beyond its initial pop dazzle.

Ultimate Mixes do deliver a state-of-the-art aural upgrade, which is a selling point for fans who have purchased this material before.

It's not completely accurate to say that these songs are more immediate than the pair's earlier material, as they still tend to slowly unfold and reveal themselves, but there are certain vocal melodies or lyrics that leave more of an impression this time.

Present Tense seems like a very good but somewhat straightforward Facs album until the last two tracks. The band took a more experimental approach to writing and recording that stands out on "Present Tense," where backward drums and cryptic observations ("all life remains kneeling in love") take on an almost spiritual dimension that feels equally ominous and optimistic, and on the brilliant closer "Mirrored," which brings the album full circle by adding a metal-tinged doom to the heaviness the band hinted at on the opening track "XOUT."