In its musical muscle and sweeping, politically charged narrative, it's something of a masterpiece, and one of the few -- if not the only -- records of 2004 to convey what it feels like to live in the strange, bewildering America of the early 2000s.

Hovering in the shadows comes Apse's Spirit, a mesmerizing album where the shrouded world of Gothic gloom meets the outer stratosphere of space rock.

Intimate without being voyeuristic, and approachable without being patronizing, sparse without being cold, Barchords manages to balance all of these elements beautifully, merging plaintive folk and bluesy soul with just enough pop to make the whole thing go down smoothly.

Their clichéd soundbites aside, there's much to enjoy on this typically ballsy and no-nonsense follow-up to 2011 breakthrough Pressure & Time.

Ultimately, with Last of the Great Pretenders, Nathanson turns his memories of the city by the bay into a universally relatable metaphor for coming of age, reminding us how a place can hold sway over your identity long after you've moved on.

The result is that We Were Here, while still sounding fresh and inspired on its own terms, is imbued with much of the lyrical passion and melodicism of Turin Brakes' past work.

By the time Wheeler reaches a place of acceptance, the listener has as well, and while both parties may be a bit ragged, they're both better for the experience.

Fortune certainly counts as one of their excellent albums, and if it doesn't seem to reach for the same sonic heights as some of their recent efforts, it surpasses them on an emotional level.

The closest thing here to a track that one could imagine being played through speakers instead of headphones is "Where to Put the Pain," which fashions a skittering ambient pop still very much in line with the rest of the album's design, for a set that's very unlikely to disappoint established fans.

At turns incisive and deeply felt, Ensoulment is more than a welcome return for Johnson and The The.

If Moonlight Concessions doesn't quite hit the heights of Clear Pond Road, Sun Racket, and Black Pearl, it's still a worthwhile listen -- and reaffirms just how high the bar is when it comes to Hersh's music.

It may not be flashy like their early work, experimental like some of their mid-period albums, or punchy like Words and Music, but the album takes in elements of everything they've done along the way and repurposes it in a lovely, extremely satisfying fashion.

On a strictly musical basis, Earthling is the most varied project Eddie Vedder has ever released, and it's also his lightest album: there's a palpable joy to his free experiments here that's infectious, even fun.

Her charm holds together The Loneliest Time's whirlwind of daydreams, confessions, and decades of pop allusions, making it another strong album from an artist who knows her niche and how to grow beyond it. At its best, it's pop written by and for those who dream of something, and someone, real.

Let's Turn It into Sound is a complex, angular construction, yet it's not a demanding, impenetrable work, as Smith invites the listener to join her on a spirited, boundless journey.

Mountain Moves' whimsy often feels like a party that just happens to be political, but it's this sense of joy that makes protest--and Deerhoof's career--sustainable.

The light touch Powell has with deeply felt emotions on this album is a rare combination that grows richer with each listen; she sounds older and wiser but also happier, suggesting that Life After Youth is just the beginning.

On I Barely Know Her, the 20-year-old star takes a magnetic first step.

None of this is going to sell enough records to bother Jay-Z, and a track or two veer too close to MF Doom for comfort, but Fluorescent Black is easily one of the best rap records of the year.

Just after returning from a European tour in support of their breakout debut, Girls upgraded their recording equipment and chose six of their favorite new songs for the surprisingly conventional-sounding Broken Dreams Club EP.

Merritt's kitchen produces pop confections that can rot teeth, but the bitter aftertaste owes more to Randy Newman than it does Belle & Sebastian.

With Fan Dance, Sam Phillips has made an album that proves modesty is one the rarest and most welcome virtues in pop music today.

Best of all, it all feels effortless, from the production to the songwriting.

Clinic is still one of the most intriguing acts around, and while this isn't the masterpiece the band has the potential to deliver, an interesting disappointment from them is still better than a successful but boring album from a less-inspired group.

A spellbinding tribute, with a commanding presence and sustained intensity that most songwriters can't manage even with their own material. Like a reverse version of Bob Dylan and the Band's The Basement Tapes, 'What's Next to the Moon' turns songs that were loose, irreverent, and even silly or one-note in their original readings into songs of timeless beauty and depth, their passions, pains, and torments made agonizingly palpable.

It is among DiFranco's best records, and along with Sam Phillips' "Don't Do Anything," one of the only singer/songwriter albums to really push the envelope in new directions in 2008.

There is enough variation from song to song to keep listeners engaged; plenty of thoughtful, almost heavy ballads to balance the jumpy, uptempo tracks, lots of different instrumentation in the arrangements, and an assortment of moods from quiet melancholy to slightly louder melancholy.

Musically and sonically it's well above average, even if there are three generic cuts in the middle that keep it from rising to the next level.