With all of his projects, Barnes continues to challenge himself and his audience, and Compassion's fascinating mix of power and atmosphere is the most finely honed version of Forest Swords yet.

The Black Lips still sound like the rulers of an unwholesome party underworld on Satan's Graffiti or God's Art?, but it's hard not to feel like both hosts and guests are running out of steam.

Graveyard Shift is a highly enjoyable and entertaining continuation for a band that knowingly winks along with the madness they concoct.

[Halo] feels like a logical snapshot of her ongoing journey, presenting 12 new tracks that are as eccentric as they are inviting.

While it's stylistically no great departure from his earlier output, it feels like the logical next destination on his journey.

As good as each of these songs is individually--and there isn't a bad song in the bunch--what's best about From a Room, Vol. 1 is how it holds together. There's no grand concept here: it's just a collection of good tunes, delivered simply and soulfully, and that's more than enough.

It's Dulli's band, and what he's delivered here honestly satisfies.

Slowdive may not be a dramatic return that will blow people away; it's far too peaceful and calm for that. It will comfort fans of the band, both those who loved them at the time and those who have discovered them in the intervening years, by being very much a Slowdive album. One that feels modern enough, but also very classic at the same time.

Still trippy and shambolic, The Weather carries an epic, sometimes otherworldly luster, with a synth-poppy psychedelia that takes a half step out of deep fuzz toward ELO.

The 11-track set is loose, yet never directionless, with melodies that are less stately, though no less comforting than those found on the album's predecessor--Shelley's voice itself is a marvel of sonic palliation.

The album itself lingers in the mind as a perfect pick for when something is needed to soothe an uneasy soul or make a crappy day a little more palatable.

Best Troubador does a splendid job of showing how right he is about Haggard and his songs, and you'd have to go back to 1994's splendid multi-artist disc Tulare Dust to hear as sincere and affecting a tribute to this most American of artists.

in•ter a•li•a is solid enough and more refined than its predecessor, but will nevertheless disappoint those attacking it through the lens of Relationship.

In all, This Old Dog is a logical continuation of DeMarco's musical explorations, but the maturation of his songwriting is what gives it gravitas.

There's almost a charm in the way Blondie push so hard: it's hard to think of another legacy act so determined to play a part of the modern musical dialogue without losing their identity. If they're not always successful, there's nevertheless something ingratiating about the ambition.

As with many of the album's highlights, the song is an aggressive blast of post-punk that never sticks to the same tempo and ends quickly (in this case, in under a minute and a half). Other songs on the album are a bit more brooding, even tipping toward goth.

More Life is another overly serious, musically uninteresting effort.

Fascinating stuff for hardcore fans, but for most other listeners, the first half of the album is more likely to be played more than once.

This album incorporates nearly all of the many facets that make British Sea Power memorable, and it's their strongest overall effort since Do You Like Rock Music? in 2008.

Ranging from lo-fi rock epics to strummed acoustic numbers that blend lonesome rural tones with desperate suburban ennui, Everything So Far is a testament to a band that sounded original out of the gate.

For diehards who have grown with the band over the decades, this softer and more buoyant sound should be a welcome maturation.

Another fine addition to his solo work, Rock N Roll Consciousness proves that Moore's search for enlightenment through noise remains vital.

While it's true that some of their pseudo-"prog" power is lost without Madsen's riffs, Mew's delivery is no less effective. Their ever-morphing vision has simply moved beyond terrestrial bonds and ascended into the expanse of the galaxy.

What Now is less eccentrically atmospheric than its predecessor, but their boisterous energy is intoxicating enough to win you over, and their sense of fun is palpable.

Taken without context, Snow is a gorgeous collection of slow-burning, neatly groomed songs and perspectives, always introspective but never without joy. When viewed as another chapter in the ongoing lineage of the Kadane brothers, it takes on a deeper gravity.

Ultimately, with Still Life, Little Cub have managed to capture the '80s synth moment, bringing it to life with tactile, analog lyricism.

There isn't a hint of fussiness and the songs and the performances are so understated, they only seem richer with repeated spins.

The album seems pleasingly scattershot as it bounces from guest to guest.