Starting with demo versions of "For Ex-Lovers Only" and "Throw Aggi Off the Bridge" that are enjoyably scraggly if not as overwhelming as the final takes. The remaining four consist of new recordings by the original band, though they're not new songs; instead, they're selections from their irregular live sets that were never formally recorded and released at the time. The production style makes it sound like they were recorded at the same time as the rest of the disc, making it a seamless treat.

Cosmogramma is an instrumental genre-jumping journey for head-bopping intellectuals, and the meditative melodies by vocalists Thundercat, Laura Darlington and Thom Yorke only add to the experience.

This is music of the mind that remains fiercely visceral, music that feels of a piece of Weller's entire body of work, but is quite unique in its execution and impact.

For Holy Fuck, Latin is a monumental step forward. By trimming back the choppy art-house disjointedness and quirky Casio tones, the band has successfully evolved their sound into something much more provocative, heavy duty, and rewarding.

True Love Cast Out All Evil is more than just a comeback, it's the best and most deeply moving album of his solo career.

That’s the great thing about the Black Keys in general and Brothers in particular: the past and present intermingle so thoroughly that they blur, yet there’s no affect, just three hundred pounds of joy.

As on any good Beck record, Compass finds time for everything from R&B to hard rock to the type of gut-bucket experimental rock that Tom Waits would be proud of. The big difference is in the vocal performances. It's clear that Lidell is wearing his heart on his sleeve here, and we see a portrait of a person, not a personality.

It's another extraordinary musical experience from the Claudia Quintet, who deserve all the high marks they receive as an innovative, thought-provoking, singularly unique contemporary ensemble.

A Small Turn of Human Kindness, finds the band returning to the top of their game with an album that is as heartbreaking as it is crushing.

The Legacy Edition of Raw Power honors this great album better than the Iggy Pop remix that's been its only digital representation since 1997, but the extras included here fall short of making this the definitive release of the James Williamson-era Stooges' bloodied but unbowed triumph.

Lustre takes on a kind of cinematic joy where Harcourt the long-suffering vampiric troubadour steps into the light and shines.

It's one of the loosest, most varied, and entertaining albums of its time.

Street Songs of Love is the most raucous, rawest, and finest album Escovedo's yet released.

This isn't just a logical follow-up to 2008's excellent The City That Care Forgot, it's close to a career-defining summation from one of America's most important musicians.

There is no album in her catalog like The Foundling; it's a terrible beauty whose jewels gleam darkly, endlessly. Its songs hold truth for anyone who has either shared this experience or merely has the willingness to ask difficult questions with an open heart.

Time Flies does a better job of rounding up the highlights from their patchy turn-of-the-millennium albums--actually, it emphasizes Heathen Chemistry almost a bit too much, with its five tracks outweighing the number of selections from Definitely Maybe and Morning Glory--and has space for selections from their smashing final album Dig Out Your Soul.

This third chapter in the Budos Band's legacy is a giant step forward. That said, for band and listener alike, nothing is lost in this gambit; everything just gets deeper and wider and the payoff is nearly immeasurable.

It's as a joyous a record as you'll ever hear, a testament that the power of music lies not in its writing but in its performance.

Some of the cuts may not sink their hooks in immediately, but track for track Hands All Over is Maroon 5's best album, capturing their character and craft in a cool, sleek package.

Granted, it is serious-minded fun with ambition, but with Manic Street Preachers you take fun whenever you can get it, and they've never sounded as ebullient as they do here.

Eric Clapton has never sounded so relaxed on record, either as a singer - he is supple and casually authoritative, a far cry from the tentative lead vocalist of his earliest solo records - or a band leader, sounding at peace with his past yet harboring no desire to recycle it, even if he's reaching back far beyond the blues that initially sparked his interest in music.

As sonically pleasing as it is, Tiger Suit isn't a mere vehicle for sound; it's built upon Tunstall's strongest set of songs yet, and it's no coincidence that they're her most ambitious, either: she may be firmly within the mainstream but she's taking risks as a composer and record-maker, never settling into the role of the earnest earthbound folkie, winding up with an excellent album that satisfies as pure sound and as songwriting sustenance.

It's a lean, tight record that takes its time but doesn't dawdle, it has the easy confidence of a pro who knows that he's working at the top of his game.

Each of the the album's ten tracks is naked, open, and bleeding, yet rousing at the same time. The lyrics don't hide behind Stern's infectious, blast-and-burn 21st century rock; they are buoyed by them.

This may not satisfy a casual fan who wants to hear versions played on the radio, but the entirety of Telephantasm winds up being something better than a hits collection: it captures the essence of the band, why they were important and why they still sound powerful some twenty years later.

This is one heavy, messy, dynamite album--one that could take a decade to be fully processed.

Sale el Sol never once sounds disparate or overworked -- it's sunny and easy, its natural buoyancy disguising Shakira's range and skill -- but listen closely and it becomes apparent that nobody makes better pop records in the new millennium than she does.

At its core, these demos are the sound of Dylan becoming Bob Dylan, and it's an evolution that's spellbinding.