Good as his bandmates are, on Can't Forget, Cohen is the star, and he's as strong, as witty, and as willing to lay himself emotionally bare as ever; it's anyone's guess how much longer he intends to keep going, but there's nothing here to suggest he needs or wants to quit now.

Accept Bush as a delayed dank disco triumph, and then drop it like it's hot, one more time.

Blade of the Ronin comes shockingly close to the sound and the excitement of their 2001 effort The Cold Vein, and offers the same kind of combination of street knowledge and sweet punch lines, all delivered over rickety yet compelling beats.

He may be prolific, but he certainly isn't spread too thin, as The Good Fight is inspired, infectious, and artistically grand.

Ultimately, Deeper's most important location is his heart; by looking within it, he's made his most relatable, and compelling, music to date.

Throughout, It's All Just Pretend is infectious, warm, and bright, offering positive but not airheaded guitar tunes for a melodic, feel-good fix.

The album is a true meeting of mood, melody, and sound that any of the bands Death and Vanilla so clearly take inspiration from would be proud to call one of theirs.

The group's self-titled second album cuts down on the group's more excessive tendencies, with only "A Pleasure to Burn" surpassing the five-minute mark, and seems to have more of a stripped-down songwriting style as well.

I Can't Imagine is confident, assured, and fiercely independent.

Within the context of a playlist, any one of a dozen songs here could bridge '50s bop to '60s MPB, or '70s art rock to '80s boogie, or '90s neo-soul to 2000s dubstep. Equally remarkable is that none of it seems devised. It's like these musicians simply radiate the stuff.

Cronin could have just kept cranking out the same album over and over; that he chose to take a risk and go big showed some real guts. That he was able to make it work as well as he did shows some real skill and should make anyone who liked the first two albums really happy.

Building on the strong foundation of their last album, Anxiety's Kiss adds even more sonic and emotional variety to Coliseum's sound, and is easily their most interesting album to date.

Solo work, if he can keep making records this special, should be where he focuses his prodigious talents.

Those who go along with her for the ride will likely connect strongly; Sprinter is not for passive listening.

The album flows easier than Drift and Home, yet it somehow comes off as comparatively fragmentary, with 15 tracks playing out in just over half an hour.

Despite its many head-bobbing moments, Danger in the Club feels more like two EPs--one that builds on 180's exuberance and one that explores new territory--than a consistent album.

Rituals oozes dread, but ultimately it's that contrast between finery and paranoia that makes it so vital.

Even if the first cut is the deepest, second album Fast Food is still wicked sharp.

Despite these small tweaks to his established, well-oiled formula, Hypnophobia feels like a natural follow-up to Cabinet, with Gardner not looking to do much of anything new.

There are no outright clunkers in the mix, but a light trim would have further distilled the power of this excellent sophomore release.

Heirs demonstrates a band that can be articulate without speaking in words, and And So I Watch You from Afar are a smart, inventive group who continue to progress with each visit to the recording studio.

If Metz's debut was unnerving in its most powerful moments, II is the rock equivalent of Wes Craven's Last House on the Left; just keep telling yourself, "It's only an album ... only an album .... only an album ..."

On California Nights, they made a risky choice and it pays off in a big way. They come off assured and confident, fully in control of the songs and the sound in a way they never have before.

The Waterfall suggests maybe My Morning Jacket would be better off doing a few things well rather than losing their way down several different paths.

Without their old-timey affectations, the band seems interchangeable with any number of blandly attractive AAA rockers, a group that favors sound over song.

The album borders on monochromatic at times (possibly because there are no songs by Graham Lewis, who provided some of Red Barked Tree and Change Becomes Us' finest tracks), yet its subtle subversions are thoroughly Wire, and thoroughly befitting the band at this stage in its career.

No Control shows it's a better and more fitting choice for the band than one might expect, and it's arguably their best work to date.

At times, Lucid Dreaming can get a little too hazy and downbeat for its own good, but as a portrait of a duo in motion, it suggests Say Lou Lou are heading in the right direction.