Five choice covers and five new originals that flirt with the fantastic, yet avoid an unnecessary trip down the rabbit hole.

While it's unlikely to define its own era, it calls forth some classic elements from a prior era to great effect, and with some top-notch songcraft to boot.

Perhaps Grande doesn't embody the songs the way an old-fashioned diva would, but she functions as a likeable pop ringleader, stepping aside when the track calls for it and then unleashing a full-throated wail when it's her time to shine.

Stronger than ever is the group's proclivity for shiny pop.

This young band delivers well-written and unapologetically retro pop/rock; that said, their enthusiastic delivery and clever arrangements are decisively modern.

They've made a lasting impression, and fans of indie pop looking for a band that isn't afraid to work to win them over should be forking over their hard-earned cash for Chorus as soon as possible.

Wild Onion makes a huge impact from beginning to end, and serves notice to all the bands out there who think they are playing rock & roll the way it should be played that there are some new kids on the scene who can show them a thing or ten.

Impressions is a wonderfully fun and deep listen that stuns right away with its channeling of ABBA, but also sticks around thanks to the craft and invention that went into its creation.

Cory Branan may not have any hits--yet--but No-Hit Wonder shows that's sure not for lack of talent or a voice that makes his songs go down easy.

The album's middle third is exceptional, where Moiré's output once again draws from Parrish, Lawrence, and also Moodymann with raw, almost jacking beats, sustained high-pitch strings (either sampled or synthetic), and entrancing, downcast melodies.

The highlights continue, and come from many different styles of underground hip-hop, so put Statik somewhere between Tony Touch and the Alchemist on the short list of producers/DJs who also offer solid albums.

This is Yorkston's world and story, and his gently picked guitar and rough-hewn voice provide the heart of yet another fine release.

An album that just becomes more engaging with time, The Golden Echo lives up to its name: it refashions the best of what came before it into something alluringly modern and a lot of fun.

This theatricality is easily the album's most engaging feature, making The Resistance: Rise of the Runaway a unique offering in an otherwise dull post-hardcore landscape.

Though a couple of cuts fall short of the mark, and the set may have a few too many guests, Ske-Dat-De-Dat is a solid tribute to Armstrong. It does take chances and almost always pulls them off thanks to Dr. John's signature blend of musical imagination, wit, and savvy cool.

The Wytches show some genuine promise on Annabel Dream Reader, but they need to come up with a few more ideas of their own in addition to the many clear influences they draw from.

With a purported 30 songs to pick from, the Magic Numbers ultimately boiled everything down to 11 of the group's most solidly engaging cuts to date.

The album and its production make catharsis part of an evolutionary process, not an end in itself.

V is a solid, dream-inducing, quietly dramatic step forward for JJ.

Compared to the originals, or even the better covers released during the intervening years, these versions are pleasant if sterile.

It sometimes walks the line between close listening and a wash of sound, but it's intriguing from whatever angle it is approached.

Even though Albumin doesn't quite hold together as a coherent statement, it's a densely packed, often fascinating work and a welcome return.

There is a warmth, joyfulness, and sly humor to Bahamas' sound here that keeps you listening even when Jurvanen turns toward melancholy sentiments, as he often does.

They take things just seriously enough that their albums don't feel like a joke, but aren't afraid to have a little fun, making Maximum Overload another dazzling heavy metal romp from the stalwart shredmasters.

Whatever Bishop Allen's intention, there is a sort of miasma hovering over Lights Out that supports the "sad party album" claim, adhering these clever pop songs together but deflating some of their energy in the process. It's an odd effect making for a pleasurable yet confusing listen.

An album that caters to the sensibilities of the Lips'-voracious fan base without doing so exclusively, providing an entryway for old-school prog lovers to check out how weird the guys from that little band that did that jelly song have gotten over the last couple of decades.

Clamping down and checking out rarely sounded as good as it does on Blacc Hollywood, and sometimes it's even Greta-Garbo-"I want to be alone" good.

This is the sound of an artist open to a range of possibilities so vast they can't help but contradict each other, and he just can't be bothered by the confusion or annoyance those contradictions may cause his listenership. In the end it doesn't matter anyway, as Raposa is already on to one of the album's many moments of brilliance by the time our heads have stopped spinning from one of its moments of unfettered oddness.