Occasionally, Knuckleball Express' loose ends threaten to unravel, but for the most part, the album is held together by the feeling that Hagerty is having more fun making music than he has in some time.

Here everything feels like a copy of something that had already been done better by another band. In the end, there's little to no reason to pull this record out instead of Siamese Dream or Nothing's Shocking. Or the other three Meatbodies albums, which have all the oddball thrills and unique perspective Flora Ocean Tiger Bloom seems to have lost along the bumpy journey to completion.

The vibe is familiar but the sound is fresh and, better still, Evolution isn't ponderous: it's brisk and bright, keeping its focus squarely on the gifts that brought Crow into the Rock Hall.

An easygoing grower that digs deeper with each successive listen, Radical Optimism doesn't need to be Future Nostalgia 2.0; it's the sound of an artist enjoying life and exploring new directions as she continues to hone her craft.

With The Crux, Keery doesn't just prove he more than owns his space in the pop world as Djo, he's found a home.

The album balances more violent, hardcore material (the Clipse-featuring "Community") with songs primed for the club (the Miami bass-influenced "WRK" and "Sk8"), with the nostalgic coming-up story "For Keeps" being a highlight.

As Battles evolve, they remain true to their unique mix of brains and brawn, and La Di Da Di just might be their most engaging music yet.

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.

Given that Ferry doesn't sing on The Jazz Age, the appeal for casual fans is debatable. But for the faithful, trad-jazz heads, and open-minded listeners, the musical quality--from expert arrangements, virtuosic playing, and the brilliant concept--offer something wholly different and rewarding.

Regions of Light and Sound of God is intriguing and quirky; its songs often pose big questions inside informal, loosely developed pop song structures that are instantly accessible yet whose lyrics are often metaphysically elusive.

Rateliff's world-weary, deeply expressive tenor and lyrics place him on a different level than any of the current crew of revivalists.

On The Light of the Sun, Scott sounds more in control than ever; her spoken and sung phrasing (now a trademark), songwriting, and production instincts are all solid. This is 21st century Philly soul at its best.

Perpetual Surrender's highlights might have had more impact if they were collected on an EP, but DIANA have a unique enough perspective--and enough potential--to make the album worth a listen for anyone who loves synth pop in any of its incarnations.

For perhaps the first time, his solo work feels less like a tangent to his work with the Strokes and more like something sustainable in its own right.

The release is best summed up as stream-of-consciousness bubblegum pop, seldom committing to an idea for very long, but still maintaining a driving sense of excitement.

With the music provided by orchestrations from woodwinds, strings, brass, and much more besides, the feeling is one of playfulness, a resistance to and celebration of easily grasped pop forms and a sense that the world is there to be amused at and with.

On their fourth album, Tony Dekker and his revolving cast of co-conspirators walk a little taller than on previous releases, employing a larger, more band-oriented sound that lovingly elevates (and amplifies) Dekker's simple, refined melodies into something both peaceful and majestic.

McLagan's easy but powerful groove makes United States another satisfying episode in the life and career of a true rock & roll believer.

This is the friendliest batch of neo-glam to come down the pike in quite some time, never catching fire but never really striking a match, either, and it's the least adventurous dose of eclecticism, too, with nary a sitar, Mellotron, or sample out of place.

In essence, Brute is dark ambient grime, with Al Qadiri's stamping drums and probing bass frequencies heard less frequently than her synthesized choirs and horns. At its most vivid, it evokes the feeling of anticipating a shove or a bean bag round.

A big part of what makes A Question of Temperature so engaging is that, like Travels in the South, it's the work of a musician who isn't rejecting his past experiences but making something new of them.

Overall, Tears in the Club may aim for the melancholy, but it's also pretty enough to please those in search of a lush, soothing escape.

Heartache, triumph, anger, and resolution all feel reported on from behind a melting wall of ice, drowned out ever so slightly by the sound of a late-night party raging somewhere in the distance.

It sounds fully colored in and unless you're a big fan of cold and lifeless, it's a huge step forward for Washed Out.

In an era of bloated and overproduced albums, Moorer has delivered a small wonder with Getting Somewhere, and it ranks with her best music to date.

Somewhat unexpectedly, Hidden World makes an argument for Fucked Up as part of the thriving Canadian post-rock scene, which the band has previously willfully ignored.

Hidden is not merely a second step for this duo, but real deepening in a highly individual sound.

Her partnership with Sigsworth is a fine, even seamless fit, making this consistent, and satisfying, top to bottom.