White and company make almost no concessions to their audience, and fewer songs stand out here than they did on Horehound. And yet, this is a more satisfying album overall. Fortunately, Sea of Cowards' mysteries are more intriguing than frustrating.

scular, miserable, mighty, and meandering, High Violet aims for the seats, but only hits about half of them.

For a style of electronica (chillout/downtempo) that's grown decidedly dusty over the past decade--even though Bonobo is clearly striving to move well beyond such staid genre divisions, and in many ways succeeding, that's probably still the best place to slot him if you gotta--Black Sands is a welcome infusion of life and warmth.

Where some see restraint, others may very well see refinement, and those who appreciated Antidotes' more spacy passages will find that Foals' reinvention of their sound is a calculated risk that definitely pays off.

The only downfall is that Here's to Taking It Easy is so easy to take that at only nine songs, it flies by in no time at all.

Taking on both the BS and sobering-side-of-life lessons while straddling genres would be difficult for any musician, but Sage did it and came up with a B-plus effort. More tangible proof that he’s a gifted artist.

Higher Than the Eiffel is most reminiscent of the work that Freestylers and Lo-Fidelity Allstars were doing eight to ten years ago. Both of them aged into their classic full-length statement with surprising grace, and made intriguing music long after most punters had deserted them.

As it stands, Stone Temple Pilots is a good solid record and an inadvertent testament to the fact that these guys need each other.

As opposed to the sometimes overwhelming whimsy of Black Moth Super Rainbow, admittedly conveyed more on record than on-stage, Maniac Meat is a glowering fuzzed-up sprawl.

None of these songs have the concise punch of a single, but that's surely intentional: they're not designed as hooky statements of intent, they're dreamy teasers for what promises to be Corgan's most varied set of music since the days of Mellon Collie & the Infinite Sadness, whose title is quite deliberately echoed in the very name of Teargarden by Kaleidyscope.

Broderick was once as integral to Horse Feathers’ sound as Ringle himself, but Thistled Spring doesn’t stumble in his absence, and the retooled lineup pairs well with Ringle’s warming disposition.

In the end, Kurupt turns in strong performances on much of Streetlights, delivering furious free association freak-outs and ultimately some of his nastiest verses in years.

With a slower pace and dreamier, echo-laden feeling than the original, guitars sounding somewhere between Morricone and the Cocteau Twins, it's an inspired nod back to a still underrated team of artists that works equally well on its own.

As The Chaos teeters between slick professionalism and rampant expression, it still sounds like the Futureheads are having more fun here than they have in quite some time.

Nada Surf show they can play well with others on If I Had a Hi-Fi, though they'd do well to apply the lessons learned here to some new tunes for their next album.

Withstanding some strange experimentation - including a steamy a cappella version of the Canadian folksong "Peggy Gordon" and a sludged-out, seven-and-a-half-minute cover of the Who's "My Generation" - The Bride Screamed Murder is surprisingly accessible.

While the music may seem more scaled back, the lyrics feel rawer and more emotional, even without the use of the screaming vocal dynamic.

White Crosses is a big-sounding album with a blue-collar soul, but though the guitars may aim for the rafters alongside lofty, singalong choruses, the songwriting ultimately comes off safer and more commonplace than anything they've done yet.

Technically impressive, immaculately arranged and performed, Destroyer of the Void removes the kitchen sink from the equation early in the record, which helps pave the way for Destroyer of the Void, the album, to unfold, and while there’s nothing here to match the instant gratification of songs like “God + Suicide” and the lovely title track from 2008’s Furr, there’s enough meat on these bones to suggest that the band hasn’t lost its knack for crafting spiritually charged, enigmatic woodcuts of 21st century Americana.

At times, it seems like Born Ruffians elude pure pop magic--sometimes by choice, sometimes by chance--but they way they bounce off of each other and lock together again is never less than impressive, and one of the greatest joys Say It offers.

Like the title suggests, Warm Slime is gooey but curiously inviting stuff, and sinking into it might not be the safest way to pass the time, but it's a genuinely pleasurable experience.

Scissor Sisters are record fans from way back, so they structure nearly every element of Night Work to relive the heady days of AOR (aka album-oriented rock).

It may be flawed and the rapper's attitude is sometimes one step ahead of his output, but he hasn't sounded this unfiltered and proud since The Marshall Mathers LP.

This is a welcome return for Miller, and a must for modern electric blues fans.

It's lively and fun, and it's Sting's most satisfying record in a long time.

Archive 2003-2006 is well worth a listen for Department of Eagles and Grizzly Bear fans, especially those intrigued by how albums get made--or don't get made, as the case may be.

Serotonin may offer less immediate pleasures than Twenty One, but it promises to reward repeated listening.

This is the sound of seasoned veterans still finding new ways to play old favorites.