It's not as if any of this breaks new stylistic ground (in fact, it bears no small resemblance to his pals and sometimes collaborators Thee Oh Sees), but it sure sounds like Segall is having fun, and it brings some additional heat and spice to his rich brew of sound.

As with most of The House, songs like the folk-inflected opener "I'd Love to Kill You," the Eastern-tinged "The Flood," and the yearning and pretty "Red Balloons," take time to build and grab you slowly with deft, biting lyrics and Melua's lilting, burnished vocals.

The album doesn't quite knit together seamlessly, but that doesn't mean there isn't plenty of interesting stuff here. If anything, Where The Messengers Are is an easily measurable improvement over their debut.

Back with the 808 boom, the stone-cold rhymes, and that sturdy, warrior soul, Bun B is officially crowned consistent with his third solo effort, the satisfying Trill O.G.

Weareallgoingtoburninhellmegamixxx3 is a logical progression from his hectic early work as genres like dubstep and grime have since appeared to increase the pressure. Extended runs of uptempo numbers are something new for the man, and the album refuses to chill until it takes a breather on track six

This feeling of isolation envelops the bulk of Apparitions. It's a psychedelic, claustrophobic mush of layered synthesizers, organs, drum pads, and breezy voices reflecting against the walls of wide-open corridors; evocative of the unsettling feeling of being completely alone in a very big space, a la David Bowman or Sam Bell.

In sum, this the most representative outing from Grace Potter & the Nocturnals to date, and displays, however slickly, a heady quotient of strut, crackle, and groove.

As ridiculously high as his [Quinn Walker's] voice may be, and even though it may take several spins to become acclimated to it, the melodies are sharp and enticing.

We Walk This Road is a consistently surprising tour de force that moves easily through rock, blues, R&B, gospel, and more, sometimes bringing them all together at the same time.

Fantasia doesn't invest the songs with subtle emotion so much as she indulges in balls-out emotional overdrive, overloading these simple songs with histrionics that are compelling in the short term and even if they're exhausting over the long haul these full-throttle pyrotechnics make Back to Me her most interesting album.

Whether it works or not depends on whether you're in the love him or the hate him camp, but no compromise is just what his fans signed up for in the first place. The Darkside, Vol. 1 is a mean beast of an album that will surely make Joe's army re-enlist for Vol. 2.

The better surprise is his heavy dose of talent that doesn't necessarily dazzle but does charm, and is deep enough to keep things interesting for a whole album.

The Final Frontier still brings Iron Maiden closer to their aesthetic legacy and triumphant year 2000 rebirth than its two predecessors.

In the end, a necessary acquisition for fans or an easy way for newcomers to judge whether they are wacky enough to join the Major's cyberpunky reggae party.

Rose's own songwriting gifts are on ample display throughout Own Side Now, with lyrics that show a knack for poetic turns and artful understatement in equal measure -- a combination too seldom found in young songwriters' work -- and humble but hummable melodies that make the most of her grounding in both alt-country and pop.

Cowboy's Back in Town reveals that this singer can do one thing well; but he does it really well -- and that's offer tough, utterly masculine, contemporary country-rock -- check the closer "Whoop a Man's Ass" -- convincingly.

The man is full of contradictions and lyrics that demand deciphering, so Str8 Killa becomes an excellent entry point, maybe by default and maybe by design. Either way, it's a necessary purchase for gangsta rap fans and a gateway drug that will send you straight to the mixtape underground.

While some of this album feels a bit rushed at times, as a whole Tomorrow Morning is a welcome contrast to the darkness of its predecessors, and a deft summertime pop record. Lord knows, a little optimism in these strange times is welcome--even if it comes from an unlikely source.

Sometimes, this careful approach serves as a detriment to the bandmembers, who'd do well to crank up their amplifiers once in a while and see what their pop sensibilities sound like at high volume. On the other hand, Let It Sway is the sound of a band doing what it does best, and it's nice to hear SSLYBY get their groove back.

Throughout all this--both the old ways and new directions--the ever-present weak link would have to be Cronise's emotionally deadpan vocals, but, as was the case with earlier Sword albums, they ultimately don't matter as much as the group's pulverizing twin guitar attack.

Overall, though, this is an enjoyable, danceable working holiday from Sitek, one that shows aspects of his music that bode well for his many other projects.

It's also nice to hear vocals like Carey's which gently suggest a Brian Wilson sense of harmonizing instead of fully pushing the point--refreshing given so many of Carey's compatriots in indie-leaning rock music.

Not as cohesive as The Salvation Blues, Many Colored Kites is still a worthy and brave album that finds Mark Olson continuing to find new ways of sharing what life has taught him through his music.

It's fairly inoffensive rock, but the music and melodies are remarkably accomplished, especially for an early outing.

Red Velvet Car has something of a meditative mood -- the punchy Townshend power chords are used as color, not fuel -- triggered somewhat by a preponderance of textured, acoustic-laden arrangements and miniature epics, all elements that hearken back to Heart's golden age yet wind up feeling right in line with their vibe in 2010.

Ultimately, Interpol isn't a statement of purpose as much as it is the end of an era for the band: With Dengler gone and back on their original label, they have the ability, and perhaps necessity, to go in any direction they choose.

Though they should've rocked out a couple times for some variation, Personal Life is a good example of a band growing up without growing old.

With each track designed as a showcase for the featured guest, Mean Old Man winds up playing a little like a collection of moments but it's hard to complain when the moments prove that you can still be vigorous and vital at the age of 74.