Machine Head is still a force in modern heavy metal.

There's no reason why its quietly enchanting qualities can't go on to provide her with the breakthrough outside Scandinavia that she deserves.

While it would be an exaggeration to call his music a parody, he often seems to have his tongue in his cheek.

Stereo Typical's good-natured swagger marks Rizzle Kicks out as one of the British urban scene's most entertaining new talents.

With such an ambitiously unconventional approach, it's quite an achievement that Ilo Veyou contains far more hits than misses.

While Let the Poison Out cleans up their sound a bit, it doesn't sacrifice the laid-back, chirpy, quirkiness that listeners have grown to love.

Little Red Boots is for the most part a triumphant means of overcoming trouble by singing about it.

Ryder-Jones deserves to make the leap from imaginary films to the real thing.

Radiant Door may not be an essential purchase, but it's both a nice reminder of why Crystal Stilts are so good and a nice placeholder for their next album.

Taken as a whole, Blouse is a more promising debut than a satisfying one, but its standout moments leave listeners wanting more.

For all the collective and wonderful helium hysteria to be had, it has to be said that the pre-album release "Moon Jocks N Prog Rocks" does steal the show in the end.

It may be only four songs long, but Vasquez makes up for its small size by packing even more ominous drones and evil-sounding synths into it.

Love: Part 2 winds up as the group's most effective album yet: it channels their '80s hero worship into something propulsive and distinctive.

This kind of constant drive away from the more watered-down sound of a lot of their post-grunge contemporaries and toward metal is something that allows Five Finger Death Punch to stand out in a genre that's easy to get lost in.

Wright sounds terrific, navigating through the upbeat, attitudinal jams and slower, romantic cuts with finesse and strength.

Both Ways... fuses folk, indie rock, electronica, and avant-garde pop with unusual percussion including bottle tops, plants, and saucepans.

The Solitude of Prime Numbers is not only unique to his catalog, it is a singular work that testifies to his growth not only as a composer and recording artist but as a conceptual one, whose expansive vision has evolved to include discipline and refinement as well as ambition.

The funny thing about Western Teleport is how it sounds and feels like a full band creating something multilayered.

It may not be a formula designed for critical acclaim or longevity, but pop music has always been exactly like this and HCR would make Bobby Vee, the Archies, and the New Radicals proud.

He sounds at peace with his past and comfortable with his present, and that casual assurance makes Songbook his best solo offering to date.

The whole idea of Birdy sounds like a transparent attempt to court a more credible audience, but thanks to her haunting tones and a tasteful yet compelling production, it impressively avoids being the try-hard affair you'd expect.

Ultimately, Christmas is a warm and inviting album that showcases Bublé's impeccable vocal chops.

After 15 years, Boris are doing exactly what they should with fascinating if uneven results: testing their limits as a band and expanding their sonic horizons.

Decas isn't a great place for new fans to pick up with As I Lay Dying, but for those who have been around the block a few times with these guys, it's an album that they won't want to miss out on.

A pure speaker-blowing party record, Biasonic Hotsauce is a vast improvement on Bias' previous effort, but it's difficult to see it making any waves outside the South London underground scene.

Adhering to the old-school MC/producer approach, Well-Done is a promising and cohesive affair which proves Bronson has the raw talent to match his much talked about appetite.

But while it's sometimes a little too understated for its own good, 100 Acres of Sycamore is a never less than a charming and emotive U-turn suggesting that Regan now realizes where his talents lie.

The man's overuse of Auto-Tune is now a given, and here it coats all of his heartfelt moments with robotic perfection, but it is surprising how T-Pain's gigantic producer hat remains off save a handful of cuts.