Add it all up and it's a weird and wonderful set, as hyped-up, hallucinatory, and hot as the film that either oozed or sweated it out.

Delta Machine, the band's 13th album, feeds off this negative energy and winds like a snake the whole time, slithering through a well-written (ten songs from Martin Gore with three coming from Gahan) and lusciously recorded set of serpentine siren songs.

Throughout the album's nine songs, there's a nebulous sense of despair, but it's less an anguished confusion and more of the melancholy of acceptance that comes with a life full of heavy changes.

This is an indulgent jumble of a sideline release, but that doesn't mean Wayne isn't in fine form.

Tedder reveals a broad palette of stylistic inspiration.

Despite this unevenness, at its best Ride Your Heart captures Bleached's carefree, slightly scuzzy California cool-girl charm.

An A.merican D.ream comes off like an updated version of the walking blues: heavy looks at heavy times, made all the heavier when the narrator is positioned somewhere between genius and mental breakdown.

While the resulting record may not have the power to transcend time and space, it's got loads of charm and a captain who knows how to chart a streamlined course.

It's an environment that rewards more often than it disappoints.

Dear Miss Lonelyhearts is more about what the band does best rather than breaking new ground, and the result is some of Cold War Kids' most promising and satisfying music since their debut.

It's a fun album for fanatics, but the willingness to shock feels too comfortable at this point, so those who found it tiresome before will likely find it devastating here.

The Angels are masters at sounding simultaneously cool as a block of ice and hot as hellfire, but the cunning pop melodies are the real key to this album's success.

Here's Willy Moon: this is music that is out there, it is not cooked up by consultants and marketers, it's a truly, genuinely strange attempt at something new--it may miss its mark but that's why it's fascinating.

Ultimately, Heza is a nuanced work that flirts with the experimental, but always remains intimate, atmospheric, and endlessly listenable.

Throughout the album, whether he's coming off like a rootsy road dog or a post-Tin Pan Alley piano balladeer, Fullbright consistently displays a level of lyrical finesse that would be impressive in an artist with twice as many years behind him, which only bodes well for his future work.

The songs don't stand out as much themselves as they do blur into a wintery whole, creating an environment of subtle experimentation and daydream-like dynamics.

Time is a promising debut from a guy who understands that pop is sometimes better when it gets a little weird.

It might not be as cohesive as their best albums, but the standout songs rival their finest moments.

"Silver Lining" finds the group at its most savage, while exceptional moments like the anthemic, harmonious choruses of "Learned Behavior" and "Strange Comfort" balance the scales and help the Color Morale to reveal themselves as one of the most dynamic acts of the genre.

OMD's Kraftwerk fixation at this late date is a retro-within-retro move that puzzles, so prepare to be jarred a bit before declaring this a welcome addition to the catalog.

Throughout Ministry of Love, Gika and Leopold Ross try on lots of sounds and moods for size; not all of them fit, but enough do to make this a promising debut--and to suggest that they don't need to rely on gimmicks.

They're ambitious, admirable, and sometimes thrilling, particularly because the group never fears to tread into treacherous waters, happy to blur the distinctions between pop and rock, mainstream and underground.

Stories Don't End barely registers upon the first spin (it's easy pop for the millennial generation), but if given the time to percolate, it produces a damn fine cup of coffee.

What makes Migrant interesting is that it's finally giving him the opportunity to simply cut loose and write whatever songs come to mind, and though fans might miss the conceptual hooks of his past work, the album is solid enough to stand all on its own.

Though trimmed down from more than a half-hour of unedited movements, the lengthy piece begins to drag almost immediately, and its droning, slow transitions are the only weak spots on an otherwise captivating and sonically rich collection.

Rundgren is pushing the edges of his comfort zone just enough to keep himself stimulated while offering enough melody to satisfy those fans whose concentration usually drifts whenever he wanders, and the result is an imperfect but satisfying art-pop album.

Ultimately on Birthmarks, Born Ruffians let go of some of their punk rock ramble and hit the pop song sweet spot.