This broadening of the palette is as deliberate as Accelerate's reduction of R.E.M. to ringing Rickenbackers, and while it occasionally feels as if the bandmembers sifted through their past to find appropriate blueprints for new songs, there is merit to their madness.

In an age where angst is delivered with the subtlety of a laser light show, it's nice to hear some good, old-fashioned, smokin'-and-drinkin'-cheap-beers-on-the-porch-with-your-friends-style pessimism.

While it may not be the band's most ambitious or experimental work, Constant Future is a work of cohesive beauty, showing a real sense of vision in its execution that more than makes up for the lack of any gimmicks added in for art's sake.

Lavigne once again seems to be grappling with emotions just beyond her reach, never articulating her angst or crafting a melancholy melody, making Goodbye Lullaby feel affected, not genuine.

It's a melting pot to be sure, and the band has a tendency to go heavy on the atmosphere and light on the hooks, but there's never any doubt that it's a brew tended over by some awfully talented cooks.

Theoretically, this loosening of expectations would give him some freedom to roam on Musica + Alma + Sexo, and it does to the extent that he does not feel compelled to devote the record to the English language.

While the first ten songs would have made for a strong return on their own, the final three put Second Chance over the top as one of the year's best R&B albums.

Overall, it's a darker and more uneven album than the debut, but notwithstanding a few oddities (three reprises, and Arrington de Dionyso's Gregorian throat singing, namely), it's a respectable follow-up.

Fading Parade might be subtle, but it's obviously another step forward for Quever and company.

The 12 songs on Thrawn have been culled from six studio albums released between 2003 and 2009 (Anderson has released more than two dozen albums independently) and serve as an excellent introduction to his work.

Shea and Klauber's approaches are distinct; she favors shimmery electro-pop and cooing vocals that evoke Kate Bush as much as they do Olivia Newton-John, while he trades in earnest, earth-toned vocals and acoustic guitars.

Wilson and her band have created a wonderful and almost seamless set of music that explores a lot of territory and yet still keeps its cohesiveness.

A straight play, from start to end, the album thrives on the hypnotic rhythmic drive of Krautrockers like Neu!, with bulky synth riffs that make many of the songs sound like the intro to Van Halen's version of "Dancing in the Streets," or Jan Hammer's "Theme from Miami Vice," only beefed up, elongated, and entangled in guitar delays.

The rather aimless and derivative '90s drum'n'bass homage "Hocus Pocus" aside, No More Idols is a consistently impressive and intriguing listen that has the potential to be the drum'n'bass genre's defining studio album.

It's hard not to draw parallels to the Decemberists--fellow Portland residents whose frontman, Colin Meloy, shares a strikingly similar voice with frontman Ryan Sollee--but Dead Reckoning is further proof that the Builders and Butchers are building their own identity.

As creative as it is cheerful, Port Entropy just might be the most inviting welcome into Tokumaru's world yet.

Degeneration Street, the group's fifth studio album, finds the band not only back at capacity, but bursting at the seams with engaging melodies, memorable choruses, and renewed apocalyptic fervor.

Sexsmith doesn't do anything on Long Player Late Bloomer that he hasn't done before, but this time out, he's had the right help in the studio to make an album that will sound as good to casual observers as his dedicated fans, and that's what sets this apart: if you've ever wanted to introduce yourself to the work of one of the finest songwriters in North America, Long Player Late Bloomer is just the album to get.

Blessed is Williams' most focused recording since World Without Tears; perhaps since Car Wheels.

Masters of mood that they are, Radiohead digitally weave stuttering, glitchy loops of drums and guitars with real instruments, Thom Yorke's mournful moan and keening falsetto acting as a binding agent, creating an alluringly dour atmosphere.

Going Out in Style finds Dropkick Murphys succeeding on multiple levels, delivering an album that's not only fun to pump your fists and sing along to, but also one that rewards repeated listens with its storytelling, making it an album that's just as fun through headphones as it is when played at maximum volume in the car.

Something Dirty is a powerful recording; let's hope this version of Faust remains together awhile: their collective focus is sharp and their execution nearly flawless even at their most delightfully excessive.

Capturing the intensity and raw emotion of her captivating live shows, Anna Calvi is an ambitious and always intriguing debut which heralds the arrival of a unique and inventive addition to the plethora of U.K. female singer/songwriters.

More confident, explosive, and produced than their lovable but ultimately flat-sounding debut, the aptly named Departing finds the trio ditching the living room scene for the road, carving out a solid collection of fiery, understated, nostalgia-laced indie pop gems that fly by like mile-markers.

Despite that plethora of knowing musical allusions, this is by no means a stale, cut-and-dried retro affair.

The Valley isn't necessarily a gloomy album, though; most of the anger is funneled into Chauntelle DuPree's guitar riffs, whose rawness is balanced by the girls' sweet, dreamy harmonies.

Tyevk are still at the best when they keep things short, snarky, and catchy, as on "Underwater 1's" sunken mental asylum rave-up or the road rage rant "Pricks in a Car." Nevertheless, Nothing Fits proves that they can change things up and still deliver music with visceral impact.

It would be easy to interpret Sun Bronzed Greek Gods as overly processed or too insincere, but the songs' bright textures, insistent beats, and sweet harmonies make them very buttery to the palate. Sometimes, that's enough.