It's a refreshing change from the usual compilation of bibliophile, sea shanty/murder ballad, and while the Led Zeppelin III-style rural overhauling may isolate fans who prefer the serpentine, progressive art rock of albums like The Crane Wife and Hazards of Love, it opens up a whole new continent for the band to explore.

It adds up to Allman's best and surely most focused and cohesive solo release, and one where the template can hopefully be repeated in less time than it took this to appear.

Swamped by the same safe, repetitive, and unadventurous production, the majority of the ten tracks are indistinguishable from one another, making Science & Faith a solid but pedestrian and uninspiring affair.

While the grand and sometimes snotty lyrics might not be to all tastes, anyone who misses the days when rock radio loved Nirvana and Blur will find his retro rave-up easy to embrace.

2011's Showroom Of Compassion, still finds John McCrea writing like he's tossing off random thoughts as he struggles not to be overwhelmed by the voices in his head, and singing as if he's waiting for that grilled cheese sandwich he ordered to finally show up.

Needless to say, the time is right for the phrase "just another" to be banned from use when discussing him.

Steel Magnolia are an able, energetic, vocally savvy country pop act, and stress the word pop in that phrase.

Red Barked Tree is another strong effort, and while Wire is still making music that shatters expectations, after 30 years they're sounding a lot like the mainstream rockers they once despised.

At 13 tracks the album feels right-sized, not overstuffed, and Banks himself is in fine form throughout, delivering stone cold and slow punch lines that are as lethal as ever. When it comes to evolution, there's really none, but even though he's been here before, veteran fans will appreciate his return.

8701 is more mood music than anything else, and while it does work fairly well on that level, it's not memorable outside of that mood.

Apollo Kids feels just the slightest bit unfinished.

Her follow-up isn't merely eager to stand out but rather desperate, as if the studios in which it was recorded contained a clock counting down to the point of failure, the moment when Hilson would no longer stand a chance of being a ubiquitous, multi-platinum superstar.

There are no upbeat pop-oriented songs, and stylistic diversions are not part of the program, either. It is something of a refinement of Cole's first two albums, and yet it involves a revolving door of songwriters and producers.

Highlights are pushed to the front, so consider the last four songs or so bonus tracks. You'll still be left with a substantial good time.

At its core, these demos are the sound of Dylan becoming Bob Dylan, and it's an evolution that's spellbinding.

In a less skilled writer's hands, this sort of thing might be off-putting, but with Toth behind the wheel, Death Seat makes for a weirdly wonderful ride.

Helpfully rounds up 18 of these guest appearances, including a cut by the Jones-fronted country cabaret outfit the Little Willies, and what impresses is the range of collaborators and the consistency of the music.

The Tallest Man on Earth, keeps it sparse with a summertime EP of fingerpicked acoustic guitar and vocals, written on the road just after the release of The Wild Hunt.

They're playing at full strength, with the rhythm section pumping hard on the opening title track and the three that follow it.

Uptight types who want him to save hip-hop will hate on this one, but this ain't nuthin' but a party y'all, and a fun one at that.

Most of these songs are not quite up to Hart's usual caliber. His inherent charms are hard to deny; they just feel slightly threadbare this time out.

Olympia doesn't feel fussy; it's unruffled and casually elegant, its pleasing familiarity reflecting the persistence of an old master honing his craft.

A fitting final studio effort.

Things start to slow down toward the end of Progress, when Mark Owen, Howard Donald, Jason Orange, and Barlow get their own track to write--each revert to type, Barlow stultifyingly so on the sticky "Eight Letters"--but for seven tracks, Progress is the hippest and best music Take That has ever made.

Winner Stays On will undoubtedly continue their stratospheric rise from the ghetto to the mainstream, but despite flashes of ingenuity, it's a strangely formulaic and over-familiar listen.

The big difference on this two-disc set, however, is the occasional, recognizable drum pattern, mostly snare strikes or cymbal crashes, that give the rest of the music a wider dynamic range.

He may have lost the plot for a bit, but Page is back and his pop sensibility remains sarcastically, unsparingly intact.

Tidelands takes the Moondoggies in some glorious and unexpected directions, and you'd have to go back to Wilco's Being There to witness a group upping the ante on the potential of their second album with this much success.