Technically impressive, immaculately arranged and performed, Destroyer of the Void removes the kitchen sink from the equation early in the record, which helps pave the way for Destroyer of the Void, the album, to unfold, and while there’s nothing here to match the instant gratification of songs like “God + Suicide” and the lovely title track from 2008’s Furr, there’s enough meat on these bones to suggest that the band hasn’t lost its knack for crafting spiritually charged, enigmatic woodcuts of 21st century Americana.

Champ is still a melodic, eclectic record, but it often feels like the work of some other band.

Even with some of the smoke and mirrors removed, Ariel Pink is still a singular talent.

Songs written to sound like old pub standards helped to gain the group attention, but these heartfelt tunes gleam with McCauley's individuality.

There's nothing particularly wrong with any of this, but despite this expanded stylistic and instrumental palette (and some notably lush, lovely vocal harmonies), it's hard to escape the sense that this album is, ironically, even more of an indulgently dabbling affair than its home four-tracked predecessor, which at least had an appealing simplicity and directness of approach.

It feels like they could keep making these records forever with no diminishing returns; the level of quality and imagination never drops an inch on LP4.

There's enough honesty in his rich, warm voice to render even the most forgettable tracks into pleasant diversions on the way to future favorites.

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.

Without even the slightest concessions, Goon Affiliated isn't the Plies album to start with, but fans who never wanted their gutter hero on the radio to begin with should file this next to their favorite mixtape.

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.

Blood Like Lemonade exceeds expectations, coming in a close second behind fan favorite Big Calm.

Naming your band after one of the most famous rock & roll songs of the '50s takes a lot of chutzpah, but this trio pulls it off with a soulful, minimalist sound that's all their own.

This is music of the mind that remains fiercely visceral, music that feels of a piece of Weller's entire body of work, but is quite unique in its execution and impact.

Given that Sleigh Bells' sound is so big--and undeniably exciting-- songwriting falls lower on the band's list of priorities than taking all the dramatic moments from everyone's favorite songs and turning them into songs in their own right. That doesn't stop Treats from having a boldness, immediacy, and sense of fun that's missing from too much other music.

As The Chaos teeters between slick professionalism and rampant expression, it still sounds like the Futureheads are having more fun here than they have in quite some time.

Break off a single or two and leave the rest for aspiring producers to study.

Withstanding some strange experimentation - including a steamy a cappella version of the Canadian folksong "Peggy Gordon" and a sludged-out, seven-and-a-half-minute cover of the Who's "My Generation" - The Bride Screamed Murder is surprisingly accessible.

Call it the signature of a surfer so bleached by the sun that he rushes nothing, but To the Sea substitutes the sunset strum-alongs of his earliest records for a sleek daytime sheen that might glimmer too brightly for hippies but it makes for a better overall pop record.

While the music may seem more scaled back, the lyrics feel rawer and more emotional, even without the use of the screaming vocal dynamic.

At times, it seems like Born Ruffians elude pure pop magic--sometimes by choice, sometimes by chance--but they way they bounce off of each other and lock together again is never less than impressive, and one of the greatest joys Say It offers.

There's a modesty in Tift Merritt's music that makes it more compelling than a lot of artists who make a grand show of their joy and/or grief, and See You on the Moon finds Merritt weaving her spell as effectively as ever; it's marvelous music well worth your time and attention.

Dangerfield’s solo foray is a (for the most part) sparse production (it was recorded in just five days), and that extra room is a little jarring at first, but fans of the band, as well as the elusive quarry that is love, will no doubt walk away from Fly Yellow Moon a step or two lighter.

In the 40-odd minutes that follow, the sisters' simplistic, repetitious song structures may start to grow stale, and their fine but unfussy folk instrumentalism may seem less than inspiring, but those harmonies are never far from hand, ensuring that The Big Black and the Blue is never less than an entirely pleasant listening experience.

The Family Jewels is a record that is creatively ubiquitous and aggressive, traits that make this album not unlike Amy Winehouse's Back to Black or maybe even Liz Phair's Exile in Guyville.

As it stands, Stone Temple Pilots is a good solid record and an inadvertent testament to the fact that these guys need each other.

Now in her mid-sixties, LaVette is singing better than ever, and if she isn’t a household name, she ought to be. This is a remarkable album because this lady is a remarkable singer.

As opposed to the sometimes overwhelming whimsy of Black Moth Super Rainbow, admittedly conveyed more on record than on-stage, Maniac Meat is a glowering fuzzed-up sprawl.