Favoring authenticity and catharsis, Champion is simple and straightforward, forgoing fancy concepts and cluttered production in favor of a classic set of emotive, broken-hearted breakup anthems.

Despite the fair amount of low-key experimentation on display, Faith still feels, at its core, wonderfully familiar. This isn't an album where Hurts push to subvert their own sound, but there's clearly plenty of inspiration behind it -- divine or otherwise.

Stinson's rumpled charm and casual touch make Wronger sound tossed off in the best sense: it's light and intimate, the kind of record two old friends make when they just want to relax and enjoy each other's company.

Undeniably great sounding, the record puts Animal Collective's brightest colors forward and, if history is any indication, is no predictor whatsoever of what they may do next.

As the accompaniment to game play, Chaos Theory is a standout in its field; just don't expect it to be as memorable as the typical Amon Tobin effort.

For every tempest like "Lassoo" or "Neptune's Call," there's an unabashedly pretty moment like the almost serene "Wooden Heart" or "Sovereign," either of which would have been completely out of place on Cuts Across the Land — but it's the depth, power, and flair of moves like these that make Neptune the real introduction to the Duke Spirit.

Pitched somewhere between synthed-up '80s mood-out and electronic-infused shoegaze, the Swedish duo I Break Horses may have a slightly off-kilter name, but Hearts is a fine, if often derivative, debut album, a classic instance of a band knowing who and what they love, but not to the point of making it their own.

Burning with a hot track intensity somewhere in between early evening rave-up and late-night club afterglow, Torches is a beacon of melodic dance-pop love.

After three more amorphous recordings, Trust Now reveals a mature, realized Prince Rama sound, at once intoxicating and beguiling.

Attractive Sin finds the collaborators stretching out liberally and sounding genuinely excited and inspired by each other.

Nostalgic Butthole Surfers fans will find plenty to like on Pinkus Abortion Technician, but they're hardly the only ones.

We Are Little Barrie is a stunning debut for sure, and the kind of record both old-school classic rock dads and groove-loving young kids should be clambering over each other to buy.

This is a splendid recording of ten fine songs from an artist poised to become one of the leading singer/songwriters of the day, and if it lacks the sense of surprise that accompanied her first effort, Angela Desveaux & the Mighty Ship is on repeat listenings an even more satisfying work.

it's a formula contemporary country chartmaker: highly compressed dual lead guitars, layered acoustic guitars, good-time honky tonk lyrics, and big rocking drums. It’s a good-natured dig at city folks, and you can’t help but like Shelton, no matter how many cliché’s he spews.

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.

It may not change the minds of those who think there isn't much to Cigarettes After Sex's music, but X's delivers enough glamorous brooding to keep fans happily miserable.

It may be all about style, it may be a little crass and self-centered, but it's also catchy, exciting, and unique.

As far as why it all hangs together so well, credit goes to Wale's talent and his strong personality, which here has grown into an interesting combination of Lil Wayne and Plies, with a little 50 Cent smirk and bit of Drake's phrasing thrown in for good measure.

Adjust to it being low-key, sometimes background music, and SSSS won't be leaving the average synth pop fan's headphones anytime soon.

Anyone who enjoyed having their brains and ears rearranged by Blueberry Boat and Rehearsing My Choir should find Bitter Tea enjoyable, but at this point, it seems like the most challenging thing the Fiery Furnaces could do is trust their pop instincts a little more often.

The more the band embraces Pythons' slickness, the better it sounds; it's a pleasant, ingratiating set of songs that don't aim to be anything more than that.

Kill the Lights winds up feeling happy and generous, an inclusive record that plays to teenage desires as effectively as memories of an adolescence left behind.

If it's not the group's finest work, it has a genuine emotional purity and reaffirms Born Ruffians' place on the Canadian indie rock scene.

While longtime fans may sense the absence of Bobuck in certain spots, it's a Residents album through and through, with all the atmosphere and Residential perspective one could ask for.

Some will be left wondering just what the hell Merritt is up to -- those poor sad kids who hung on every post-rock word of the Magnetic Fields records as if Merritt's abandoned them. And then, of course, there are the rest of you who will be delighted, puzzled, and intrigued by the sheer originality of this recording.

It's easy to appreciate the music on Dystopia; it showcases Mustaine and a crack new version of Megadeth at a creative peak.

In terms of popularity, the album is not likely to rival Attack Decay Sustain Release. It's not as novel, either, but it's exceptionally crafted.

Where the group used to sound like a bulldozer demolishing rubble, now they're more like a snow plow gently shoving away a winter wonderland. It's still good, but isn't stoner rock supposed to sound destructive?