Repeated listens bring a number of sounds to the surface--a hint of heartland twang, plenty of pop melodies, and an endearing messiness (evident in the half-sung, half-shouted background vocals)--but We Built a Fire is mostly concerned with mood, which it casts during the first minute of running time.

In the end, the unexpectedly loose, protean feel of Rush to Relax makes for a wholly satisfying step forward from one of Australia's finest bands of the first decade of the 2000s.

Happy Birthday may be bedroom lo-fi from the fuzzy sound to the scribbled cartoon cover art, the buzzing guitars to the off-kilter subject matter of the songs, but they transcend any limitations of the style (real or imagined) by writing songs that would be great no matter how they were recorded.

It’s a slow burner with nary a hook in sight, and vocalist/guitar player Petter Ericson Stakee’s theatric mumbles can be an acquired taste, but listeners with a CD collection that leans heavily on bands like Catherine Wheel, Sixteen Horsepower, the Cult, and Kings of Leon will find this dense monolith of roots-based stoner rock to be the perfect late-night companion for a dark summer highway.

Ironically, these individual pieces don’t add up to an overall masterpiece, possibly because the narrative is convoluted and strained, getting in the way of the pure musical flow, but also because it’s hard not to shake the feeling that this is a transitional effort, pointing toward a day when Damon Albarn will feel no need to front a band, not even in a cartoon guise.

Though the concept and the band’s handling of it are impressive, listeners don’t have to be aware of it to appreciate the almost tangible moods Liars create on each song.

Broken Bells is an honest-to-goodness debut album--there are as many promising flashes as frustrating moments here. Mercer and Burton have obvious chemistry, but they need to blend more for true alchemy.

On Winter of Mixed Drinks, they focus and polish Organ Fight’s epics--and add a healthy dose of optimism.

While it's impressive that the band fills such big shoes, the biggest achievement of The Monitor is that it feels so significant in its own right.

Whether the dip in quality is the result of a rush to create new material or whether these are simply the lesser leftovers from the same sessions that produced N 2, here's hoping JJ take some time (and maybe one of those epically blissful vacations their music conjures so evocatively) to make sure N 4 comes out fully baked.

While it doesn't rise to the level of his other studio albums, Valleys of Neptune is a welcome catalog addition from a tremendous talent who died too young.

With an overall sound that seems inspired by a searing mix of old-timey blues mixed with a hypodermic blast of melodic noise, there is a driving, wild-eyed intensity to many of the tracks on Beat the Devil's Tattoo.

In Leo’s case, it’s somehow comforting that every few years he’ll be along to inspire and cajole his fans with his dedication and passion. The Brutalist Bricks will let no one down in that regard.

Limited and a little patched together, but if cheap thrills are what you’re after, this one puts the dirty back in dirty south.

Call it Sigur Rós meets Supertramp in the end, perhaps most especially on the penultimate number, "Light Up the Night," with its keyboard-led opening moving into a slow sweet-sounding swagger of an arrangement thanks again to a big beat and guitar chug, but the signs of that kind of sonic grandness, if not full on grandiosity, abound.

While this album sounds like the Chieftains playing in fusion mode, it is so much more ambitious than anything they’ve attempted before. Some of the music here is contemporary, though much of it is over a century old; yet it reaches past its settings into the present day, telling of the indelibly rich meeting of two cultures oppressed by a third.

Think of Quarantine the Past as a cousin to Hot Rocks or the Red and Blue Albums: it doesn’t tell you everything you need to know, but as a primer, it’s hard to beat.

A Sufi and a Killer is nearly impossible to place or categorize, and this ageless quality is only embellished by Gonjasufi's vocal work, which at times sounds like a mystic channeling spirits from another dimension. Truly visionary.

Few songs from either record match the bombast of his work with Broken Social Scene, perhaps, but Collett’s albums are better viewed as part of a whole, and Rat A Tat Tat strengthens the country-fried side of his solo personality.

Shallow Effects is almost shockingly coherent. Instead of a big, sprawling mess, the arrangements — which incorporate everything from glockenspiel to Mellotron — offer complex but controlled layers of sound that never seem too thick or unwieldy.

Home Acres never breaks any new barriers and it's less cerebral than earlier outings, but it’s a good, consistent listen that showcases the band in their comfort zone.

Sour backpackers and over-scrutinizing fans that hold the Kidz in high regard may be disappointed by all the light-heartedness, but trim the fat and the party people will be rewarded with a vibrant, clever celebration.

Big Echo takes a page from Pet Sounds by allowing the production to shine on its own, highlighting the studio embellishments but never shifting focus away from the band’s own hooks.

As languid as the whole affair is, it’s hardly sleepy, as Dienel can switch from pixie crooner (“Moon Jam”) to sweet soul sister (“Begin Again”) at the flip of a switch, resulting in a collection of bedroom songs that not only engage upon first listen, but beg to played throughout the rest of the house, as well.

The result is a globe-trotting pop album that sounds like nothing he's attempted before, yet still retains enough of his signature arrangements to make Rouse’s multi-ethnic transformation a believable one.

The dividing line between these two types of songs is a subjective one, to be sure, but even devoted fans would probably agree that the bulk of The Bundles--the first recorded output from a longstanding though intermittent collaboration between these two leading lights of anti-folk--lands sadly but squarely in the latter category.

Allan had a hand in co-writing five of the songs on Get Off on the Pain, which will likely go down as one of the best albums of his career.

Several of the songs here are top-tier extrovert post-punk, neatly organized threshings as invigorating as any material from Mission of Burma or their farther-flung counterparts.