Despite its ominous (and lofty) title, No More Stories/Are Told Today/I'm Sorry/They Washed Away/No More Stories/The World Is Grey/I'm Tired/Let's Wash Away is a dreamy blend of circular melodies and odd time signatures that requires multiple listens (this is par for the course with any Mew album) and a significant amount of cinematic stamina from the listener, and though it may not appeal to the masses, its mass is definitely appealing.

For the most part, He Was King emphasizes pop accessibility--and it often does so with catchy, likable results.

Add Kahne's instantly accessible production and Light is not only a welcome surprise, but an album that matches his debut.

Shaka Rock squanders the promise Jet showed on their previous work, and even if they soldier on and release another ten albums, this feels like the end of the road for them.

It's a creation that's slicker and sleeker than the debut, but fortunately, it's not quite at the expense of Caillat's simple charms.

In the meantime, this may be a holding pattern, but it's one worth holding on to. Diminishing results are, after all, still results.

These clean, open arrangements tend to make the songs seem catchier than they actually are--the hooks don't grab, they repeat like softened incantations that never quite catch hold--but that does give No Baggage an nice, gentle shimmer that's appealing.

While the six tracks that follow don't wallow in the same waters of failed redemption as the title track, they do cling to Furr's folksier moments, resulting in a solid addendum for those who prefer Blitzen Trapper's Bob Dylan meets the Grateful Dead fetish over their visceral, vaguely psychedelic Southern indie rock jams.

Ingram's latest doesn't fit the definition of a work by an artist, because this set isn't original in any way. It seems that he can not only live with this compromise, but he freely chose it, and celebrates it here.

Even though the album may be enough of a stretch that it could chase away many of the band's fans, if you give it a chance, Memoirs at the End of the World is a completely successful melding of the Postmarks' autumnal sweetness with the elevated drama and epic nature of film scores.

Just about all of it is enjoyable, but not much of it sticks.

The set is both familiar and fresh-sounding at once.

Rarely does an independent album sound so assured, so polished, and so agreeable.

Peñate's enthusiasm for not only his source material, but for the empty canvas of 21st century commercial music itself, feels genuine enough, resulting in an infectious club- and radio-ready collection of cosmopolitan pop that feels both familiar and expansive.

Even if he doesn't quite have the vocal presence to fully inhabit this stage, his taste and melodic skills are suited for this bigger scale so My Old, Familiar Friend winds up as an effective showcase for his craftsmanship even if it never quite grabs ahold the way "Lapalco" did.

Most of the album stays true to a light flavor, and Welcome Joy is a nice, comfortable listen, right up there with "Invitation Songs."

The bottom line here is that Keep on Loving You may jar some longtime Reba fans on first listen, but despite the record's sound it's all her in this mix, and they will more than likely celebrate this.

Ultimately, Blood from Stars is the most sophisticated, redemptive, and romantic album Henry's cut; the love songs are simply raggedly breathtaking.

It's overrun by the dissonance of half-step progressions and minor-chord crunch, and it's constantly excruciating.

Wind's Poem strikes a balance between accessibility and ambition that offers something for every kind of Elverum fan, but never sacrifices its purpose in the process.

Throughout, You Can't Take It with You represents the sound of a band striking a delicate balance between emotional directness and artful experimentation.

Here, Ledisi wails and belts with a kind of power previously untapped--in recorded form, at least--all the while maintaining remarkable finesse.

This is essentially a thinking man's album, though, more indicative of the band's breadth than its ability to make hit singles.

Treat Ursa Major as an EP, forgetting the second half.

Wolf has often stated that he has no allegiance to styles when it comes to recording, but The Bachelor feels most alive when it's wallowing in its own dusky ruin.

To be sure, this is recognizably within his comfort zone--as always, when you do it as well as he does, there's no need to change--but beneath that supple exterior there are a few surprises, chief among them the re-emergence of Strait the songwriter.

That eagerness to sell out can be grating, especially when her 2009 debut slides into glassy ballads, but fortunately she's also picked up (perhaps unwittingly) on the underlying oddness of Aguilera and Perry, turning out purportedly mainstream pop that puts together familiar ingredients in weird ways.

We could have used more of the Incredible String Band or Richie Havens! But these are individual complaints. The set as it stands is the ultimate document--thus far--and will likely be for some time to come.