They do add a distinct Norwegian metal patina to the whole affair, resulting in a listening experience that can feel a little like cueing up tracks from At the Gates, Black Flag, and Dimmu Borgir, and then pressing play on all three, which is not necessarily a bad thing.

While its melancholic and understated nature may not make much of an impression on first listen, it soon reveals itself to be a record of beauty which only confirms her undeniable class.

The band's mastery of various styles, moods, and sounds here is impressive, and while it bodes well for future albums, it also means that Hooded Fang have arrived as one of the most exciting indie rock/pop bands around in 2013.

Even if some of the songs have spare, measured rhythms that seem easy enough to follow, the group will make the guitar notes spiral into strange directions or build the feedback up to hair-raising levels.

The tributes come across as affectionate rather than rote. That's due in large part to a distinctive, emphatic voice and lyrics concerned with their own troubles and colorful characters.

There's plenty to dissect on Run Fast Sleep Naked, with subsequent listens revealing new layers and surprises. With this deliberate rebranding to a more authentic self, Murphy delivers a more genuine vision that is satisfying and brimming with imagination.

Familiar in style and approach, Engine of Paradise offers a sturdy distillation of Green's worldview, albeit a slightly darker one.

Much of the album follows this complex formula of heavy emotions and sunny sounds, with Lauv finding a way to turn his dark memories, bad trips, and deepest regrets into something digestible and light.

While Megan strays somewhat from the formula of invincible confidence and crowd-pleasing summer anthems that we're used to from MTS, its moments of bitterness and uncertainty do a lot to humanize the larger-than-life rap queen, one whose head has grown heavy from wearing the crown.

Worlds Apart might be a noble failure, but it would probably be worse if it just revisited previous successes.

If it were condensed down to one disc, it would appeal to more than the most devout.

On Idol, all this unformed youthfulness was endearing, but on this debut she just seems green, not quite ready for the big leagues she's been pushed into.

The Fiery Furnaces' hyperactive creativity keeps them fascinating in concert, on record, and on Remember's one of a kind fusion of those worlds.

No Help Coming is an improvement over Golightly's previous work with the Brokeoffs, but this music still doesn't capture this gifted artist at her best.

His debut's failure to capitalize on his unique selling point means it's likely to leave everyone else nonplussed.

Christmas in Reno will not likely be welcomed in most extended-family, five-CD holiday shuffles, so enjoy it as intended, alone in a basement apartment with some stockpiled wine on Christmas Eve.

The Serenity of Suffering is a welcome return to a time when Korn were at the top of their game. It's one of their best albums, almost heart-warming in its cathartic familiarity.

The Fall winds up a little ephemeral, its pleasures as fleeting as the scenery passing outside the windows of a tour bus.

Ruby Red feels like it was built on a foundation of half-formed ideas that spontaneously (and explosively) evolved into fully functioning mini-epics during the recording process, resulting in something akin to a more focused GBV or a less strung-out Spiritualized.

Yes, Victory for the Comic Muse has its funny moments, its sad asides, and some of the now standard Nyman minimalist moments, but in the Divine Comedy's overall discography it's a rather slight and often flat affair with unfortunate suggestions that Hannon might have milked the comic cow dry.

They've managed an interesting blend of that style with the free-form structures of film soundtracking, the results of which are intriguing although rarely crucial.

Here, production is the star, adding excitement and variety to Future's reliable, trap-star flow. 808 Mafia's Southside is at the top of the pack, with a hand in at least half of the album's tracks.

We Are the Night is no departure, although it does reveal Tom Rowlands and Ed Simons showing some build-to-suit character instead of angling for the straitjacket-tight and over-serious dance music of their past ten years.

As pure music, Black Label Society remain as effective as they ever were on Order of the Black.

The nearly hour-long running time drags somewhat, and some songs could have been left off the final cut. Still, The Voice of the Heroes is carried primarily by Durk and Baby's chemistry as they adapt to each other without either of them watering down their individualistic styles.

Tuning out the conceptual aspect is close to impossible, but there are some moments--as in the hypnotic "Shanghai Freeway"--that can be enjoyed on a purely musical level.

The Enemy Chorus is a strangely formidable album, and in its own way, a daring one, too -- these songs of revenge, oppression, emptiness, and despair might puzzle some fans at first, but they certainly are impressive.

This is an addictive record, enveloping in its sound and memorable in its songs.