The Fray's sophomore release picks up where How to Save a Life left off, reprising the same blend of piano-led ballads and midtempo pop/rock that helped establish the band in 2005.

Doolittle is nothing if not steady, making all the right moves at the right times, sounding at once like a seasoned pro and someone who feels everything she sings while never forcing or faking anything out. It's one of the smartest, most likable albums from an American Idol alum yet.

The whole is still a game enough effort, if nothing else showing Houck's excellent taste in song choices.

Love Hate and Then There's You is the Von Bondies' most consistent album yet.

It would be nice if some of the titular burn could be felt on Dierks Bentley's fourth studio album, but Feel That Fire is an atypically cautious, calculated affair from one of Nashville's best singer/songwriters of the 2000s.

These are chilling sounds from a dark place that, nonetheless, shelter the listener. Between the European and stateside physical releases of the album, Cooper passed away. Knowledge of that could only intensify the album's most passive spins.

Changing Horses marks a defining moment in the songwriter's career, offering up a batch of pastiche-free country music that, like Ryan Adams' "Jacksonville City Nights," may be a promising sign of what's to come.

"Don't You Fake It" may have suffered from a lack of variety, but Lonely Road is plagued by different diseases: misguided ambition, outlandish excess, and a bad case of the ol' sophomore slump.

Definitely track down 'Meet Me in the Garden' as it stands head and shoulders above the rest of the album, but give the rest a chance too.

If you want to hear a singer's singer, one who can move you to the core of your being with her way of interpreting a song, Wynonna Judd's deeply moving, authentic Sing: Chapter 1 is a fine place to begin. This may be her finest hour.

The Mountain is a more diverse set than the old Heartless Bastards gave us, it's still rooted in the same emotionally direct songwriting and performing that is this band's trademark, and for all that's changed with the band, Wennerstrom has held on to her core virtues.

Bemis and Conley may wield the most power here, but Two Tongues debut is a collaborative effort through and through, with the band taking measures to prove its debt to past traditions and present friends.

A little more variation from song to song, a little more of their own sound, or another song or two as compelling as the best stuff here and the POBPAH's debut would have been classic. Settling for impressive is fair enough and good enough for fans of loud, fuzzy, and heartfelt indie noise pop.

Willie's voice can sound a bit gruff and rough--this is as comfortable and welcoming as a familiar old leather jacket. It's no surprise that it feels good.

It's often catchy and kinetic in the moment, yet it still feels like Franz Ferdinand has the potential to do more with their music than just slightly tweak and polish a sound they established several albums ago.

A large part of Springsteen's appeal has always been how the E Street Band has sounded as big and open as his heart, but Working on a Dream, like "Magic" before it, has a production that feels tiny and constrained even as it is layered with extraneous details.

This is pure NPR music, all neo-jazz melodies and martini-lounge flourishes without the sly bite of its predecessor.

Disenchantment with the state of rap, and society as a whole, is a major underlying theme, but the statements never feel too preachy or in your face. Instead, the vocal freestyles hover just slightly above the music, delivered in an amorphous mumble that matches the sonic abyss of the background perfectly.

Dear John shows that Svanangen has really gotten his act together; it makes good on all the tremulous, tender, wistful promise of his debut.

It is stronger all-around than "Supernova," the poor 2001 album that never came out in the States, with the stitches less audible than the average post-humous album. And yet, nothing here comes close to rivaling the best TLC material.

The fact they fit so well says a lot about this music, and while there are moments of genuine beauty and grace, this is a far cry from what these men achieved in their prime.

Frusciante has done a nice job of carving an identity completely separate from his main gig, and Empyrean fits nicely with his other solo albums.

Paranoid Cocoon establishes its sound early, so anybody initially put off by all of the cloudy skies and soft, neo-psychedelic mountain melancholy will inevitably come away disappointed, but fans of James Yorkston, Richard Hawley, M. Ward, and mild hangovers will eat this up, and rightly so.

Despite this barrage of invective, it's strangely reassuring hearing the oft-preprogrammed Hoobastank break free from their constraints.

Neither horrible nor great, Time of the Assassins is an unassuming album, a working holiday that was probably more enjoyable to make than for anyone besides die-hard Strokes fans to hear.

Among Sheik's albums this ranks among the best, showcasing his subtle skills and sense of quiet adventure in ways his sometimes fussy earlier records never did.

Old Money is so far-reaching, it will likely piss off some of his fans while making others nearly swoon with its unwieldy rockist excesses. As for winning new fans to his cause? You bet.

It's a fantastic album, and one of the standout metal records of the year; it's just too bad that it's kind of embarrassing to admit that you're a fan.