It's as much of a prank as an album, but after over 20 years as one of America's most consistently rewarding indie rock acts, Yo La Tengo are entitled to a bit of fun.

One listen is enough to inform the listener that this is a group of very talented musicians who are quite capable of writing tight pop songs, but don't seem terribly interested--at this point in time anyway--in going that route.

Doom hasn't changed a whit, but by the same token, he sounds like he's repeating himself. Deft diction is one thing he's got in spades, but there aren't many lines here that will get burned into your neurons.

Since the Riverboat Gamblers are regarded as one of the best live acts on the current punk scene, it seems curious that Underneath the Owl follows the strategy of sounding as little like a live performance as possible, and it neuters a band that knows how to get wild in the studio.

Between these two bookends ['Indian Summer and 'Why Do Men Stray'] is the most consistent music DeGraw has yet made--yes, it gets a tad simpy and he could use at least one hook as big as 'I Don't Wanna Be,' but Free manages to flow easily and warmly, something that couldn't quite be said of the blue-eyed soul bluster of his first two albums.

LotusFlow3r is constrained by its guitar-heavy concept, offering great moments instead of great whole songs.

On MPLSound, Prince takes his retro mission seriously enough to offer up a few songs nervy enough to be singles, even if the synthesized thrill of this handful of tunes is undercut by a bunch of slow-burning ballads that do their best to rival 'The Arms of Orion.'

This attempt at old-fashioned star-making might have worked if Bria Valente had a smidgeon of star charisma but she's merely a pleasantly breathy crooner, slipping easily into Prince's shimmering quiet storm production.

The unsurprisingly inconsistent R.O.O.T.S. is hip-hop like Nas never happened, a flash or fodder album owing more to Lady GaGa than to Public Enemy.

The album isn't a total disaster, though, there are a few songs that manage to overcome the record's flaws and deliver some excitement.

Though the record could use a few more high points, there are enough hooky songs and exciting performances to make it very promising.

Colonia may share with the Cardigans' late records that polished yet entirely too comfortable sound that reveals few insights, but it deftly presents Persson's uncomfortable vision of a world with little left to hold onto.

Asleep in the Bread Isle is an everyday suburban rap album, if there is such a thing.

Mean Everything to Nothing has its moments and shows Hull to be a decent enough songwriter, but there's ultimately too much outright mimicry on display and not enough originality for it to have any longevity.

Too intelligent and well-crafted to dismiss but too disjointed and self-indulgent to really embrace, Love the Future is equally frustrating and promising.

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.

Too many of the songs settle into lackluster grooves, and pairing those grooves with Vermue's style-over-substance vocal affectations makes the album less than memorable.

Even if Ciara imaginatively develops the "Super C" superhero introduced in the disc's booklet, she and her collaborators will have to work extra hard on the next album to ensure that she does not stall in a creative cul de sac.

It's far from revolutionary and it's certainly not deep, but as often as not, Entertainment at least manages to live up to its title.

Shifting into metalcore territory is a tricky decision, since a lot of their initial appeal was due to the fact that they were making their own personal stamp on revitalizing punk--a genre that's becoming increasingly saturated with commercialism. Here, they seem less unique.

While Quicken the Heart isn't bad, its slide into the nondescript is certainly disappointing.

Amos doesn't record as much as most artists, and it must be tempting to give fans everything she can, but in this case, it's hurt her a bit. Still there, are many tracks here worth adding to one's Amos shelf.

Romanian Names holds the unfortunate and surprising distinction of being the very first John Vanderslice album to feel like just another John Vanderslice album.

A handful of similar tracks suffer from this same problem of ambition over inspiration, but for every miss, there's a hit.

This album marks the return of former bassist Twiggy Ramirez to the band, but as ever the Manson personality/persona towers over everything else, and his two or three musical ideas are repeated throughout the disc, with only a few exceptions.

It all adds up to a good but frustrating album of really solid highs and really annoying lows.

This is an interesting diversion giving insight into the band's coordinates.

Just Go, slightly more so than Coming Home, tends to be a happy (and comforting) medium between Richie's familiar approach and contemporary R&B.