Produced by James Dring (Gorillaz) and Youth (the Verve), its ten tracks prove McClure's way with words is far less clunky when focusing on satirical tales of everyday life than trying to put the world to rights.

The album succeeds more often than it flounders, and even then, the singin' and pickin' is so good that it's hard not to submit, but one wishes that the pair had decided to infuse the collection with a bit more of their signature wit, as much of The Ash & Clay feels a bit like a serious Flight of the Conchords.

As good as the by-the-books ballads and rocking country are, the moments when the façade slips a bit make this worth hearing as an album and not a collection of singles.

This is merely designed to please the diehards... if anybody else happens to like it or if it stumbles into a hit, that's merely a bonus.

While the band might be adjusting after a shake-up like losing a singer, they've still managed to create another riff-fest that, while not a throwback to their older sound, has them continuing down their current path without much trouble.

["Skillzone" is] one the few times the album offers a "punch in the gut." Everything else is more "hands in the air" and from every radio-friendly strain of wonky pop, giving the impression that The Ascent is a mixtape of Wiley features and not a proper album.

Rkives rounds up existing rarities--several B-sides and demos--and six unheard songs, plus a remix featuring Too $hort. That is the most radical shift in sound on Rkives but there are hints of the glitzy bombast of Blacklight scattered throughout the collection.

There are times on Wheelhouse where Paisley simply has too many balls in the air and they're destined to fall.

Hotel California refuses to sort his over-the-top bangers into anything sensible, and without a "Rack City" to make it crossover worthy, this is a full-length to leave for the fans.

The album sounds as if it were cut in the living room late one night, the bandmembers easing into songs they've always loved but never played.

The style of music ranges from heady precision punk to rustic acoustic folk, but because the artists on board share in the same optimistic indie spirit, the compilation plays cohesively from start to finish.

Resilience mostly lives up to the promise of its moniker, delivering another well-executed, purely fan-centric collection of testosterone-fueled, post-grunge/processed metal jams with a complete disregard for subtlety.

Dramatic and sweeping, the Las Vegas band works in the same vein as pop giants Coldplay, offering up track after track of hooky and emotional midtempo jams.

At the end of the day, The Melvins know what they're all about, but with Everybody Loves Sausages, listeners get the chance to roam around in their heads, if only for 50 minutes or so.

As for English Little League, the three records the band did in 2012 are all stronger collections, but this is hardly a failure. One just has to search a little harder to find the good songs this time.

For all of its weirdness, this album feels more like a pop record than his debut, and while Auerbach certainly didn't scrub all of the dirt and grime off of the album, it feels a lot more put together, bearing a lot of resemblance to the Black Keys' later work.

Their furious lyrics and chunky guitar lines are standard moshing and stage-diving material, but fans will be satisfied nonetheless.

Marius Bubat and Georg Conrad, assisted by an assorted cast who visited their Cologne, Germany studio--including vocalists Ada and Edi Winarni, and a handful of instrumentalists--have made one of the Kompakt label's more entertaining and less serious albums.

Transit break the emo-pop formula and head in a pleasant, pleasurable, indie-centric direction for their second album on Rise.

So cheerful is Golden that it seems a little churlish to complain that the songs here aren't grabbers: they're slow burns, designed to sink into the subconscious through repeated plays on radio, in-store sound systems, waiting rooms, and bumper music.

Time winds up a bit muddled, swinging from moments of genuine sweetness toward sharp saccharine, but even with all its flaws it's nice to hear Stewart engaged again, both as a writer and a singer.

While Maines' singing is the glue that holds everything together, the set's overly polished production and the scattershot curation of the material makes it feel like more like just a haphazard collection of songs than a cohesive album.

Nobody is concerned with reinterpreting the songs or surprising a listener, they just want to enjoy re-creating sounds and tunes they've loved, an attitude that's rarely alienating although it's never quite infectious, either.

For longtime fans, Cloud Room, Glass Room offers exactly you desire from PA. For those who've listened in occasionally, enjoyed what you've heard, and are seeking change in Nelson's aural aesthetic, listen elsewhere; this music wasn't made for you in the first place.

While a totally pleasant album not too far removed from the dense sound they've been working in, the dour sentiments are barely hidden below the softly spacy atmospherics, and when they do pop out, the combination of ugly hard times and pretty music can be unsettling.

Ultimately, this isn't an album of purpose, it's a collection of moments, and it has just enough good ones to solidify Demi Lovato's comeback.

This is stately, sweet Europop, the kind that could have been released any time over the last 30 years, but it's given a warm, reassuring quality by Agnetha Fältskog, who retains an appealing, easy touch that separates her from her successors and still resonates all these years later.

As uneven as Curiosity sometimes is, its mix of goofiness and melancholy is compelling enough to make it hard to dismiss Wampire completely.