Listened to with an open mind, it's a refreshingly retro rock & roll album that uses its waste-oid imagination in capturing every fantasy that entered Bobby Gillespie's teenage mind.

Ten Thousand Fists does start to sound the same after a while. But those bloody zombies aren't going to stop pouring though the doorway, so it's a good thing it has at least 12 burly alt-metal rockers.

His flow is so good, his wordplay so sharp, it seems churlish to wish that he addressed something than his long-standing obsessions and demons.

Happy in Galoshes isn't quite as textured or bright as "12 Bar Blues"--the smaller budget is evident in its muted colors as well as Weiland's sleepy delivery--but it has the same emphasis on churning psychedelia and clomping glam.

He pushes the notion further on the brilliantly melodic, ennui-ridden baroque pop ballad "Anti-D," in which Blur's "karaoke songs" from "The Universal" have been replaced by the Wombats' own songs, which are better than "citalopram" and "to be prescribed as freely as any decongestants." The song, like the rest This Modern Glitch, makes the case for the Wombats as both rock stars and fools in their own pop star sitcom.

A less than engrossing record from Piano Magic was bound to happen at some point, but few could have predicted something as dull, drab, and ultimately powerless as Songs From the Chronic Fatigue Ward -- er, Writers Without Homes.

Jumping on the Radiohead bandwagon a couple years too late, For Stars' It Falls Apart cops so much of their sound and style it is almost ridiculous.

Despite the simplistic formulas present here, these young men have patched together a sound that is catchy and eager for additional spins.

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.

Die-hard Slits fans who aren't put off by the band's newfound professionalism or the greater reliance on keyboards at the expense of guitar will find their faith rewarded by Trapped Animal.

All the songs aim for intense, tormented statements and end up being about nothing. In this way, ! is more numbing than visceral. After it's done, it's hard to remember anything that was worth latching onto.

They have nothing on their mind other than making basic, black-and-white modern rock, and they do so efficiently on Leave This Town, a sophomore album that's every bit as satisfying as the first.

Given Brown's talents, it could have been much more.

Though Zero 7 are still not in the same class as Air (or even Phoenix), Yeah Ghost is an enjoyable record that shows them apparently on the way to something more unique.

Musically, it's closest to Adore, yet it's a distant cousin: if that album hinted at '80s synth rock and goth, this re-creates the spirit and sound of 1986, right down to the robotic pulse of the rhythms, the cold, slick surface of the production, and the brooding, self-absorbed atmosphere.

It's not particularly big or, indeed, clever, but it's a return to form that might just stop the rot, even if it's unlikely to reverse their fortunes dramatically.

They may not be as confident here as they were on their first album, but La Liberacion's best moments are direct and fun, and there's no shame in that.

All admirable attempts at honesty, yet these confessionals bear an uncomfortable resemblance to Lindsay Lohan's autobiographical A Little More Personal (Raw).

Morrissey’s singular personality is on full display, and just as uncompromising as ever, but sitting through an entire album of his musings and moanings circa 2026 is less than fun.

Derulo's still saying nothing--which is fine, since these are hooky, club cuts--but it's the talking louder that's the issue.

When the album ends and the various styles, songs, and moods are added up, Midnight Memories ends up as another satisfying album that does everything a One D album should do and then some.

Here, Sheeran's melodies are soft yet insistent, and the production glistens with flair borrowed from younger, hipper artists who mine a similar blend of retro new wave and modern R&B, but he knows how to turn this stylish sound into something cozy and reassuring.

Tenterhooks is one of the darker and more internal SSPU albums that stresses atmosphere over energy, which will hit listeners who enjoy their more thoughtful and introspective material, but may miss fans craving cathartic ragers and catchy anthems.

It’s all very eclectic and a bit unexpected -- two qualities that seem to be Keane’s modus operandi as of late -- but what’s missing is a pop anthem along the lines of “Again and Again” or “Bend and Break,” both of which allowed Tom Chaplin to flex his vocal chops on past albums.

While it seems they will probably never equal the majesty of their debut, Editors have dug themselves out of their artistic cul de sac at least long enough to plan their next move.

There's nary an ounce of diva in Lewis, she seems to enjoy singing for the sake of it, which helps her out on an album like Echo, where the melodies are elliptical, not catchy, designed to showcase range, not to stick in the head or evoke emotion.

Choruses, riffs and harmonies sound familiar because they're cribbed straight from some of the Replacements' best-known songs. The genuine sweetness and naivete that made this bald-faced theft more forgivable on earlier albums is harder to find here, leaving songs that are catchy enough but ultimately feel like hollow impersonations of someone else's work.

A Fine Mess is quintessentially Interpol, almost to a fault. While it's a little undercooked compared to the songs that appeared on Marauder, the EP may still please fans wanting more of that album's vibe.