Rot is the kind of album only a band with a full grasp of rock & roll history could have made--no doubt they've worn out a copy or two of Radios Appear in their time--and it should appeal to anyone who likes their punk scrappy as can be with a bunch of wiry pop mixed in, too.

Overall, this is a strong debut with heart, style, and some nice hooks.

Ultimately, Tribute to 2 is uneven and fuzzy. When it works, it's lovely; when it doesn't, it's a head-scratcher. This is for fans only.

Like Ryuichi Sakamoto's async, Finding Shore seems to find magic in everyday objects and scenes.

Front-loaded with a trio of deceptively powerful singles ("Smoke Signals," "Motion Sickness," and "Funeral"), the ten-track set loses some focus near the end, but Bridgers remains such a compelling presence throughout, that even her less immediate material bears weight.

Although Uzi's post-breakup pain rears its head throughout the entirety of the album, many of the tracks are too fun to get too bogged down in emotions.

A thrumming version of "Afro Blue" excepted, Lilies is a set of originals--one that's enticing and breathtaking in an unconventional, as in almost stifling, sense.

All of this is familiar, so what counts on Prince of Tears is execution, and from top to bottom, it's one of his strongest albums, benefitting from his assurance and lack of nonsense.

As a debut, it has enough standout moments to pique interest in a future when Smith could stand toe to toe with his many inspirations.

With Rest, she grows more fearless as an artist while facing her losses, and the future, with courage and love.

Permo is a fine work by a band finding its feet; a rousing rumble through the wilds of Scottish pop; and the kind of record lovers of knotty guitars, deadpan (but deep) emotions, and undersold (but undeniably lasting) melodies should recognize and embrace like an old friend in new clothing.

Kweli persists as one of the most inspired storytellers, wasting no syllables as he condenses and elucidates complex non-fiction.

With The Architect, Faith has constructed an album of empowered, mainstream pop that retains all of the complexity, artfulness, and raw emotion of her previous work.

Post Self is more moody than direct, and isn't the most hard-hitting, immediate album in the Godflesh catalog, but for anyone who equally appreciates Broadrick's metal and electronic sides, the album is as stunning as one would expect.

Neil is making music for the moment and he doesn't much care if it lasts beyond that day or not, and while living in the moment is a good way to get through life, it doesn't do much for albums.

It's a collection of moments, just like From a Room, Vol. 1, but that's the charm of From a Room, Vol. 2. Stapleton isn't crafting a major statement; he's knocking out a bunch of songs that work on their own terms--and when the two records are combined, it's clear he's the lifer he intends to be.

A bigger soundstage doesn't necessarily suit the BBC sessions, where the primitive production suits the raw performances--for proof, listen to the second disc in the deluxe set, which wasn't de-mixed--but it's ultimately a minor flaw in what's otherwise an essential set.

Retro-conning the existing Songs of Experience material to suit the political climate wasn't the easiest task and the album often shows its seams, particularly when Bono decides to tackle the crisis head-on.

Versatile certainly has its flaws and will likely appeal mostly to longtime fans, but Morrison invests himself in each tune, singing as if he wrote them. This is head and shoulders above similar efforts by his peers.

The soft rock/cosmic country angle of In an Open Field is another chapter that further cements his mastery as a singer, composer, and producer.

This kind of proudly theatrical arrangement would suit Amy Lee well for years, and that's why Synthesis doesn't feel like a holding pattern: It feels like the start of a new chapter.

While the B-52's belatedly embraced electronics on 2008's Funplex, Change finds Wilson doing the same, but from a decidedly different vantage point, and it fits her beautifully; it's a successful musical reinvention that presents her talent in a whole new light.

Utopia isn't quite as idyllic as its title implies, but its mix of idealism and realism makes it an even greater success as a manifesto for radically open love and as a document of thriving after loss.

Compared to the debut, this has a little more definition.

Dark Eyed Messenger is easily the songwriter's most intimate and sparsely decorated album thanks to assistance from Doveman. Their pairing amounts to a nearly alchemical wonder that gives us one of the songwriter's best offerings.

Ultimately, listeners who can embrace the idiosyncrasies of Rothman's voice and the throwback production (don't miss the Kristin Kontrol track, "Jordan," for that niche Casio-and-saxophone sound) will find an intriguing if hit-and-miss set of underlying songs with strokes of classic Brill Building and sophisti-pop.

Not all of his juxtapositions or segues seem to make sense, and the album seems a bit overstuffed, but Jonti's ambition and creativity are undeniably admirable, and the entire album is a delightfully strange trip.

The tracks feel more like musical poems than songs. Poetic lyrics that refer to ogres, unicorns, and ghosts only reinforce this impression. Taken together, the album may challenge even some indie-tuned ears, but at its best, its catchy, composed strangeness is refreshing and compelling.