Thirteen years on, that's still who Busted are, just three grown-up lads supplying a soundtrack to a night out on the town, even if their fans are now just as likely to be picking their kids up that night as hitting the clubs.

The Hidden Cameras have finally delivered on that promise with a collection of songs that find the sweet spot between homey and fabulous.

The boldness and hunger in Mandel's playing not only achieves the hallmarks of his best sides from the '60s and '70s, but at times reaches further. Not just a guitar nerd's album, Snake Pit is a stone killer from top to bottom.

No Exit is immediate; even raw in places. It's committed to the truths inside the songs, not an iconic performance (as 1990's Blazing Away was). For that reason, it belongs on every Faithfull fan's shelf.

While the album is technically one of Rumer's most faithfully old-school, it still sounds fresh, and the analog production aesthetic only works to magnify the purity, lyricism, and expressiveness of her voice.

The Notwist blends all of these sounds and eras together organically and with an excitement that suggests they'll never tire of finding different ways to combine their pop and experimental sides in concert as well as the studio.

All of these sounds are familiar, but his light touch means Gunslinger doesn't sound like pandering to the past but rather a cheerful acceptance of the present.

They prove to be naturals at soundtracks, creating something here that works like they said it would. While no doubt the score would work in perfect tandem with the film, it stands alone as a sterling example of the band's mastery of psychedelic music.

Classical Indian music is thoroughly interwoven with '60s psychedelia and pop--and the two are different, with the first emphasizing texture and the second structure--giving Elephant Stone a shimmering, off-kilter quality that's alluring.

Boots No. 1 plays less like an expansion of Revival than a document of a fertile period of creativity in the life of Gillian Welch, and while fans of the original album will revel in it, you don't have to be familiar with it to be dazzled by the subtle passion, intelligence, and eloquence of this music.

Stage is more Operation: Mindcrime-era Queensrÿche than it is Muse, and for all its opining on nanotechnology and interstellar travel, it still feels rooted in heavy metal tradition.

One needn't take in all 90 minutes of America's National Parks at one go; it might work better, for some, to absorb slowly. Either way, it masterfully balances solo and group improvisation, chamber sounds, modern jazz, and avant composition.

Yet another artful and modern amalgamation of machine soul and left-field pop, Redemption is similar to the earlier parts of the trilogy in that it gives the listener a sense of being swept up, though there's little in the way of fantasy or escape here.

With On Dark Silent Off, Radian sharpen their difficult sound into something more urgent and alarming than it ever was before.

While the band's resemblance to its forebears is still strong--especially on the standout "Forget," which Hot Chip would be proud to call their own--Boxed In sound more assured than ever as they expand on that legacy.

With Familiar Touch, DIANA continue to excel at writing songs that are soothing yet scarring.

Ultimately, Friends is a focused, clear-eyed album that finds White Lies trading some of the sprawling ambition of Big TV for the infectious pop urgency of their debut.

The Weight of These Wings isn't produced like a country-pop album, so it demands attention and rewards close listening. It is by no means tight, but its excess is also its asset because immersion reveals different pleasures with every spin.

If the riffs don't always sink in deeply--and if the entire production feels slightly monochromatic--what impresses here is the thought and musicality within the compositions and the performances, elements that have always been at the band's core and shine brightly on Hardwired... To Self-Destruct.

Even if Woman sometimes sounds more like two EPs than a cohesive set of songs, it's still an enjoyable album--especially when Justice use their flair for looking back creatively.

On his third album, Mars, joined primarily by old comrades Philip Lawrence, Brody Brown, and James Fauntleroy, sheds the reggae and new wave inspirations and goes all-out R&B. This is less an affected retro-soul pastiche--like, say, The Return of Bruno--than it is an amusing '80s-centric tribute to black radio.

It takes nothing for granted. The guitarist accounts for every sound and impression from his instrument and surroundings here, allowing the listener deep inside a sound world at the moment of its creation.

Packed full of confident exploration, sonic wizardry, expert guitar manipulation, and tight songcraft, this album of "leftovers" is as good as most of their contemporaries' best work.

It's an exhilarating rush, and even for a band that had never made the same record twice, it comes as a bit of a shock after the Men had been inching toward sounding like Bruce Springsteen or Tom Petty.

Even if Slugger might appeal more to Speedy Ortiz fans than Top 40 diehards, hearing Dupuis seek intimacy and independence is never less than pithy, fun, and thought-provoking.

This is no nostalgia trip or callous comeback. It's a giant exclamation point on the end of a brilliant career. It's also a tribute to the everyman genius of Phife, a widescreen look at the record-making skills of Q-Tip, and most importantly, it's a pure, undiluted, joyous thrill to have the Tribe back and still sounding this vital.

In general, the album focuses more on texture and fluidity than memorable tunes, so listeners aren't likely to find an earworm here, but they may find themselves humming along just the same.

On the whole comforting without seeming eager-to-please or, worse, becoming dull, Arms feels like a refresher of sorts, both for the band and for listeners.