Weirdon feels more lighthearted than its predecessor, offering just as many aggressive guitar freakouts and blasts of antagonistic noise, but handing them over this time with a smirk instead of a scowl.

We Loved Her Dearly shows a lot of promise and there's plenty to like about Lowell's attitude and talent, but some gentle tightening of her vision would go a long way in strengthening her image.

Space Invader is the required retro return, one that's well-executed, from its '80s video game title to its mix of thick, singalong rockers and laid-back guitar show pieces.

I Don't Dance may sink its teeth in slightly slowly, but that's Brice's style: he lets the listener come to him and, once they're there, he offers a warm seduction that lasts not just for a night but for a relationship.

It's mindful of the past but stands happily in the present, and this release doesn't mourn the loss of a gifted songwriter and vocalist so much as it celebrates the joy he found in his music, and this album will bring a smile to anyone who loved Jesse Winchester's music.

Ultimately, Dead Man's Town is a good idea executed poorly, an effort to peel back the veneer from Springsteen's songs that manages to toss away much of the core at the same time.

This set manages to be reverent to Waller's original recordings, but since facsimile was never the goal, it also manages to create a completely new veneer for them, and the end result is a marvelous tribute that still retains its own shape and coherency.

Ultimately, Partners works as guided tour down Streisand's memory lane, and with her resonant voice still in supple shape, any excuse to hear her sing is a welcome invitation.

On Worship the Sun, their subtle excavation is even more impressive, richly rendered, and worth checking out than before.

A really strong album that shows Mazes growing in just the right way, adding some maturity and substance without sacrificing the things (great songs, youthful energy) that made them worth hearing in the first place.

It all makes for riveting listening for anyone willing to let Vessel punish--and reward--their ears.

The EP feels like a great extension of Julia with Blue Jeans On, and one can't help but wonder what phase Krug will develop toward with the next Moonface installment as he moves from one place to the next.

It puts together all the elements they've worked with in the past and added a few more, and the result is an emotionally powerful work that sounds great and is easy to dance, dream, or get bummed along to.

As direct as a touch and as subtle as feelings, This Is My Hand is exciting in a way that's different from Worden's previous work--when she sings "this is my time" on the title track, it's hard not to agree with her.

Brown combines memorable hooks with some stellar production work on the rubbery disco-funk of "Add Me In" (courtesy of Danja) and the blithe, swaying "Time for Love" (a collaboration with Jean Baptiste and Free School). In these and a few other songs, romantic affection, expressed with seemingly genuine sweetness, takes precedence over sexual aggression and petulance.

Though the complete stylistic overhaul is admirable, the earliest results of Ices' experimentation with her new sound are pleasant at times but less than gripping overall.

Aiko can be maddeningly platitudinal and singsongy, but her one dimension is a specific balmy backdrop provided by no one else.

Stripped of some its flair, the band sounds both invigorated and a tad unsteady (an Albini trademark), but never have they sounded more muscular.

Coming from the creative hotbed of modern-day Berlin, it seems like they could have pushed the envelope a bit more.

The gorgeous and haunting ending leaves more than a few questions unanswered, and begs listeners to play the album again from the start to seek them out once more.

The album feel as though it's fighting with itself, ultimately leaving the record feeling more conflicted than confrontational.

Jaiyede Afro marks a welcome return for Orlando Julius and overall is an excellent, fingerpopping, ass-shaking collaboration.

While this far more polished version of Lemonade is barely recognizable when held up to their earlier incarnations, their more developed aptitude toward hooks, melody, and intricate dance production makes Minus Tide a much more memorable--and in its own way, equally visceral--listening experience.

Delta Spirit's commercial aspirations may be more apparent this time around, but they've done an awfully nice job in pairing that inclination with material that benefits from the slick production, resulting in their most cohesive (and television- and film-ready) collection of songs to date.

Perfect Hair contains all the usual reasons Busdriver is wonderful, just with a little more sugar baked in.

While the rest of us went to work or college or worse after graduation, Avi Buffalo hit the road, but they too spent those formative years navigating the strange cognitive duality of post-high school young adulthood, and the sad, strange, and beautiful At Best Cuckold does an awfully nice job distilling that unease into audio form.

Even more ambitious, rewarding and exciting than its predecessor, Carnival of Souls is a thrilling album that raises expectations for the trilogy's final installment to the skies.

Even if it doesn't have as much of the jagged need that sparked their best work, El Pintor is Interpol's most consistent album since Antics; fans who love the band for its pure sound will probably enjoy it more than those looking for stop-you-in-your-tracks moments.