Watch Me Dance is a triumphant speaker-blasting party record that cements Toddla T's reputation as the U.K.'s bass wonderkid.

Ultimately, Grouplove's Never Trust a Happy Song is a cohesive if ramshackle crowd-pleaser, full of melodic double-lead vocals, handclaps, ringing electric guitars, and staccato synth parts that tips a hat to '80s dance-rock while still retaining the band's obvious love of experimental '60s folk-rock.

This focus on approachability over impenetrability makes Dreams Come True not only a welcoming debut, but a fantastic entry point into the more experimental side of electronic music.

Granted, they're not fishing for another viral earworm here, but you'd think they could come up with something better -- for the lead single, no less -- than "Michael Jackson"'s feeble placeholder of a refrain.

While their play-it-safe approach may mean they're less likely to suffer the rapid sales decline of their contemporaries, they are now in danger of becoming indie pop's answer to Westlife.

Staind may not be much more than noise -- it's not especially hooky or melodic -- but the group wins points for unexpectedly delivering something visceral.

Ironically, this very looseness not only results in a lively listen, but the polite messiness of Pajama Club winds up as a greater testament to his songwriting skills than the last Crowded House album; as the cliché goes, his throwaways are better than many artist's keepers.

As a record, this The Sea of Memories is easily the most enjoyable collection of songs released under Bush's name.

Daybreak is successful on two levels: in the way it touches on the best elements of Saves the Day's past works, it's a welcome entry point for new listeners; and with its freshness, it assures established fans that the band is still invigorated after going at it for over a decade.

For the Devil Wears Prada's fourth album, Dead Throne, the Christian metalcore six-piece is at its most technical and most brutal.

While fans might be disappointed that the album doesn't feature "Herb" Alexander, they'll have a hard time being disappointed with Green Naugahyde, an album that will satisfy those in the know while continuing, as Primus always have, to baffle the uninitiated.

Believers sounds much more like Bondy has simply followed his own muse for a change, and the results reveal his confidence was well founded.

Butcher Boy were always going to find it hard to step out of the shadows of their more celebrated chamber pop neighbors, and while Helping Hands is by no means a miserable failure in doing so, it's at its strongest when it embraces their similarities rather than their differences.

Although Guest's interpretations work well as an accompaniment piece, it's the return-to-form original (also included here in its entirety) which remains the more essential listen.

Go Tell Fire to the Mountain is surprisingly just a little too ordinary to be considered the groundbreaker many anticipated.

In the Grace of Your Love is the band's most powerful and vital album thus far.

The only downside to the album is that the songs begin to blend together a little by the end, but in a comfortably warm way instead of a boring, take-the-record-off-now kind of way.

Deep it is not, and its aspirations to be something greater keep it from being truly trashy fun, but there are enough energy and hooks to keep Money and Celebrity entertaining.

Everything's easy and natural, and the Stepkids sound more like purveyors of the genre than imitators. Quite an accomplishment.

Over-processed and chaotic it may be, but never bereft of invention, Complete Me is always an intriguing listen that confirms the arrival of one of the U.K. dance scene's most exciting talents.

Since he's operating on a small scale, none of this soars or rocks--the way In Reverse or Girlfriend did, respectively--yet the charm of Modern Art is its intimacy.

A quietly remarkable debut, The Year of Hibernation is equally suited to hiding underneath the covers and throwing them off to face the day.

Zig Zaj sounds more like a rehash than the entirely new recipe that music fans are undoubtedly looking for.

Keeping such a schizophrenic affair entertaining and connected is a feat in itself, and Spank Rock's second album shows that, despite long odds, Juwan can succeed on his own terms.

As a whole, it feels a bit too laid-back, especially given its nearly 70-minute length.

Hunt has outdone himself, and it's possible he's just getting started.

So judge not, indie rockers and other self-satisfied musical tribes: any way you slice it, the aging rock audience is hungry and, flawed as they may be, Chickenfoot are just the guys to feed them.

Sweetheart of the Sun is a remarkably good record that comes long after anyone may have expected the Bangles to do anything much at all.