Heritage, for its many excesses--and stellar conception and execution--is a brave album. It opens the door for Opeth to pursue many new directions and reinvent themselves as a band.

Given what a mixed bag tribute albums usually are, Dedicated is not only a surprise for its consistency, but a shining example of what they can--and should--be.

If The World Is Just a Shape to Fill the Night came out in a year when it seemed like there were even more sensitive folkie records than ever before, it also succeeds more than most of its contemporaries by virtue of its differing reference points.

Black and White is a refreshingly personal, authentic, and fresh take on a British urban scene that was starting to become slightly stale.

This may be Ladytron's most difficult album, but it's also one of their most cohesive.

The good news is that this album proves they are top-level purveyors of pop. The bad is that the eccentricity that once flowed freely feels forced.

If they keep making records as good as Mountaintops, they will have totally earned their gold watch and pension when they call it a day.

Nick would benefit from getting his feathers a little ruffled -- just a smidgeon of the lean country-rock of The Impossible Bird would go a long way -- yet there's still plenty of charm in the old crooner.

What follows is a lovingly balanced set of rural rockers ("Street Fighting Sun") and dirt road ballads ("Girl in a Coat") that sound about as far from the murky introspection of 2010's Destroyer of the Void as one would expect from a band that continuously tries to reinvent themselves within their own psych-folk/alt-country/indie rock universe, and almost always succeeds.

Era Extrana's lavish electro-pop proves that Neon Indian can be more than just chillwave.

Indeed, many of Portamento's songs are kind of miserable -- or at least they would be, if these knowing, glum lyrics weren't paired with naïve melodies and tempos that are too brisk to be mopey.

Three albums in, the young singer/songwriter sounds brave and confident yet breakable and guarded, and while A Creature I Don't Know may not be the bolt from the blue fans and critics were hoping for, it's most certainly storm born.

So, Own the Night is mood music but the aim isn't amorous; it's nothing more than a spot of relaxation, which doesn't quite amount to compelling listening no matter how immaculate the execution.

With West, WS plays post-history psychedelia; it is as necessary -- and freaky -- as anything from the eras that influenced it.

Polished yet heartfelt, Paradise finds Slow Club shoring up their strengths and exploring new territory with equal

Alice may be the star but much of the success of Welcome 2 My Nightmare is due to the man behind the curtain, as Ezrin gives this album flair and focus that not only make it an unexpectedly successful sequel but the best Alice Cooper record in decades.

Full of great lyrics and great playing, Strange Mercy is St. Vincent's most reflective and most audacious album to date, and Clark remains as delicately uncompromising an artist as ever.

Belladonna was welcomed back into the fold, and all the vocals were re-recorded. But to Anthrax's credit, it all fits together seamlessly, resulting in arguably their finest studio album since, well, the last one that Belladonna sang on!

If she can avoid the "trying to sound American" and "over-bearing lyrical preaching" mistakes of her pioneering U.K. urban predecessors, there's no reason why On a Mission can't be the start of a fruitful and glittering career.

A more concise and consistent outing than their debut, Hollow reaffirms that while Cut Off Your Hands may not be innovators, they're still quite good at what they do.

Country Hits: Bluegrass Style doesn't signal any kind of new direction for him and that may well be the album's most comfortable strength.

Few current bluegrass acts sing with the command and authority Lauderdale brings to his performances, and fewer still have a set of songs at their disposal as good as what Lauderdale and Hunter have composed for Reason and Rhyme, and it's another impressive installment in what's becoming one of the most interesting partnerships in roots music today.

Blessed with little of the showiness affectations of the X-Factor/American Idol generation, she can sell a song and inject it with age-appropriate enthusiasm that sustains her through the moments when Turn It Up glides by on its surface, while making the album--at its best--pretty damn infectious, too.

The rest of the album, despite a few detours into semi-indulgent, atonal glitch that shakes the fluidity of the record yet never really derails the train, keeps looking forward, hoping to find a light at the end of the tunnel, while knowing full well that it's only the first of many.

For longtime fans, Celestial Electric is about as good as one could have hoped for the coming together of two like-minded musicians.

Seeds We Sow is delightfully ragged.

If the livelier numbers initially make the strongest impression -- whether it's Al Anderson's sunny pop opener "Love's Gonna Make It Alright" or a pair of fleet-footed blues in "Lone Star Blues" and "Blue Marlin Blues" -- it's the introspective moments that anchor the album and lend it a measure of gravity.

John Doe simply doesn't make bad records, but not all of them are as heartfelt and comfortable as Keeper, and the title is apt--this captures a great singer and songwriter on a hot streak, and you'd have to go back to his 1990 solo debut to hear a John Doe album that's as eclectic, accomplished, and satisfying as this.