The strength of the album is that it doesn't sound like it was written by a bunch of Nashville pros--its mellow vibes and occasional soft romantic touch feel true to Currington.

There are no reinterpretations--not even the Nas-fronted "Back in Black" changes the song much--just restatements of riffs and replicated effects, each familiar element offering a reminder that Santana, Davis, and company chose to take the easy road by settling for gauche pop instead of guitar rock, winding up with a truly terrible album.

The duo can still cast a mood, and that's what makes this debut all the more frustrating -- all the parts are here, but they don't come together as often as they could and should.

Covers aside, this is the most personal music of Sadier's career, and a promising glimpse of what she can do on her own.

To say the record isn't "challenging" is an understatement, especially when looking at his early work, but it's easy to overlook how skillfully the man crafts positive music that's sunshine, and yet not sugary.

Frankie Rose and the Outs have made a record that put her old band the Vivian Girls to shame, and instead of proving to be bandwagon jumpers, they instead made a record other girl pop bands can emulate and someday hope to equal.

The press pumps up the fact that Shontelle is Barbadian, just like Rihanna, but her functional dance-pop material and temperate ballads could be delivered by any moderately talented vocalist from the Midwest.

Boasting a mere seven songs, Brooklyn-based singer/songwriter Sharon Van Etten's sophomore effort hardly lives up to the lofty promise of its name, but where Epic fails to deliver in size, it more than makes up for in sound.

While Root for Ruin isn't the creative reawakening that Let's Stay Friends was, it might be the band's tightest and most polished album yet.

Cuomo doesn't suppress his emotion; he just prefers sentiment, but what he loves most of all is a pure pop song and Hurley offers up its fair share.

He can clearly make a piano do just about anything he wants it to, and Solo is a project that puts the thought that went into its construction right up in your face, but it's never breathtaking in the way a truly great solo piano performance can be.

From Flowers' five-dollar words to the operatic bombast, every little moment of Flamingo carries weight, which means every moment cancels out the one that came before: it's all sequined stage costumes shimmering under blaring lights.

Lisbon, like the rest of their music, is meant to be savored, the fullness of its songs allowed to develop over many listens.

It's as a joyous a record as you'll ever hear, a testament that the power of music lies not in its writing but in its performance.

The problem is, the subdued rhythms, riffs, and raps of A Thousand Suns wind up monochromatic, an impression not erased by the brief bridges between songs, sampled speeches, and easy segues, every element retaining moodiness without offering distinction.

If it didn't capture the fun of '80s pop, it just wouldn't be Chromeo. And for their third album, Pee Thug and Dave One are as campy and faithful to their roots as humanly (and robotically) possible.

While it's easy to see why some listeners may prefer the completely unhinged sounds of Grinderman's debut, this set, with its expansive sonics and studied bombast, is still full of so much adrenaline, nastiness, and rock & roll sleaze that it stands in its own league and kicks serious ass.

Though it's a little long and a couple songs veer toward filler, it's a return to form for of Montreal and more than justifies the hype and attention their live show has garnered.

Sometimes being bad can be more fun than being good, and on Phosphene Dream The Black Angels hit that sweet spot more often than not.

BM have upped their ante with Wilderness Heart by concentrating more on excellent songwriting and close-cornered arranging than sprawling heavy rock bacchanalia.

Sex with an X is proof that Kelly and McKee were right to get back together, and while they don't pick up exactly where they left off, it's close enough to make their fans, both old and new, ecstatic.

You Are Not Alone is a solid outing that somehow amazingly manages to be both secular and sacred at once, and there is a stripped-down timelessness to it.

With the wall of static dialed back a notch, the songs breathe more, allowing for Welchez and Rowell to construct some of their most immediate material.

They get a little too close to trip-hop for their own good on a few songs, and their widescreen drama is missed occasionally, but Penny Sparkle is still another beautiful reinvention for Blonde Redhead.

They may not be the hippest band around in 2010 but they sound as fresh and important as they did in 1990, 1995, or 2001, and Majesty Shredding is the kind of album that'll make you glad to be a fan of indie rock.

Given its wonderfully crafted and performed material and stellar production, it is the country album of 2010.

Fields is intriguing in a low-key way that grows with repeated listening and will make Gonzalez fans into Junip fans.

It's recognizably the Charlatans--it's hard to disguise Tim Burgess's laconic drawl or the light psychedelic pull of his melodies--but they're unexpectedly abandoning their dad-rock handbook and taking risks, winding with their freshest, best album since they traded the Happy Mondays for the Rolling Stones.