A tighter, cleaner band than the scruffy renegades of the '80s, but still the same band, which is evident here in ways it never was on the perfectly fine R.E.M. Live. That was a production. This is rock & roll.

Sometimes needlessly complex and, at its worst, goofy for the sake of being goofy--proper boots-in-a-dryer bizniz with shrill flotsam swirling about--these tracks can be as off-putting as they are exhilarating.

This is still insanely large-sounding music, and is heavy in the extreme, but its new tenets give listeners more to hold on--and perhaps dream on--than simply low-tuned, ponderous riffing.

If this is not the most live-sounding dance album made with synthetic instrumentation, it must be pretty close.

Not so much a soundtrack to a film that was never made as it is music that demands images to accompany it, this is a welcome return after the four years of silence that followed Tender Buttons.

Fans hungry for SM material won't mind at all, since after three years a redundant track beats no track, and while all of it seems familiar, the crew deliver the material with new life, suggesting they're mad happy to be back on the grind.

Cosmic Egg [is] a mature sophomore effort, particularly if it's just judged on all the sonic textures Wolfmorther serves up, but as the album closes with a series of meandering mysticism it's hard not to miss Stockdale's previous reliance on nasty repetitive riffs.

It's all pleasing enough, flowing better than the American Songbook albums, and not feeling as karaoke as the Rock album, but it's so comfortable, so easygoing, it verges on the forgettable.

This kind of "redo-the-hits" project--very common from veteran artists in the 21st century--is almost always a mixed bag, and Never Been Gone is no exception.

It's an experience, to say the least. At the same time, The Great Misdirect is the type of overblown record that asks the question, "Is there such thing as being too ambitious?"

While Midnight Soul Serenade may not be the best Heavy Trash album (their debut takes that honor), it's still some of the best rock & roll around. Anywhere, anytime.

It's a holiday album for people who have never wanted to hear a holiday album, let alone own one.

The Best of the Black President is simply a stellar collection that bests any two-disc collection out there as it represents the continued evolution of Fela Kuti's music from the 1960s through the 1990s.

There are some solid breakdowns to sink your teeth into, and the choruses are still huge and anthemic, but the rest might be a little too watered down for serious metalcore devotees.

A weird psychedelic mindset is woven through everything, and even though everything constantly seems on the verge of combustion, the songs on Fits always manage to hold together and work themselves out with exciting, engaging results.

While the comparisons were apt at the time, 'Kiss with a Fist' turned out to be a red herring in the wake of the release of Lungs, one of the most musically mature and emotionally mesmerizing albums of 2009.

At times, Chapman seems in danger of being too earnest or letting his ambitions get the better of him, but Turning the Mind ends up being a significant step forward for Maps' music.

A more hypnotic and lulling ride overall, Tarot Sport may lack some of "Street Horrrsing's" pure visceral impact, but it's just as satisfying on its own terms, as well as an impressive step forward for Fuck Buttons.

These songs are nearly as wide-ranging and comprehensive as an actual atlas, but Cox keeps charting new territory.

It's a Business Doing Pleasure with You bristles with Kroeger's barely veiled, unwitting hostility, something that the big-hearted McGraw doesn't wear well--not in the least, because it sounds like a boneheaded swipe at his jetsetting wife Faith Hill--and it's something he wisely side-steps on the rest of the record, choosing to mine a sentimental, meditative vein, musing on major changes in his life and wondering what will happen after he's gone.

Adding drums might have spoiled the introspective and feather-light feel of the record. Anyone who's been on their bandwagon all along will be glad of that, as they'll rejoice that Declaration of Dependence turns out to be another autumnal treasure from the Kings.

This darker, heavier tone makes the majority of Kill less of a party than "Fire" or "I Shall Exterminate Everything Around Me That Restricts Me from Being the Master," but splendidly, Dance Commander rears his head to make demands like "Shake that tambourine/Shake that shaking machine!" in 'Egyptian Cowboy' and encourages mass consumption in the splendid 'Body Shot,' which devolves from a grunge-disco jam into a wonderful, dubbed-out frenzy.

As lyrical a musician as he is, without his commanding use of language (the song cycle is entirely instrumental), the BQE loses some momentum near the end, but by then it's become clear that, as is the case with all of his projects, the term "half-assed" does not apply.

Considering the circumstances, FOTC's second Sub-Pop outing, I Told You I Was Freaky, has some worthwhile moments.

Spiral Stairs remains a pleasing, if not especially exciting, singer/songwriter and Real Feel showcases both of these sides effectively, rambling on nicely as it strolls through its songs, but never quite getting into any interesting territory.

There's no way around the fact that most of Machine Dreams is icy electro-pop, but it is not as if the truly singular Yukimi Nagano, an enamoring vocalist, has switched to drone mode, forsaking her grounding in R&B.

Her raw vocal skills remain impressive, as does her taste in soul, and even if this feels off-kilter, not quite achieving a balance between retro and modernity, it does beat with a messy human heart, one that was subdued on Introducing, so perhaps she did need to break free.

As before, Lyle gravitates toward gentle, moody songs, with Tommy Elskes' slyly sarcastic blues, 'Bohemia,' being the liveliest of the bunch, opting to give Natural Forces some humor and tempo through his originals.