Lesser producers would ride out these tracks for eight or nine minutes, rather than the six-minute average here; this producer keeps things tight and ever-developing, never straying into formlessness.

In that regard, this self-titled effort is often a tribute rather than a new way forward, but Reinhardt's work is nonetheless very enjoyable, a way to regather these various strands from any number of limiting genre associations and reuse them in a new fashion.

Apart from a couple fumbles, By-the-Numbers turns out to be a successfully executed concept and a very pleasant listen.

Ode isn't quite as strong song-wise as "The Boy" but it makes up for the difference with its deepened palette--again, this palette may not be as rich as some of their peers, but compared to Travis' other work of the past decade, this is richer and livelier as sheer sonics go.

His long-awaited return on The Renaissance is no disappointment, offering more of the same understated, aqueous grooves and fluid rapping that the Abstract Poetic has built his peerless career on.

These ventures into pure '80s shred go a long way to illustrating just how versatile a guitarist Brad Paisley is, and they wind up as accidental autobiography, revealing a side he's previously camouflaged--but now that it's surfaced, it's easy to see why his albums are always among the most adventurous and best country music of this decade.

A laid-back and easy to digest album with no grand statements to absorb or deeper meanings to dig for, it's made up of simple songs recorded simply and sung sweetly.

The repetition hammers home Hinder's stultifying lack of imagination and even that would be excusable if the group had a scintilla of sleaze but like anybody too beholden to their idols, they tread the familiar ground too carefully, winding up as bland by-the-book bad boys.

In its own way, the Wild Beasts' volatile flamboyance is more difficult to embrace than an overtly dissonant experimental band's music, but that's just another way that this group sets itself apart from the rest of the pack--and there's something very liberating about that, even if it's baffling at times.

Galore the band isn't as distinctive as its influences, and many of the album's songs are so polished and streamlined that there's little chance for Dragonette's personality to shine through. However, their more adventurous side surfaces on the album's second half.

An ambitious exercise of restraint, it's a lumbering beast that's minimal but still feels expansive. Epic, even.

Berlin was a work of tremendous ambition that didn't quite live up to its own high standards, and this live recording seems to trade a roughly equal number of new flaws for those of the original album, but this performance sounds like a legitimate attempt by Reed to revisit his past without being shackled to it, and on that level it's a brave and compelling experiment that (often) works.

Beautiful, thoughtful, and sad on a grand scale, Fordlandia is nearly as ambitious as the stories it tells, but unlike its source material, it's another success for Jóhannsson.

Silence Is Wild is a solid step forward for Frida Hyvönen and a record to check out if you like singer/songwriters with a unique approach to be singing and songwriting.

Surfing definitely won't end up on many end-of-year lists, but it's easygoing where "Smokey Rolls Down Thunder Canyon" was often self-serious, and overall a pleasant diversion for Banhart fans.

Adamson's heady blend of Odelay-era Beck, Roky Erickson paranoia, cosmic hip-hop, and general Animal Collective weirdness sounds like a train wreck in print, but his knack for odd melodies, stealthy programming, timely pitch-shifting, and macabre (and occasionally hysterical) subject matter helps to keep things consistently interesting throughout Ropechain's easily digestible 45-minute runtime.

Fans of esoteric underground rap should take notice. Worth investigating.

Season of Poison is bound to please fans of goth metal and electro-laced rock, and the gorgeous 'Frozen Oceans' appealingly finishes the album with lush balladry. Even so, this seems like a slight stumble after "We Are Pilots'" strong start, although Shiny Toy Guns have yet to lose their momentum.

At times, Intimacy feels rushed and predictable, and at others, it's almost painfully ambitious.

Certainly, it's not the embarrassment of the live album, but it has its own internal logic that keeps it humming along, and that's good enough for a listen and to get the band out on tour again, even it's not good enough for a second spin.

This is easily some of the Kaisers' finest--and most consistent-- music.

Fans of the goofy rock send-ups Hughes and Homme did on "Peace Love Death Metal" and "Death by Sexy" might think the pair are taking themselves too seriously here, but they add just enough maturity to the mix to make Heart On a consistently great album.

Despite the preponderance of sprightly tempos and sing-song hooks, nothing about 4:13 Dream feels especially light, perhaps because Robert Smith chooses to pair these purported pop songs with a heavy dose of affected angst.

The album wholly warrants Snow Patrol's fame, presenting a band that aspires to pop/rock grandeur without developing the accompanying ego. As a result, this is the group's best work yet.

Funhouse is a ride, empowered by her post-divorce freedom. In a way, that does make Funhouse unique among divorce albums, as it's the first to concentrate on liberation rather than loss--but if she was going to go in this direction, Pink may have been better off not pretending that she's bothered by the breakup.

Microcastle proves that Deerhunter can make music that sounds very different from what they'd done before, yet still feels of a piece with their body of work.

The playing is tighter and more polished, but they haven't lost any of their manic energy, and in fact this outing is, if anything, even more energetic than "Head Home."

Easily the least accomplished of his albums, Evolver is nonetheless a refreshing change of sorts, for all its faults, at least as far as missteps are concerned.