Oceans Will Rise is a return to form for the Stills, who've earned their merit as an experimental group with a strong knack for pop/rock hooks.

This reverence for Campbell's greatest work is what grounds Meet Glen Campbell, as it shows a deep understanding of what made those recordings work as pop records as well as an understanding of what a terrific interpretive singer Campbell is at his peak.

The Fiery Furnaces' hyperactive creativity keeps them fascinating in concert, on record, and on Remember's one of a kind fusion of those worlds.

Fast Times at Barrington High doesn't go to the hoop with every song, but it scores more than enough points to make it a career highlight, not to mention one of the best emo albums (whatever that means) of 2008.

There may be no recognition of L.A. Style, but in their blissfully ignorant, lazily monotonous sunshine grooves, Shwayze does manage to be all about the style of L.A. in 2008, creating the quintessential record for L.A. sleazeballs.

Ballads have always been his forte, a convenient vehicle for his quivering sensitivity and accidental melodicism, yet it's still startling how slow The Illusion of Progress unfolds, as Staind rarely muster the energy to move beyond midtempo even when they deign to crank up their amps for anthems of mild alienation or vague inspiration.

It's a tight, cohesive record with a subtle but undeniable resonance, a record that Juliana Hatfield always seemed on the verge of delivering but finally has.

Recovery revisits Wainwright's back catalog and finds new meaning in the tunes he wrote as a young man.

His enigmatic lyrics, pastoral West coast melodies, and blissfully androgynous voice rule the roost here.

What is plainer throughout is that someone has finally delivered a follow-up to the Beach Boys' "Friends" album, dwelling on moments and sensibilities that slip past most of us in the normal course of a day.

Even if they're slow to arrive, GZA's full-lengths rarely disappoint. Pro Tools is no different, but with so many divergent projects and experiments from the Clan filling the five previous years, this throwback also proves the crew's original formula still works splendidly.

The bombastic intro and interludes with Keith David could go too, but otherwise this no-answers, gritty ego trip will satisfy his fans while pushing everyone else away even further.

Invisible Cinema is as fine a debut as one is likely to hear in 2008.

Although Strawberry Weed doesn't lodge its melodies into the listener's brain, it still makes a good case for repeated listens.

Alternately blissed-out and ragingly psychedelic, this debut is one of 2008's most promising records.

Here with Me is a cozy and wholly comfortable album, one that begs to be played during rainy days and Sunday afternoons.

Hovering in the shadows comes Apse's Spirit, a mesmerizing album where the shrouded world of Gothic gloom meets the outer stratosphere of space rock.

The Door is a beautifully mysterious and deeply satisfying entry in the ECM canon and a very auspicious debut.

There's every chance that Laura Marling will get lost in the shuffle as the unexpected commercial success of Feist's The Reminder leads major labels to unleash hordes of similarly talented female singer/songwriters, but Alas I Cannot Swim is far better than the average coffee house-endorsed girly pop.

It's painful that this will be the only Royal We record ever. Many of the band's members moved on to other quite good bands (Sexy Kids, Bricolage, Correcto), but the chemistry they had as the Royal We will be hard to replicate.

The key to its success is that it is pitched perfectly between frivolous, disposable pop and meticulous mature craft, so as the Jonas Brothers continue to grow they might wind up losing that sense of fun that is integral to their music, but with this record they hit all the notes just right.

The tunes are old and new, borrowed and blue, but Thomas makes them all her own.

This is an album for Sunday afternoons, for fans of Frank Sinatra and Aaron Copeland, for sophisticates who want music to soothe their minds rather than demand their full attentions.

From the confrontational album title to the cuss words, Berg is working to shake the pop tag and turn it hardcore with a baller stance that isn't so much embarrassing as it is uninteresting.

The unpretentious intelligence and skillful wordplay of Weaver's lyrics go a long way towards making The Ax in the Oak a richly satisfying work for grownup listeners, and the imaginative surroundings Weaver, Deck, and a handful of sympathetic musicians have crafted for these songs only make them stronger and more affecting.

Fasciinatiion clicks enough of the time to make it a step forward from "Wet From Birth," and despite its unevenness, at times it can be fasciinatiing.

The fact that the music does feel relaxed, even when it bears his classicist affectations, does make Conor Oberst markedly different than the music of Bright Eyes, and makes it a worthwhile project--even if it proves to be a detour instead of a new beginning.

It's his signature sound and Harps and Angels captures it sublimely, as the production--a co-credit to Newman's longtime associate Lenny Waronker and his latter-day producer Mitchell Froom--has no fancy accoutrements and he's written another set of quietly wonderful songs.