Front Parlor Ballads is built from modest stuff, but the finished product is as strong as anything Thompson has recorded in the past ten years.

Why Should the Fire Die? is a brave album that warrants more than a passing glance from country and bluegrass purists, and the full support of the indie rock/folk/pop community.

Perfectly likable and pleasant.

When it works, like on the rousing, sentimental opener "Walter Reed," "On Automatic" and "Mary Lynn," Penn knocks the ball into the bleachers, but there's an over-flow of mid-tempo pieces about halfway through that bring the record to a standstill.

It may be a remarkably summery album, but it has enough charm and depth for year-round listening.

It's a pleasant enough listen, but it's hard to see the point of the album.

Body of Song ultimately feels more like an attempt by Mould to please both his audience and himself than a coherent and confident effort.

For those who enjoyed the wise-ass undercurrent of his debut, this will be a delight. For those who enjoyed "The Remedy (I Won't Worry)," there will be too much narcissistic tomfoolery here to make this enjoyable. For those who never understood the appeal of Jason Mraz in the first place, Mr. A-Z will make them realize that they've really been taking John Mayer for granted.

Those who were left disappointed by ['Face2Face'] will probably be happy to have the Face of old back with Grown & Sexy, a back-to-basics album that sounds a lot more natural in comparison.

It's a collection of simple but warped electronic pop music, where Kid606 spins a tight hook into five or six minutes of chugging or swinging bliss. No more, no less.

Honeycomb is steeped in tradition, yet manages to buck it at the same time; while not all Pixies and Frank Black fans will appreciate its mellow maturity, it's an intimate treat for those who follow its lead.

So Marjorie Fair's debut isn't an immediate five-star classic. But its backgrounds are incredibly well-crafted... and the songs' blend evening-sun comfort with a quiet forlornness that's somehow welcoming.

There's no question of Sonic Youth's continued influence on Kinski. But Alpine Static is a progression within the context of the band's own discography, and that's important.

It's every bit as focused and accomplished as anything in Lanois' catalog, and die-hard fans will be wanting more long after the disc winds down.

Röyksopp have little left to say aside from what others have said more clearly in the past.

It's a bracing and welcome return to form for an important artist.

If the tech-savvy "By(e) Now" feels like a leftover from the more experimental debut, Statistics sophomore full-length has enough real songs to qualify it as an anomaly.

Even more than some of the group's other albums, La Foret seems guided by dream logic, flowing and crashing unexpectedly.

Underwater Cinematographer isn't your quintessential debut album. It's too complex, too inquisitive, and too ambitious.

What's different here is how relaxed Elliott is, how willing she seems to simply go with what comes naturally and sounds best.

With one or two exceptions, all of these songs are second and third rate by his standard.

There's a distinct community theater vibe to the whole affair... but the majority of Illinois is alarmingly earnest.

A complex yet intriguing soundscape.

Free the Bees is all worth hearing, a lot more than once, and it could be the Album of the Year -- the only question is if that year is 2004 or 1968.

He really is pouring everything he has into the whole thing, but there's so much overly earnest, reverential, "let's get back to making real music" energy floating around that you can sense it nibbling away at the desire to make something that sounds like today.

Hannicap Circus is solid, filthy, fun, and everything else that you'd want from a less nimble Kool Keith.

Poppy, '80s-tinged, and hooky as hell, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah's debut certainly makes for pleasant listening.

If it were condensed down to one disc, it would appeal to more than the most devout.