There are standouts everywhere.

Just as good, and arguably better, than their first collaboration, this sympathetic partnership will thrill established fans as well as new listeners and will hopefully continue for many future editions.

Progress may not be the right word for what The National achieves with Trouble Will Find Me, but sustained brilliance is a pretty good alternative.

The Great Gatsby Soundtrack is a fine example of what a film’s musical-mate can and should be; it mirrors many aesthetic elements of the film, augments the general storyline and adds depth and personality to the characters and dialogue on the screen.

It’s time to start thinking of Vampire Weekend not as upstarts but as one of the world’s best bands, because they’ve delivered a trio of great albums in an era when diminished expectations leave most listeners grateful for one.

Over production is a constant issue with these tunes, as Stewart (who co-produced) layers guitars, horns, backing vocals and too much of everything on melodies that, by and large, are strong enough to stand on their own in more stripped down arrangements.

Griffin digs deep into introspective lyrics, some with historical references, to display her distinctive vocals and original songs with stripped down arrangements that use space and the silence between notes to create shimmering music you won’t soon forget.

When Volume 3 soars above its status as just a nice summer soundtrack are the moments when Deschanel lets some deeper emotions break through the carefree demeanor of the songs.

Dropping a few songs would have made this stronger overall, but there is no escaping the spooky, druggy vibe created over the course of an hour’s worth of pretty yet eerie and ultimately edgy music.

Kelly is a tenured veteran songsmith who creates melodies, if perhaps not hooky ones here, that grow on you like kudzu, intentionally creating an album that is greater than the sum of its parts.

The stories are typically droll, but the accompaniment is solid, sturdy, old school country played by veterans who know how to keep things tight yet loose.

A few highlights such as the soaring, dramatic title track are spread over an expansive 70 minute playing time. But there isn’t much you’ll revel in as timeless art criminally neglected to the dustbins of R&B obscurity.

Richey’s doe-eyed, bittersweet approach perfectly captures the hurt and regret in her material, but you may wish there were more glimmers of light to offset her somewhat bleak outlook.

Those looking for a cool album to throw on as invigorating background music will be delighted. Those who want a little more substance with the style should cherry-pick a few chosen tracks which spotlight why Yeah Yeah Yeahs still impress a decade down the road.

This is clearly a labor of love for Boyd and a wonderful introduction to a tragically flawed but exceptionally talented singer/songwriter.

The good news is that this one is so powerful and varied that it will make those hard truths a little easier to bear even after the disc ends.

The Flaming Lips return with one of their most challenging, yet cohesive records to date.

Stories Don’t End is still a step forward, if only for the moments of off-the-cuff brilliance that result from all the ambitious effort.

It would be a fully-formed debut for artists of any age. So it’s all the more impressive that Yellen is only 23 years old.

The Beast In Its Tracks is a gracious, relentlessly honest, post-breakup record.

Overall this record shows not just promise, but quite a bit of realization of that promise. Many of these songs seem memorable and enduring… and individualistic.

The mood is enriched by an ambitious approach to what seems on the surface to be modest pop songs, which reveal themselves to be far more elaborate, challenging and unusual.

It has a silky-smooth sheen about it, but there’s an earthy, analog vibe that keeps its songs grounded, and more importantly, makes them sound absolutely sublime, no matter how ornate or ethereal.

It’s hard to imagine anyone other than extreme DM reactionaries finding anything here essential besides the abovementioned tracks [“Soft Touch / Raw Nerve” and “Soothe My Soul”], the stirring “Secret To the End,” and the mid-tempo “Broken.

In one sense, it’s commendable that The Strokes are so willing to branch out and take on different styles, yet the effort often sounds overplayed or undercooked.

Give this West Coast quartet credit for honing its sound on this, the group’s third album.

Her major label debut, which moves from country waltz to roadhouse blues, from rootsy singer-songwriter narratives to irresistible country pop, follows its own relentless arrow throughout, and the result is one of the most fully-formed, arresting debuts Nashville’s seen in years.

The album does a wonderful job of creating and sustaining its mood. People looking for something a little bit more flashy or bold-faced from their music should probably look elsewhere.

Clapton never sounds clichéd, artificial or forced as he delivers this material with low key charisma and a laid back exuberance that’s charming and inspired.

Wyoming definitely has the feel of a second album, in that the band is now confident enough in their footing to try a little bit of everything. As a result, it’s hard to pin down this duo to a single musical approach, and that’s just fine because the diversity is refreshing.

Even if there are no classics on the order of the ones that so impressed that youngster from Asbury Park, New Jersey, Eric Burdon’s river is far from running dry.

It’s Bragg’s voice that’s most prominent of course: warm and resonant, but also mournful at times, tinged with regret, that of an old soul looking at the world and shaking his head at its follies.

The effect shifts from sophisticated to just short of snooze inducing as the disc wears on and what starts out as tasty ends up as more of the same when the vibe stays locked in its classy, stylish, chill out groove.

There isn’t much in the way of surprises on The Happiness Waltz, though that’s no knock against Rouse; a songwriter of his caliber need not reinvent himself to create something rewarding.

The Invisible Way is Low’s essence distilled--potent, powerful and pure.

For an album that successfully manages to carry an understated beauty, and often comes across as a fragile work, Eternity Of Dimming almost does it all without doing near as much as others would attempt to.

He can do a tender, dreamy pop song, or he can plug in and just get straight to rocking. And anything in between is fair game.

Producer Steve Jordan captures the thumping drums, horns and string arrangements always so essential to this music, creating Scaggs’ finest album since Come on Home, 1997’s previous set of predominantly soul covers.

With an album as consistently strong as The Stand-In at this early stage, she has an impressive career ahead.

They still craft songs as if they’re assembling a robot, and they make sure to throw so many of these short tracks on the album (25 in 45 minutes) that you’re bound to find a few that will hit the pleasure buttons just like the old days.

Put aside the historical perspective and just listen to Love From London. From the opening, minor-key piano strikes and repetitive swirls of opening track “Harry’s Song,” Hitchcock catches you--leaves you breathless--with his ability to compel.

The bottom line is that The Next Day proves that Bowie, whoever he might be, is back, invigorating his listeners even as he stupefies them.

Even if there is a sense that we’ve heard a lot of this before, People, Hell, And Angels is still a well-chosen and finely-presented collection that should not be blamed for that familiarity.

The reunion was a long time coming and exudes the tasteful sophistication and sympathetic camaraderie you’d expect from this pair of veterans reveling in each other’s presence.

There are moments enough to both hoist your beer and shed a lonesome teardrop throughout Miracle Temple, an album that’s overflowing with both emotion and beauty.

Some may prefer an even more stripped down approach but these tunes benefit from a bit of polish which also helps distinguish Williams from her family’s gruffer music.

As diverse as ever, this is the kind of comeback every once-defunct act strives for but few deliver with the consistency and sheer enthusiasm exhibited here.

It’s a fine line between revival and parody, and he walks it well, cowboy boots and all.

Their finest album, 1977’s Rumours, addresses with heart and sharp insight the romantic disengagements and re-entanglements of the members in the free-spirited, free-love 1970s.

The absurdity and terror that Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds have so often courted aren’t absent on Push The Sky Away. They’re just muted, and rendered all the more seductive via lush arrangements and Cave’s crooning baritone.

Amok isn’t an album to be analyzed so much as experienced, preferably with headphones maximizing its occasionally mesmeric effect.

Ford and her band have increased the quality of their brazen, breathless blend of garage-soul to an even more satisfying level with the new Untamed Beast.

Even though most are not familiar with Pinkunoizu or many others that populate this thoughtful and often downbeat set, they recreate Hardin’s timeless melodies with deep respect, passion and an artistic vision all too rare for these types of tribute discs.

More often these tracks wander in search of melodies that seem frustratingly out of reach.

As sole songwriter, singer and co-producer, Whitely is astonishingly mature for her first album, but assistance from keyboardist Thomas Bartlett whose piano is featured on many of the soaring ballads that dominate the set brings depth and intensity.

They ditch most of the quirks for grimy blues on Wonderful, Glorious, making it one of their best albums in years.

All That Echoes is not only Groban’s most accessible and unified work to date, but it also stands out as the seminal musical moment of his 12-year career.

Regions Of Light is about surrendering yourself to the wonder of the unknown: Often on this adventurous and deeply heartfelt album, it’s unclear whether James is singing to a lover or to God, and that seems to be the point.

Tinkling pianos, vibes, tablas, brushed drums, string quartets and the singer’s innocent, laid back vocals all make this wistful gem perfect for lazy Sunday mornings. But thankfully these meditative songs never feel dreary, mopey or self-pitying due to Stamey’s sheer joy and enthusiasm.

Forever Endeavour may be as solid a record as he’s has ever made, but it’s also more of the same, a retrenching rather than an expansion of his capabilities.

“Truck Yeah” is a rare moment of goofy self-referentiality on the otherwise straightforward Two Lanes Of Freedom.

This is another in a seemingly endless streak of quality albums from Richard Thompson, a journeyman artist in the homestretch of his long career, whose best years never seem to be behind him.

An album with a self-deprecating title that belies the ambitions and talent displayed within it by this band on the verge of bigger things.

This remains a cool, downbeat and shadowy version of the duskier side of Americana.

The breezy, rhythmically complex melting-pot approach still plays a pretty big role on Candela, Mice Parade's eighth album, but more than ever, Pierce seems to have a vested interest in letting some graceful whooshes of shoegazer noise take over where necessary.

At its most upbeat and salacious, it's a glorious thing.... At its slowest and most soulful, the band's music finds a warm inspiration in the soothing sounds of gospel.

As bright and warm a guitar-based indie pop album as that [debut album, Gorilla Manor] was, it left a fair amount of room for expansion and maturity. On second album Hummingbird, that growth is readily apparent from the first track.

The result is her finest, most poignant and accomplished album in an already impressive seven year solo career.

What might be surprising is that, in spite of the sober lyrical themes and the laid-back music, this all sounds so vibrant.

The tunes on Set You Free will give his long-time followers more than they could have hoped for, while garnering new fans coast-to-coast.

The band expertly navigates unusual, sometimes radical mood changes, with a maturity that forsakes some of its youthful friskiness without compromising an idiosyncratic vision that is just as compelling today as it was 25 years ago.

If [Keith] Richards' participation helps revitalize these sounds and sends newcomers searching out the first versions well, that's just a bonus to a thrilling project that combines Neville's stunning voice with classic melodies whose sentiments remain timeless.

While it might not be breaking any new ground, Buddy & Jim is hard to top when it comes to supremely enjoyable Americana music.

The slick varnish he [producer John Agnello] slathers on doesn't do this group any favors. Still, the melodies stick to your brain like flypaper.

Signed and Sealed In Blood is a record that should thrill the diehards even as the band evolves and escapes enslavement to the sound of their past success.

Mercyland: Hymns for the Rest of Us hits its stride once it takes an old-school turn courtesy of the Carolina Chocolate Drops, who kick up some serious string-band dust with a cover of the traditional gospel number "Lights In the Valley."

Van feels fed up and disgusted, intense and focused, on Born To Sing: No Plan B, but unfortunately, the songs, more often than not, end the conversation there, leaving just a few hard knock lessons and some pretty jazz.

James has crafted an envelope of sound to bolster his unique, almost choirboy styled vocals, that's easy to tumble into.

This is as authentic as anything out of Nashville or Texas, elevated with terrific backing musicians who have supported such US loving Brits as Nick Lowe, Elvis Costello and Graham Parker.

This is far from conventional rock, but it's rock as viewed through Cale's dark shades and skewed outsider sensibility and as such, one of his more successful and consistent outings.

Everything connects emotionally and musically in front of an enthusiastic crowd on one of the year's best and most vibrant live albums.

There is something here for almost everyone making this a unique if inconsistently satisfying glance into the mind of one of pop's most fascinating and under-appreciated artists.

When the Rumour, so polite in their accompaniment, step forward on the break to provide spare but involving keyboard and guitar, you know this reunion was worth waiting for.

Once you accept that Lana knows exactly what she's doing--that she, not Interscope Records or any of her co-producers, is the architect behind this R-rated retro-pop fantasy--then maybe you'll start loving her, too.

Short but potent and powerful set.

The energy level Soundgarden maintains is certainly admirable for a band whose members are all hovering around 50 years old, but this fairly narrow focus on capital-R Rock songs and little of anything else results in a homogeneity that keeps it from offering the level of depth or surprises that the band's previous albums held.

While the album is too long by at least four songs (Johnson has never been the best editor of his own material), he and his crew do well by Cochran.

Keith's plenty good enough and smart enough to do a lot more than ably cover the bases on his annual albums whenever he wants to.

There is snap and crackle in Low Cut Connie's pop and a gutsy edge that'll have you turning up the volume regardless of where you're at.

This pleasant set of smooth honky tonk finds a sweet, somewhat slick path and never wavers as it coasts through eleven slices of radio ready country.

[Landing on a Hundred Years is] a much leaner, concise collection of rich and soulful tunes that takes in the last 50 years of funk, soul and R&B, and catalyzes that history into something warm and vibrant, yet altogether fresh.

Bird is too much of a seasoned professional to release anything less than listenable, so although none of this is particularly compelling, it's all well performed in a relatively stripped down, acoustic setting.

The problem with Psychedelic Pill, and it's a substantial one, is that, besides that inspired ending, the instrumental passages don't distinguish themselves as being all that memorable.

If you're at a different stage of life than she is, it can be exhausting trying to keep up with the succession of emotions to which she deftly gives voice, but also downright exhilarating.

With the exception of the occasional detour into heartbreak ("I Don't Do Lonely Well") or empathy ("Black Tears"), it can feel like he's doing the same stylized smalltown-conjuring over and over, to the point of hollowness.

Smith's candor in this collection of hard-won songs is admirable.

Not only have Two Gallants returned refreshed and revitalized, but they push the boundaries on their groove, marrying subtle shadings and pounding intensity into a terrific set that will excite existing followers and should find plenty of new ones.

As is, our appetite has only been whetted and not satiated.