The disc is like the best jukebox you ever heard in a sleazy, punky country bar, perhaps like the broken down Seeburg pictured on the back sleeve. Plunk down your quarter and wherever the needle falls, you’ll end up on the dance floor.

his is not the album to play when trimming your tree, unless your family is as dysfunctional as the characters that populate most of these songs. But it’s one that will resonate for months after the last present is unwrapped.

The punchy songs and spontaneous performances are contagious in their jittery energy.

Not everything clicks—the lazy Latin shuffle “Del Rio You’re Making Me Cry” edges too close to Jimmy Buffett territory—but there’s enough that works to make this an effective posthumous effort that even perfectionist White would have been proud of.

Though some longtime fans may feel as though some of the imperfections that adorned Toledo’s original DIY bedroom release are lost in translation in this gorgeously polished release, in its new iteration Twin Fantasy is a deeply moving statement from one of indie rock’s freshest young voices.

While the result doesn't justify the buildup, there is no doubt that frontwoman Brittany Howard is a major talent.

These songs, masterfully written and delivered with obvious passion from one of America’s most veteran and idiosyncratic composers, show that Crosby is perhaps getting better with age and seems confident in his abilities as a singer and songwriter still willing to take chances.

As enjoyable as the album may be, this band needs an audience of excited, cheering fans to transform these songs from 1s and 0s into transcendent experiences.

These are some of the most musical and enjoyable tunes of his more than 20-year career; one that has found him shifting styles without abandoning a dedication to compelling words matched by intriguing songs that never take his audience for granted.

Between Lane’s sexed up sassy testifying on cuts like the opening “Right Time” and “Sleep with a Stranger” along with in the pocket production that walks a nifty tightrope between ’60s countrypolitan and ’00s gutsy Americana, this is a combination we’d like to hear more from in the future.

Intriguing and introspective, The Man Upstairs warrants considerable praise.

It makes for an intense, generally unrelenting forty-minute project; one that pushes The Kills into fresh musical territory, extending and altering the sound they have cultivated for the past twenty years without selling out.

No, MDNA can't be hailed as Madge's best ever album, and it may not contain the most thought- provoking lyrics of her career (perhaps an intentional tongue-in-cheek poke at the current state of pop music?), but it is the reigning Queen of Pop's most inspired work since Music, as well as the highly addictive record Madonna celebrants have been craving.

Ultimately it’s another pretty great Loudon Wainwright lll release, not significantly different from its many predecessors, which will no doubt come as a relief to those cult fans who have followed his career for the past 45 years.

25 can seem like 11 singles instead of an album at times; all the big-name producers and co-songwriters muscling their way in doesn’t allow for too much restraint.

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.

The Ballad of Dood & Juanita, is his most rugged and resilient yet. Simpson’s third release in just the past twelve months, it’s yet another example of his unfettered ambition.

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.

Scott McCaughey, in his Minus 5 guise, funnels his eclecticism into a somewhat cohesive whole that marries folk, country and rock with disarming ease. He uses his veteran musical instincts to craft tuneful yet genre pushing material that thankfully is now widely available for all to appreciate.

There's no fuss to his performance. He leans into the most desperate lines and nearly lets his voice crack, all in the service of the thing he's always been best at--making a heavyweight song hit home.

What The Head and The Heart do best are ballads, even if they can’t help themselves from venturing into other arenas now and again.

A mongrel that rewards repeated spins with an understanding of Branan's many influences and an appreciation for his largely impressionistic, thought- provoking words.

It’s an understatement to say the album’s audacious tone and approach will take some getting used to for Americana fans. But those with open minds and an affinity for ’80s sounds should warm up to this unanticipated, intense but generally enticing music.

It’s difficult to see where Dry Cleaning goes after the defiant line in the sand drawn here. But for those willing to follow them, and especially frontwoman Shaw, it’s likely they will blaze an idiosyncratic path in the music sphere, similar to what they have accomplished on this rather remarkable, often powerful, and always challenging, debut.

Lissie’s latest record, one the year’s most consistent, sprightly indie-pop albums, is a well-rounded introduction to the young singer.

Consistency is still key, and it’s good to know that Pearl Jam still maintains the edged angst that’s served them well from the start. Indeed, Gigaton provides a most pervasive perspective.

Song choice is everything with a project like this, and Tweedy is wise to generally stray from obvious selections.

The head-scratching concepts go down easy for music that feels like a comforting warm breeze on a cool spring day.

Often moody, intermittently lovely, if cautionary, set.

Ultimately, this record shows what can go really right when artists push the boundaries. Times New Viking purists fear not, though, the grit's still there and the edges are still rough; they've just dusted off the surface so you can see a bit more of the shine that's been there all along.

It’s all very much an artifact of its short era and is best appreciated as such. But Press Color captures a vibrant moment in New York City’s historically rich music history that can never be replicated. Even with its obvious flaws and retro vibe, it still feels creative, pulsating and oddly inspirational.

Few others, let alone from Texas, are creating anything quite like this. While it won’t bring Barrett back, The Black Angels are intent on keeping his art alive for future generations.

Neither easy listening or abrasive, Simple Songs is the sound of O’Rourke spraying his idiosyncratic fairy dust over a genre he clearly appreciates, albeit through the lenses of his own somewhat eccentric vision. Once you get into his groove though, it’s easy to appreciate the artist’s tenacity and often volatile vision.

Not everything clicks, though. The spoken word verses and clichéd lyrics of “Don’t Give Up” and the simplistic “Shut Up and Rock” could have been chopped from an album that’s already pretty long. But there is enough of Cooper’s trademarked sleaze and rowdy clenched-fist riffing in “Hail Mary,” a cover of the MC5’s propulsive “Sister Ann,” and the swampy “Wonderful World” to satisfy fans of Cooper’s early work.

This more elusive, rootsy style suits Crutchfield well. It allows space to capture a clearer eyed vision of a life she’s still trying to balance, sort out and work through …just like the rest of us.

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.

Give ‘em credit for self-composing every track on this initial fist to the face offering even if there isn’t much originality to the sound. There is however sufficient raw blues and restraint in rugged ballads such as “No Good” and “Old Ways” to throw Joplin in as a logical touch point.

His vocals are slightly generic yet the songs are solid and when he shifts into falsetto, you'll take a time trip back to the 60s heyday of this sumptuous and frisky R&B that moves from the dance floor to the bedroom.

Despite its many highlights though, it nonetheless falls short of accomplishing its goal with a performance that is highly professional, yet generally too measured and safe.

The music on Smoking in Heaven is simple, but these songs are also beautifully rendered with a kinetic energy missing in much of today's auto-tuned chart-topping hits.

As unabashedly pop albums go, Ellis’ self-descriptive Texas Piano Man is a bracing alternative to the guitar-focused music that dominates the singer-songwriter field.

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.

Fatal Mistakes reflects a dueling perspective, one that recognizes the difficulty of maintaining a certain standard but that is determined to reach new goals. The fact that Del Amitri succeed as well as they do is a testament to both their confidence and their talent.

Since White has the more recognizable name, and also produced the project, Take it Like a Man bears more of his absurdist influence, which is a good thing.

It’s the textured restraint on rockers like the closing “DDT,” which unexpectedly changing tempos mid-track, that shows the group’s maturation in their performance and songwriting chops. It indicates a leap forward in the Banditos’ artistic evolution and the potential to expand their sound even further in the future.

Much of this revamped version of Psychedelic Swamp is vastly more conventional--even normal--than the record that inspired it, which is as much a selling point as it is a slight source of disappointment.

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.

This is an impressive first effort for the multi-talented Johns who is clearly determined to avoid spending his life in the shadows of others.

His latest album, Country Music, is Willie at his finest, characteristically understated and effortless.

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.

It may not be an album most would expect from Neil Finn, but it’s clearly the one he wanted to make.

How many times you’ll return to it is questionable, especially for power pop fans, but it’s a logical extension from the chamber accompaniment of the album’s opening songs and shows Folds to be even more gifted than many of his followers thought.

Listeners with liberal tastes and open ears will find enough quality music here to satisfy them for as long as it takes to plow through and absorb it all, which could be a while. Those new to the band will likely find their head spinning too quickly to grasp it all. But no one will complain it’s boring.

The hitch in the album is the hit-or-miss probability of the listener connecting with the quizzical story, wrought in obscurity.

Admirable though the attempt may be, I’ll Be Your Mirror too often misses its mark.

Modern Art stands as one of Sweet's most mature works, displaying his unique gifts as a songwriter and musician.

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.

It works. And not just because Tilbrook's high and mellifluous voice has only ever-so-slightly thickened and Difford's lower register--used for great deadpan effect on "Cool For Cats"--defies aging concerns, but because these effortlessly clever, tuneful and pithy songs never got their full due in the U.S.

Votolato's clear eyed honesty about what seems to be a crumbling long-term relationship as reflected in often nature inspired lyrics, is thought provoking, melancholy, remarkably personal and ultimately revealing of sober truths many have felt in the same situation.

This is unquestionably slow going and perhaps best taken in smaller doses, but it’s ultimately rewarding for those willing to take advice from a guy whose darkness and internal demons have remained key components to his emotionally naked creativity.

The full-band electric tracks have many intriguing elements, including a vibe that captures the wonder of Crazy Horse while infusing that chunka-chunka sound with skittery guitar riffs and other young-blood input. But the new-era tunes tend to be marred by seriously clunky lyrics.

Amidon’s plaintive, boyish vocals make up in character what they lack in uniqueness.

Though Title Fight may have accomplished what they wanted to achieve on Hyperview, it seems the group is still searching for that ideal combination of aggression and peace.

The retro inferences of this one male/two female trio's name appear prominently in their spunky, punky, fuzzed out, garage rock.

These United States' lead singer Jesse Elliot has a scratchy, affected voice--maybe a super-strung-out Ryan Adams, if you're looking for a point of reference--which makes for a varied listening experience: Sometimes you want it to lead you to the Promised Land ("Just This"), sometimes you just want to make it stop ("Ever Make You Mine").

Matthews’ ageless voice remains warm and inviting as he winds his way through this hour long set, creating a wistful yet never regretful mood.

Ultimately despite, or perhaps because of, its minor ambitions, Classics succeeds on its own terms.

Live At The Cellar Door sounds like Neil Young with his head down playing to an exceedingly polite crowd.... But the real gems here are the pared down Everybody Knows tracks.

While The Lemonade Stand offers mostly familiar fare, it also makes for a genuinely tasty treat as well.

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

Even if there isn’t much meat here and the concepts are obtuse at best, the oddly titled Enderness (the beginning “T” is conspicuously, and intentionally, missing), taps into an enticing, low-key vibe that’s just as satisfying and far more personal.

At a conservative 35 minutes, there’s little fluff. Still, some songs feel longer than they are and the sheer abundance of words is sporadically exaggerated and tiresome.

Beat Poetry Survivalists is a bold first step, and if some of the songs don’t quite hit the mark, it’s only because the two are intent on taking their partnership to certain extremes. And because risk sometimes leads to recklessness, a few missteps are not only inevitable but also forgivable.

Even the most rock 'n' roll track, "Bobcat Goldwraith," starts with and then later, after much cacophony, unravels to reveal the same building blocks underneath. The plinking and plunking riffs of No Ghost prove inescapable. That isn't necessarily a bad thing, mostly because what follows those riffs is done so well.

If you’re already a fan of Banhart’s recent work, this slots firmly into that leisurely, often lovely vibe. He has shifted away from the quirky “freak folk” of his early years into something just as odd, even subversive, around its edges, but far more relaxed and enjoyable.

Bergquist is in wonderfully relaxed voice and the open production by Joe Henry allows her vocals--a mix of Sheryl Crow, Rickie Lee Jones and even Billie Holiday at times--plenty of room to explore the bucolic shadows and light of the material.

It takes some commitment, and maybe a little homework, to get the most out of the album.

It's a pleasant, moody, laconic bordering on snoozy, stripped down affair that never breaks a sweat or escalates into a gallop.

Your enjoyment is decidedly dependent on how you appreciate her sweeping, multi-octave singing and tunes that reflect the give and take of relationships in ways that make soap operas seem subtle.

The outfit gets points for releasing an album comprising new compositions (minus Petty’s tune), which helps establish them as more than another ABB cover act, albeit one with undeniably valid credentials.

Ultimately, Lukas is carrying on Willie’s tradition, pushing the outlaw boundaries his famous father established in the ’70s and proving that the musical apple truly does not fall far from the tree.

For the most part, it works. But "Warrior Man," a jumbled idea that could've been a great song, is the sort of cautionary tale that keeps this album from matching Shame, Shame's standards.

Travis is to be commended for keeping the faith and coming up with another batch of quality songs that, if not their best stuff, isn’t far from it. But like the album’s unimaginative title, there’s little that pushes any of the band’s established boundaries into new and fresh sonic areas.

Now, 47 years after his passing, music Hendrix never authorized is available, warts and all, in a package that, for all of its captivating moments, still exudes the faint yet noxious whiff of wringing every last dollar from his dedicated fan base.

Some songs suffer from being underwritten and overplayed. Still, there are enough impressive moments to ensure that, at least on stage, they will detonate with the passion and soul the Tedeschi Trucks band generates at every show.

Jennings' songwriting is at its best in Minnesota when reflecting this troubling sense of uncertainty and contradiction.

It feels like the band is playing it a tad safe here.

If Dream Attic is any indication, recording studios may soon be as irrelevant to Richard Thompson's career as big record companies are.

Even at only eight tunes clocking in under a half hour, this is a sincere, heartfelt and often riveting performance that might bring those who had lost the Adams map back into the fold.

At times this slick party vibe sounds like Hall & Oates at their least soulful, which is to say the music has an inevitability to it that initially feels fresh, but starts to wear thin when it’s clear the entire album is cut from the same glitzy cloth.

While the songs aren’t the most complex ever written, even among The Whigs’ catalog, they are perfect for cruising with the windows down.

Okay, Ringo hasn’t made his masterpiece, but then again, a guilty pleasure can be worth savoring in itself. As most of his Starr-struck admirers generally conclude, it can be rewarding to zoom in albeit momentarily, rather than opting to completely tune out.

With nearly 80 minutes of music that will make you hear these 17 tunes in new ways, and in most cases drive you back to the originals to stare and compare, this is one of the few covers sets that pushes boundaries but still remains respectful to a classic band and its bulging catalog of timeless music.

Musically, the occasional horns, a fuller production, and a more structured overall approach makes this eighth release the tightest, most focused Felice Brothers album yet.

Ultimately you wish they would have put more effort into what seems to be a really relaxed, yet not lackadaisical release.

What she’s come up with isn’t always completely successful, but it keeps you wanting more.

There seems to be a slightly less edgy approach to these ten tracks, some of which could have used a dose of the hyper-caffeinated style TDM3 whip up in front of an audience.

Some tracks, like “Teenage Summer” (the first single and video) and the tuneful “Oh Hi” highlight choruses that immediately entice like the group’s biggest hit, “Don’t Dream It’s Over,” did nearly four decades ago. But generally, Finn and sons spoon out pleasant, low-key, pensive material that’ll take a few spins to connect with.