The unrelenting earnestness of the album may appeal to some listeners and repel others, but in either case Franti has achieved his goal of capturing the "sound of sunshine"--and it seems like he's having too good a time to care what anyone thinks, anyway.

World Peace is an album that rewards patience, and the deeper one goes into it, the more fun there is to be had.

There are echoes of Bjork (a major influence), Depeche Mode and the earlier, more melodramatic tendencies of the Cure. While that references the older aspects of Wayman’s music, there’s also an enduring, durable and somewhat ageless vibe that keeps this from feeling retro.

With their extended songs, complex– some might say obtuse– lyrics and Geddy Lee's piercing vocals, Rush largely plays to a cult audience.

Those less focused might find their attention taxed, but this is a meticulously crafted and uncompromising work that shows Henry to be at the top of his game releasing challenging music not made for prime time.

Top notch session musicians including guitarist David Garza and Me'Shell N'Degeocello on bass along with a few namedropping guests such as Robert Plant and Patty Griffin help flesh out these eleven often moody, reflective tunes, making this her most accomplished album to date.

It might also be argued that Hey Clockface is Costello’s attempt to redefine himself as a more mature performer, one cognizant of the fact that he has an aging audience seeking subtlety and sentiment. Indeed, as the title suggests, time is ticking away, ensuring relevance becomes more a priority than rambunctiousness.

None of these cropped and re-imagined takes are drastic enough to add huge insights into Bush's output as they do her finicky outlook on her own work. Work that is, generally, great in any context.

While it's not in the vein of his riveting, pulsating classics, it's a tough, often lyrically reflective rumination set to no nonsense, simmering, often swampy blues inflected rockers with an undercurrent of taut funk.

All Birds Say plays like some east coast indie darling took his acoustic guitar out into the great west, met a kindred soul with a steel guitar and shared a few sweet and unambitious thoughts on life. Broemel chooses his instruments well, and if the album never raises its voice, with a consistency in tempo that approaches droning, it's still a pretty haze.

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.

Ultimately, this album will not convince any non-believers. But fans will find a lot to love, and perhaps even notice and enjoy the increased quality of musicianship as they bask in that all-girl garage-fuzz-pop glow and inch towards a future in hi-fi.

The Body Wins stands as something of a transitional work for Jaffe, but it's an impressive album for wherever her musical journey takes her.

It may not be the Tiger Army fans were expecting or hoping for, but if you close your eyes, it will transport you back to a time when men smoked unfiltered cigarettes and women in frilly party dresses and pony tails swooned over them.

It's all lovely, melancholy, lyrically moving and beautifully performed. But older fans will miss the scrappy sparks Forbert used to effortlessly radiate on crackling live performances such as his spirited 1982 King Biscuit Flower Hour set.

If Traveler seems too random and scattered for its own good, it's never less than interesting.

It’s all quite exquisite, gorgeous, charming… and a little bland. Each selection confines to the group’s established low key vibe. But that gets monotonous after a while, even as instruments drift in and out of the mix and tracks such as “Song of the Bell” and “I Lie Awake” up the energy and guitar reverb to include delicate, slightly edgy psychedelics.

Whether one considers it an intimate experience, an organic encounter, an essential additive, or simply a cash-grab, it’s ultimately up to the listener to decide its worth.

Those willing to take the plunge are likely to find enough here worthy of a future return to explore further and ignore, or more likely respect, its self-indulgent qualities.

There is a chilly, somewhat detached vibe that often overtakes the material, making it a challenge to unpack each of these dense selections on an album that’s easier to appreciate and admire than enjoy.

With a two-pack-a-day voice that combines the hard boiled/craggy rectitude of Tony Joe White, Johnny Cash, Kris Kristofferson and especially Waylon Jennings, anything Walls touches feels authentic and lived-in.

Ukulele Songs is lovely as it breezes by, but it doesn't promise a very long shelf-life.

In flirting with frivolity en route to the sublime, the Magnetic Fields too often sound frivolous.

Everything on the appropriately titled Romantic Images goes down smooth with any edges polished to a fine sheen. Those familiar with the music of Tennis will naturally gravitate to this collaboration.

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.

There aren’t any catchy melodies, the song structures are loose, often amorphous with a stream of consciousness flow, and the muted ambiance of the 32 minute, live in the studio set isn’t for everyone. ... Lindeman and her band play music as if no one is around and the tapes aren’t running. That’s a difficult task, but one this album accomplishes with class and style and an honest intimacy impossible to dismiss.

Sometimes, as on “Shroud,” the introspective songwriting isn’t strong enough to sustain the bold attack and the seriousness can feel confining.

Black and White America is a laudable musical statement, and a much needed reminder of how prodigious Kravitz is at melding together rock and funk.

Like a lot of Frusciante’s solo output, Enclosure sometimes sounds more like him working through ideas than a presentation of conclusions.

Although the style is more Knitters than X, the rawness to these tunes makes Shovels & Rope seem like ornery, indie folk-rockers.

Listening in one sitting can get tedious since few tempos rise above a muted whisper. Individually the songs play like scenes from that indie movie. Curious, stimulating, and worthy of pondering … if you’re in the mood.

Robbie Fulks at 53 might be a kinder, gentler version of the rascal of old, but one who has perfected balancing touching, reflective ruminations and a sardonic outlook with effortless aplomb.

Removed from the plot, the edgy swamp/country music score doesn’t connect with the powerful and gripping intensity of the show.

This is not to say that this golden anniversary collection doesn’t do a perfectly respectable job. .... But with only one album of original material since the compilation in 2000, and a startling lack of liner notes in the 23-page booklet (the previous one boasted a book twice as long and far more comprehensive), there is little reason for this to exist other than to rake in some bucks by repackaging content any fan already has or for whoever doesn’t already own this material.

While others in the Americana field get stuck in a groove, that will never be a problem with the Sadies and Northern Passages is a worthy entry in the notable catalog of a now-veteran act who refuse to be pigeonholed.

Though songs are on the lengthy side (around five minutes), they don't drag, and there is enough powerful bass and drums to complement electronic noise.

What We Walk This Road lacks in over-the-top displays of technique, it makes up for in soul, as Randolph's tasteful playing and subtle vocal phrasings emerge more clearly when not fighting for space inside overloaded arrangements.

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.

Boy in a Well remains a missed opportunity for The Yawpers to raise their lyrical game, one that could easily have been rectified with more attention to packaging and explanatory details that are mysteriously and frustratingly MIA.

The percolating pop of “Home Again,” “Caught By Night,” “818,” “One Chance,” and “Libertude” are but a few of the examples of the catchy and quirky nature of Hammond Jr’s individual offerings.

A mixed bag, although one that those who have loved Tea for the Tillerman since it came out might appreciate. Perhaps not surprisingly, the new one doesn’t exude the magic that made Stevens a worldwide star five decades ago. Those who haven’t heard it should start there.

It takes a few spins for the tunes to register as some seem more like provocative set pieces than songs. But once they do, the thoughtful lyrics and sometimes diffuse sonics kick in.

The high bar he has set with a tremendous back catalog makes us yearn for just a bit more out of Mutineers.

The live 25-song audio concert is a solid performance, but the just above bootleg sound is compressed and tinny. The band plays only a few songs from their IRS days while reprising all but three Monster tunes. The hours worth of mostly instrumental demos, where a Stipe-less trio tests riffs and grooves without actual songs behind them, are pleasant but forgettable. ... Fans will be intrigued by the crisper sound of the [remix] where Stipe’s vocals and Peter Buck’s guitar – cranked up for the majority of the disc – are better defined.

Dark Night mostly fits together as an accomplished piece of downbeat concept-rock. The mood can get--to quote Chesnutt's song--"grim," but the artfulness shines through.

Without stronger, more diverse material, the whole frustratingly becomes less than the sum of its parts. Notwithstanding its good intentions, Sage Motel doesn’t resonate as forcefully as it should, especially in light of the amount of work clearly instilled into its creation.

Overall this is, perhaps not surprisingly, a mixed bag with enough impressive, even stirring moments to make it a moderately recommended listen, albeit one that too seldom validates its intent of bringing homespun country grit to the John/Taupin songbook.

The album as a whole is not perfect; Ward's decision to follow his experimental ear results in a few excusable setbacks. But at its core, A Wasteland Companion shows yet again why Ward can be placed in the higher echelon of contemporary American songwriters.

Offering up a populist mix of original compositions, covers of cowboy classics and contemporary songs in equal measure. This frequently ends up frustrating.

Existing fans will find enough to satisfy them, but newbies should choose from earlier Los Lobos works for a better understanding of what makes these guys so special.

After listening to Gray's latest, The Sellout and going back to the music that had shifted through our slush pile unnoticed over the last decade or so, we're pretty stoked to find an artist making solid, soulful music beyond the confines of contemporary culture.

With 10 songs running just over 40 minutes, the disc is compact and taut. That helps makes this a moderately successful return for a veteran singer and occasional songwriter who always seems one hit away from the mainstream audience that threatens to constantly elude her.

The ambition is admirable, but a schizophrenic quality pervades the effort overall. The dramatic shift in sound makes it hard to get a handle in terms of either consistency or feel. Perhaps the two are merely feeling each other out and taking advantage of their options. Whatever the case, 18 still seems like an odd assortment of numbers at best.

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.

There are no musical revelations but recreating the groove of the terrific In Yo’ Face! The History of Funk series of sadly out of print compilations from Rhino is harder than it sounds.

Those in tune with Cowboy Junkies’ storied circumspect will likely find Songs of the Recollection an interesting outgrowth of the band’s desire to expand their parameters and offer homage to their influences. In that regard at least, these Cowboys appear to have corralled another winner.

For the all the bang of "Saturday Sun," "Elephants," with its slow-paced piano, closes out Intriguer, drowsily, though perhaps fittingly so.

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.

Maybe Jagbags would be better if it were tighter, but you’d lose the crucial impression of a man whose primary mission is now to entertain himself.

It’s tough and grimy but you have to wonder how many others are out there bashing out similarly trashy rock who haven’t gotten Booker’s breaks

This Is The Kit are content to dwell in more solitary spaces, but given the ethereal arrangements and Rhy’s carefully considered input, Careful Of Your Keepers emerges as an affecting effort, with layer after layer of melody and mystique. Not surprisingly, This Is The Kit ensures all the pieces fit together fine.

Not surprisingly, these Orwellian soundscapes don’t make for a particularly easy listen. ... It’s that collusion between sonics and strife that makes The Invisible Light radiate so remarkably.

A closing cover of Sam Phillips’ plaintive and rarely heard ballad “Where is Love Now” shows the group knows how to dig for a great song, even if the originals that dominate this disc aren’t immediately as accessible. This isn’t the band’s finest (half) hour, yet it’s great to have them back.

Ke$ha didn't really set the bar for intellectual heft too high on her debut, Animal, so it seems like hair-splitting to mention that even with guilty pleasures like "Cannibal" and, uh, "C U Next Tuesday," Cannibal seems to be skimping on the cleverness.

Eight tracks straight of gut-punching, emotive arena rock can be exhausting--especially when it leans so heavily on emo aesthetics.

None of these improve on Russell’s superlative, often raw and profound recordings. Perhaps if fans of these artists are inspired to dig into his albums, that’s a worthwhile outcome for this well-intentioned, yet frustratingly inconsistent collection.

It’s hard to imagine that after a few spins, most won’t file this with Williams’ other similarly styled albums that, even with his distinctively wacked-out approach, are starting to sound routine, if not flat out lazy.

This rampant musical eclecticism is fun and keeps things from getting boring but it’s also occasionally too scattershot, even though most of the players remain the same throughout.

If this sounds like something of a scattered mess, it is, but it’s a charming one and well worth a go-round for the more adventurous listener willing to let themselves take a wild and wooly trek back in history.

Arched and anthemic, it’s pumped and primed with drama, mood, mystery, and intrigue. It’s a sound that’s strikingly similar to his old ‘80s contemporaries—Echo and the Bunnymen, Duran Duran, Depeche Mode, and the like.

It's clearly a labor of love but should also help Walker's tunes (and extensive career) get discovered by Snider's younger, hipper fan base.

Golden Suits’ debut brims with great ingredients, but leaves us more excited about Nicolaus’ next effort.

The harder they aim for radio, the more rewarding the result. Beneath the irony and compact cool, Cake is still a great little pop band.

Everything is wrapped up in a breathless half hour and except for titles that aren’t quite as controversial as the immortal “I’m Not a Sicko, There’s a Plate in My Head,” this makes similar groups such as the veteran Fleshtones sound like Taylor Swift.

These acoustic performances are laid back but sizzle with the soul of the blues.

On Delta Spirit the record, the band capitalizes on its hard-fought inertia by presenting their cleanest and most sonically homogenous record to date.

We’re treated to a combination of short, instrumental segments and lyrically-driven, radical, long jams that sound familiar, yet unpredictable enough to demand further listening

Even with the slight stench of commercialism tainting this release, and some sub-par material Good Times! exudes enough, well, good times to capture what made the Monkees so much better than their teeny-bopper peers and maintained a dedicated fan base for five decades. If this is their final recorded bow, at least they’ll go out in style.

Ultimately, Crash My Party is melodiously rewarding despite its sporadic lyrical missteps.

Science or not, Widespread Panic's eleventh offering shows that after all this time, they've got something figured out.

It's warmly, immaculately recorded, featuring a wealth of tasty cocktail pop atmosphere perfect for sipping wine on the couch late at night or reclining with a book in a bay window on a lazy Sunday afternoon. It's fine, it's dandy, and it's completely inessential.

Unless you are a White fanatic, the few hard to find selections generally aren’t compelling enough to purchase lots of songs easy to obtain. That makes this an interesting but hardly essential stop-gap release until White’s next official project.

While her singing remains strong and she is emoting about issues close to her, these tracks would benefit from more musical muscle. Regardless, even if Total Freedom isn’t her finest work, it’s encouraging that Edwards has returned to releasing new material and doing what she does best.

There's an undeniably unsettled, even creepy gothic quality to her noir approach that takes hold early and gradually ratchets up as the eleven tunes gently tangle and unwind.

At times, the sudden shifts are rather dizzying.

Even though a handful of tunes seem forced, for the most part, Rateliff’s material and the brassy, bossy attack work well enough together to suggest this was a savvy career move, both artistically and commercially. Next time, if the songs mesh better with the arrangements, he might have a classic on his hands.

These intimate performances are not made for the masses or background listening, and are all the more potent for that.

Even though there's nothing here Randy Travis didn't do first, McCreery flies the C&W flag proudly, singing hummable cherry picked songs that spotlight his impossibly deep voice and backwoods spirit.

The fact that all the songs segue seamlessly together adds to the intrigue, while at the same time reducing the entire album to a series of hazy soundscapes that mostly come across as a bit of a blur.

The optimism of Lust For Life is a pleasant surprise, though the album is still painted in the same shades as Del Rey’s previous releases. At times it’s some of her best material, but it seems like a record best experienced in pieces than as a proper whole.

[A] superb if somewhat restrained There’s a Blue Bird in My Heart.

For every well-placed mandolin run or B-3 organ riff, there's something equally tacky to balance things out.

This melodic yet dynamic punk seems to have been created in the early '80s, a high compliment and one the band is likely to embrace far more than the realization that the disc's title is impossible to fulfill.

The production is clean and not overly slick but the memorable hooks with sweet harmonies come fast and often, resulting in a relatively subtle set that at just 30 minutes leaves you wanting more.

A few more upbeat tunes along the lines of the pop worthy "Summer Child" might have upped the energy, but for established Williams fans, her ninth studio set is another classy entry that gets better with repeated spins.

There is a one-take charm to the performances on A Letter Home, an album that’s more of a tribute to Neil Young’s ever-loving idiosyncrasy than to any of the artists covered.

Songs with poetic yet plainspoken lyrics about found love and lost souls twist in unusual directions and often take a while to absorb. But repeated spins are rewarded with sharply realized words atop melodies that, like most of the gems in his catalog of eight solo albums (along with work in the previously mentioned bands), entice you back for more.

A beautifully fashioned, classy and meticulously crafted background music, perfect for Sunday brunch among the NPR crowd.