Melodies take longer to reveal themselves and choruses don’t have the natural hooks Loveless has crafted before. Which just means you’ll need to spend additional time exploring the songs, mulling them over, absorbing the lyrics and letting their more elusive charms sink in.

On stage, the stretched out pieces allow the group to more seamlessly stitch their tapestry together, a talent that isn’t quite as effective in this occasionally inspired but just as often hectic studio set.

Generally missing, though, are hooks that bring you back for another listen. The songs are melodic and easy on the ears if not particularly memorable.

The "big-in-England" quartet's fourth release is more of the same that made them so admired overseas;ie trippy yet expansive psychedelic Brit-pop sung and played with attitude (some may say ego), a whip smart attention to melody and an arena sensibility/swagger that screams "rock stars."

In Postcards Pieta Brown has created a trip through her most personal and revealing moments with an honesty and confidence most wouldn’t even attempt.

Everything here is painted in varying shades of gloom and lit by flickering candle flame, but every now and then, illuminates something quite gorgeous.

The band's newest album is likely to alienate longtime followers and music snobs alike, but will undoubtedly excite newer fans who embraced their massive smash hit "Moves Like Jagger."

Hunt is at his most exciting when he fuses the past and the present (“Let It Down” truly shines bright) into ambitious creations that hint at even greater promise ─ but his second offering is largely a mixed bag.

Where Roses shines the brightest is via the textures that gild the album's edges.

It’s encouraging that Seger is expanding his boundaries, especially this late in life. But a few more representative tough rockers interspersed in the album’s disappointing second half would have helped what starts out like a revitalized return to form from--here’s that car/Detroit metaphor again--running out of gas.

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.