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.