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.