One Track Mind aims for the feel of a great dusty road-trip album, and only through its staggering consistency does it slightly fall short of such heights. But when it hits its highs, as if often does, the collection is a transcendent experience.

Races' debut is a powerfully tenacious effort.

It's exceedingly confident with what it does and it spins a very individual and emotional tale that's more than worth investing in.

TEEN is another in a long line of mildly interesting but ponderous offshoots from already established bands.

While it may prove inconsistent to some, the experimentation and exploration ensures the album remains exciting, as you never know what’s arriving next. If the intention of this album was to show a rebirth, it succeeds, as Banks seems reinvigorated and ready to fearlessly conquer the demons that dare cross her path.

For the most part, Rad Times Xpress IV bubbles over with a love of over the top rock n roll that's impossible to not find endearing.

For most of Valhalla Dancehall, the diversity in sound works to British Sea Power's advantage, but it also leaves the album feeling weirdly unsatisfying.

While this record may not quite reach the highs of Set Yourself On Fire or even Heart for that matter, it's still a hell of an album that clearly and succinctly makes the case for the band's continued relevancy in an over-stuffed pop marketplace.

Jace Lasek does an admirable job with the production, channelling a more nocturnal version of his own band's widescreen grandeur, whilst Suuns themselves evince a knack for memorable melodies without really producing anything in the way of actual hooks.

So while the stylistic homogeneity erodes its high points, and it sometimes feels like one giant song, Within and Without harbours some rich, emotive sounds under its monochrome canopy.

This is the kind of album you just throw on to have fun. If anything, it proves My Chemical Romance don't need to be eccentric or theatrical to put out an enjoyable record.

Wolf is a serious mess.

Beal appears determined to make his debut as inaccessible as possible. Intentionally crappy instrumentation holds the album back, stealing the focus from what is an incendiary voice--a lot of casual fans will be dumbfounded by this grating, uneasy listening.

There are occasions in the album's 45 minutes that are pretty good.

Yeah, some of the electronic and percussive flourishes might be a little tired in 2011, but Givers sell it with such wide-eyed abandon and indulgent wonder that it's hard not to give in to the cacophonous stew of bursting pop euphoria.

The consistently solid instrumental writing often is bogged down by the above-mentioned production choices, veering into cheesy territory emblematic of bygone eras of heavy music.

At least in name, Heavy Rocks seems to promise a return to form for Boris. It isn't. It certainly manages a return to sludgy riffed-based heaviness, but the spirit of the record's orange prequel is nowhere to be found.

For all of its well-intentioned flaws and near-immaculate production, this record hums with a life of its own, confident in the abilities of its creator.

We have this perfectly pleasant and assuming piece of synth pop, neighing through a vocoder with the dying breath of the shamelessly beaten horse of retro-futurism.

All the talent in the world can't cover up the fact that Queen of the Wave simply tries too hard and succeeds too infrequently.

By the end of Tearless, Amnesia Scanner’s singular vision, for all its moments that both stun and disgust, has seeped its way in. There’s no looking back.

The People's Key just doesn't have the emotional pull that others do.

Instrumentally, Liturgy of Death returns (mostly) to Mayhem’s 80s and early 90s sound and structure, which should please most post-millennial Mayhem haters. But on tracks like “Propitious Death” and “The Sentence of Absolution” I do hear some of their previous progressive influences creeping under the surface. .... Perhaps the most compelling aspect of Liturgy of Death is its philosophical musings.

Surprising title be damned, High Off Life can’t seem to help feeling like a rerun – albeit an enjoyable one.

Fair play to them for expanding out on Kids in L.A. and finding appropriate inspiration, but I dare say that the emotion that brought the couple together seem to be their deepest well of inspiration.

Collections From The Whiteout excels in storytelling and lyrics but doesn’t always prove the easiest experience. However, this is an album that becomes more comfortable with each progressive listen, unwinding in the listener’s consciousness like the sung stories themselves.

Much like a good wine, the album mellows out and becomes better.

With much of the flash stripped aways from him, Craig Finn proves that he is a formidable songwriter first and foremost, and here we find him sitting on a stool and playing songs at his most comfortable.