Dreams Worth More Than Money is surprisingly focused, presenting an uncomfortably lucid, non-pensive character study detailing the underside of the American Dream.

The album likely won't convince anyone who's already written off Best Coast, but it's a new high for a band many thought had peaked years ago.

At times, their subgenre-flipping can be ungainly--the cheerleading chant "Impossible" is awkwardly glued together, and Hervey's dissonant harmonies sometimes obscure her hooks. More often, though, the cracks in their songwriting and sonics come off as welcome decoration, and their why-the-hell-not bravado is hugely refreshing.

[The album was] rush-released by Def Jam on a low budget. It's a fact that's somewhat hard to hide behind the set's lean production and uneven narrative. But there's cohesion among most of the 13 tracks.

Heart may be a measured apology, but Green still has a defiant streak.

Half of the album finds the successful singer/actor making the kind of pop-inflected R&B once heard from En Vogue or SWV. Cool & Dre handled the bulk of the album's production, setting the star's vocals against head-nodding beats that come reasonably close to more youthful urban-radio fare.

For 2012's The Connection, the steroid-heavy production was somewhat tempered so emotional catharsis could propel the album, and the same holds true for new collection F.E.A.R. (Face Everything and Rise).

Where “Sleep” excels as a quality addition to his catalog’s stellar collection of panty-dropping and baby-making songs (see: “Take You Down,” “No BS”), others fall and lean towards prosaic.

Motion City Soundtrack's smart-aleck tendencies combine nicely with a harder sound on My Dinosaur Life, pushing the band back to its roots with enough twist to propel it in a new direction.

Coyne doesn't actually sing on the majority of these covers, but regardless, the album is decidedly refracted through a Flaming Lips light.

Produced by a handful of trusted Atlanta trap producers, DS2 is gothic, narcotic and full of overcast skies.

On Souls, Maiden mostly hits its target.

On his second album, Rokstarr, British pop-soul artist Taio Cruz croons about the highs and lows of love over a wide variety of electronic-influenced beats.

A mixed bag, but an appealingly bold one.

The uptempo songs are entertaining, but it's the ballad performances that set this disc apart.

Romance Is Boring would be better-served with more of the diversity that's found on these tracks. But those without dates on Valentine's Day should find some cheer in this danceable collection

Jason Aldean's Old Boots, New Dirt, the singer's sixth studio album is a mixture of the party songs he has become known for--but also shows a little bit more of an emotional and sensual side than listeners might be accustomed to.

Brooks doesn't do half measures, as evident on the title track, screeching guitar-rock in which he rails against technology by referencing folklore hero John Henry, who died in a steam drill competition against a machine. But it's the dramatic tunes about love gone bad that stand out.

Stuff Like That There shows that Yo La Tengo is, remarkably, still effectively the same band it was a quarter-century ago: graceful, centered and eager to play its latest finds.

The 19-track album drags a bit in its latter half, but Boosie smartly saves its emotional climax for the devastating closer, "I'm Sorry," on which he ­apologizes one by one to everyone he neglected during his prison bid.

The new album finds vocalist Dave Gahan and songwriter/multi-instrumentalist Martin Gore refining some familiar sounds and trying out some new wrinkles.

Whereas 2010's Born Free's presentation of a gentler, more ripened Rock occasionally came across as calculated, here the singer--who also produced most of this album--fits comfortably into a modern country-rock landscape that seems practically tailor-made for him: a God-fearing good old boy with a hard-rock heart and an outlaw-country spirit.

The album builds on the pair's impressive collaborative EP with Robyn, Do It Again, reinforcing that project's themes of legacy, repetition and dedication.

The whole endeavor has a “live and let live” feel that fits in perfectly with Strait’s laid-back, though never sloppy, attitude.

Legend, like Gunplay’s professed diet, is a potent mix of uppers, downers and hallucinogens; it makes for a weird, and weirdly satisfying, trip.

There's nothing on Wildheart to make one lose faith in Miguel's promise as a major creative and popular force of the decade, but neither is there enough to feel like he has satisfied his warring sides. Instead, it's a case of his sense of space still sharpening, and the hope for his full emergence, repping for a generation that won't accept outdated double binds, yet to come.

The band's classic, downtuned stomp could easily pass for an unreleased track from the "Dirt" era and is sure to keep longtime fans feeling pleasantly dystopic.

McPhee sounds much more comfortable amid Alagia's rootsy singer/songwriter settings than she did surrounded by the shiny R&B beats of her self-titled debut,