SB makes hermetic/occult music by design, made to appeal to cults and that’s what makes them so proudly unique. Nevertheless, here’s hoping that next time, their ambitions include stretching out their songs and their ideas stuffed inside each tune.

Given that parts of the album seem intentionally radio-ready, there’s reason to suspect the Rosebuds may have shed their thornier side to win greater acceptance. Happily though, they’re able to dispute that notion with entries that remain unerringly intriguing.

Though not as great as their last few albums of all original songs, Play The Hits is still a fun holdover until the band comes back with another record.

The lack of anything that’s decidedly uptempo may be a detriment to some, but the blend of strings and acoustic instrumentation more than compensates for the subdued stance.

Over accessible grooves derived from the same source used by groups like Tinariwen and Terakaft, Brahim sings with an easy tone that coils her passion into a tight spring, rather than shoot it out of a cannon.

While this isn't going to make you toss your copy of George Best, it shows the guy still has some gas left in his tank and is far from embarrassing himself.

Sure, Kool Keith lets some profoundly dumb lyrics loose on Love and Danger, but they all seem in service of some improvisational rope-a-dope that ultimately finds him landing a knockout punch.

Wright relies mostly on covers — she’s only credited with co-writing the final track “All the Way Here”--but her choice of classic material--Dylan’s “Every Grain of Sand,” Allen Toussaint’s Southern Nights,” the timeless standard “Stars Fell on Alabama, as well as newer, but equally impressive choices by k.d. lang, Rose Cousins and Ray Charles--testify to her ability to make the material her own.

That McCombs is seeking a specialized niche seems all too obvious, even though his sound flirts with being elusive.

I was kind of hoping for more hooks, but sometimes forget that every record can't be Singles Going Steady. When the White Wires release a greatest hit collection that might be just what I'm looking for, but in the meantime, WWIII will do.

Too often, it seems like the singer is leading us into blind alleys, stringing words together willy-nilly on bead chains, then scattering them like sparkling baubles in a heap.

Quever’s songs are meant to provide sweet succor, not catharsis, and in that Life Among the Savages proves to be pretty good company.

Certainly, there’s a fine line in-between a record bearing cohesion and every song being a clone of the tune before it, but Naomi suffers, even if slightly so, from multiple personalities.

While the lyrics here do tend to come off as pretentious at times, the sentiment is still admirable and actually pays off on songs like “March in September.”

Though not for every taste, Felder has enough going on to be more than just aural wallpaper.

A transitional record, then, one that seems to be leading to a masterstroke.

Ivy Tripp is more of a “This is what I can do,”’ album, worthy enough, and intermittently excellent, but not as shocking, not as eye-opening, not as much of a sock in the gut as the predecessor.

Family functions more like a sampler than as an in-depth insight into their collective prowess.

Moments of stark beauty do chime or trill within the trio's overall locked-in-the-engine-room sound.

Some of the half-crazed momentum is missed, particularly during the meandering tracks that end the LP. But mostly the Warlocks thrive in this environment of release-free tension, letting Skull Worship seethe rather than rage, and it’s no less effective for the restraint.

Despite his delicate--make that dainty--designs, Henson also knows how to set a fanciful mood, albeit one that’s singularly subdued.

The disc’s first half is most engrossing, especially the slinky, smouldery swagger of “Lady and Man,” which whips up funk intensity with explosive starts and stops. ... Late album tracks drift and drone, pillow-padded with angelic “oohs” and paced for motionless contemplation.

Like his debut, 2012’s Clear Heart Full Eyes, Finn’s solo records tend to be a little darker and more-sparse than Hold Steady albums.

Good Sad Happy Bad is more an interesting record than a piece of music you’ll return to for enjoyment. It’s a fun place to visit, but you might not want to live there.

Revelation hardly pushes the boundaries of what the BJM can do, but it’s nice to hear the band reiterating what it does best.

To the Happy Few combines the experience of veterans with the joy of rediscovery.

The best tracks, though, come when Earle focuses on just simply rockin’.

An impressively ambitious feat no doubt, but this album would probably be better served with a little more restraint.