A decidedly mixed bag that offers many captivating songs but not a consistently high-quality artistic statement.

I bet that The Milk of Human Kindness will appear on my and others’ “best of 2005” lists.

While far from perfect, The Hold Steady's sloppy take on classic rock is actually quite refreshing and much more fun than most current indie rock and British post-punk revival wankery.

While nothing on The Forgotten Arm is brand new for her, it's a natural evolution from what her fans have gotten used to, the minor-key laments and regrets of Bachelor No. 2 and Lost in Space.

It is easily the band’s most accomplished, interesting record, a record that will simultaneously alienate stodgy diehard “fans” and attract a new group of listeners to the band.

Unfortunately, Haughty Melodic, in its attempt to gain a wider audience, does have some clunkers.

This album is a lot more than just a singer/songwriter's romantic confessions but not quite the grandiose rock of The Flaming Lips and Beck, but The Russian Futurists have carved a nice little niche somewhere in between.

Minus the instrumentals (eight), tracks featuring guest stars (three), and songs whose only redeeming quality is their cool title (at least five, including "Son of a Bitch," "I’m Going to Stop Pretending I Didn’t Break Your Heart," and "Whatever Happened to Soy Bomb"), you’re really only left with a handful of bonafide Eels tunes.

Folds' wit is less biting, but it's still present. And he's still got style.

Brilliant.

While the material is at times uncomfortable and discomfiting, one can't help but be fascinated - and a little touched.

The infusion of pop and blues has not only been done before, it’s also been done better.

Otto Spooky is an excellent album, yet sometimes too long for my attention span.

The Sunlandic Twins is a dizzying, exhilarating, and almost endlessly fun ride, breezy almost to a fault, romantic and lighthearted.

The National seems to have settled into a fine balance between the hungover brooding of Leonard Cohen and the more mellifluous tendencies of Joy Division and Echo and the Bunnymen.

Anyone with a love for substantive indie pop that sounds fresh with each listen would be erring by not picking up this affecting, gorgeous album.

It’s somewhat troubling to see Jurado abandoning the genre of folk that served him so well on his last album. More unsettling is the simultaneous presence of the mopey indulgence of some of Jurado’s faux-gothic breakup stories and the honed, spare excellence of tracks like “White Center,” “Lottery,” and “Fuel.”

Though Suspended Animation boasts 30 tracks, it only runs some 40-odd minutes, and those are some of the most densely packed and bombastic minutes you’re likely to find on a record this year.

Horses in the Sky has some melodic, attractive moments, though these are drowned by yelps and off-key vocals that grate and stain the whole work.

Whereas Magnolia was instantly gratifying – a sea change for Molina both sonically and emotionally - What Comes After the Blues is scattered and tangled.

The easy, carefree atmosphere is extremely effective; the songs’ warmth of proximity makes each better than it would be if heard alone, resulting in an album that somehow transcends its simplicity and becomes something of remarkable beauty.

Guero is Beck’s most enjoyable long-player because it doesn’t pretend to be more than what it is: a fun collection of disparate, delicious songs.

The Bravery treads the same well worn path as bands like The Smiths and The Cure but manages to avoid tripping on its roots by adding a unique personality.

If Edan can sort out the dismayingly schizophrenic nature of Beauty and the Beat, he could harness his immense potential as both a rapper and lyricist and create something pretty cool, especially if he gets guest-MCs who perform as well as Insight, Percee P, and Mr. Lif do on this album.

What is truly magical on Silent Alarm is how it astutely grafts the accoutrements of wiry post-punk austerity to pop hooks fortified with soulful melodic intent.

Another accomplished, cohesive effort that finds the group continuing to tweak without significantly changing its sound.

It might take a couple of rotations, but upon spinning Let Us Never Speak of it Again, be prepared to suffer from involuntary dance fits from surfeits of jollity. Asinine lyrics be damned, I’m dancing here.

There are some genuinely good songs on this album. But good bands make music that their listeners don't have to really try to enjoy.