Mark Kozelek Sings Favorites comes off as if it was created to serve Kozelek more than to stimulate the listener, making the no-frills, stripped-down set easy to fall for to but tough to return to.

The Competition may be Lower Dens' most accessible album, but its best moments come when the band slow down and strips back their sound.

The first half of the record clashes significantly with the latter half, which is... eclectic.

Despite the dream team behind it, American Utopia has much to like but little to love, perhaps its most apt, if unintended, critique of the country itself.

Medium Rarities isn't essential. A few tracks stand out, but the real excitement lies ahead. Mastodon's last few albums have crept up the top 10.

As rich and resonant as some of these synth tones are, it's ultimately an album that's more conceptually interesting than it is musically appealing.

Despite its brisk pacing, Starz still suffers from bloat. Songs like "Iceheart," "Dance in the Dark," and "My Agenda" could have been left off the track list and made the album more coherent and enjoyable to experience.

For all its vulgarity, predictability, repetitiveness and reckless musings on drugs, Juicy J's trippy music succeeds because of its spirit. His new album (his first since trading 666 for Taylor Gang) bottles that infectious energy, that reckless intensity, that raw hustler's "kapow!" and delivers it in an accessible package.

With so many of its songs employing fade-outs, Siberia also has this palpably unplanned feeling, which doesn't always pay off.

It's a traveller's record, but not one for the wide-eyed, "wanderlusting" tourist; rather, it's one for the detached and disoriented, Bill-Murray-in-Lost-in-Translation voyager. It hits this note strikingly, but it's a shame about the sonic mishmash.

A Better Tomorrow never really coalesces into a satisfying whole.

While The Home Inside My Head is by no means the band's magnum opus or a step forward for pop punk as a whole, it's definitely a worthwhile listen for fans of the band and genre.

The Mountain does not reach the same heights as the one called Monkey at the end of Demon Days, nor does it have the same sonic depth as Plastic Beach. However, it does continues in the path of both of those albums.

Pollard races through each song with all the gusto of the late '90s. His enthusiasm, though charming as ever, falls just shy of justifying what often feels like a collection of chaotic, unfinished demos.

Domo's Genesis is a step in the right direction, but he's walking to his destination, and not anywhere near where he needs to be just yet.

While the layers of oddball narrative that Black brings to the table help distinguish it, aesthetically it's at least five years too late and feels like something aimed squarely at hip, divorced dads.

On Last Place, the band returns to the same well again, and while there is enough here to sustain some nostalgia, that well seems drier than ever before.

In•ter A•li•a feels like a band trying to recapture the sound of their youth.

Mark of the Blade is a bit hit-and-miss. Musically, the new touches work well and flow with the rest of the album, but the clean vocals in particular feel forced and sorely out of place.

It's all very un-Explosions-like, but it works to not only create diversity in their discography, but also as a moody album that can provide moments of levity.

With so many loose threads, JACKBOYS isn't the compilation album one would hope for — instead, it seems rushed and put together to make a year-end release.

Grace/Confusion could have been a great 20-minute EP. Instead, it's a listless 40 minutes that works best as background music.

Be Myself is hardly a classic, but it's another solid, light-hearted sounding collection with some clear standouts on it.

A Wonderful Beast stands as a frustrating listen; a demonstration of what Calvin Johnson can do when he's motivated and what he can do when he's just fucking around.

Though the album lacks a unifying aesthetic, and a couple of pieces have a slight "interlude" quality, the strongest elements highlight Lipstate's unwillingness to place definitions or limitations on her music.

The production is top-notch, but Ghost rarely shifts into uncharted lyrical territory, holding back Sour Soul's otherwise consistent production.

"Nuage d'Ivoire" is one of Par Avion's highlights, while some slower pieces, like "Reflections," seem to drag on a bit.

This revised version offers fans a chance to listen closely to those musical constructions, at their most skeletal, revealing an often wondrous gestation process: just one that never quite compares to its own final product.

This new record still finds them wavering. By not taking a side, they fall flat in the middle.

The production is top notch, Tip is rapping tighter than ever, and clearly knows who and what to work with, but the rare glimmers of originality and risk only further exposes the safeness of this Pharrell-tweaked new T.I. album.

Most of the album feels too much like a work-in-progress.

The Art of Hustle has vision, but it's occasionally weighed down by Gotti's efforts to recreate the success of his biggest single yet.

The result is that Pyramid is an imperfect and uneven album that satisfies two different audiences, as the front half is packed with wandering jam band noodling while the second half tightens into a slightly more focused and rhythmic set. It's just a shame that Jaga Jazzist wasn't able to give the listener a more cohesive and unified version of what they were trying to achieve with Pyramid.

Although Slay-Z's flat lyrics might be a little uninspiring for the sober listener, its vigorous beats and dizzying pace are perfect for settings that require more moving and less thinking.

Striking a balance between sinister and comforting, it's a compelling sign that Cold Specks remains an artist to watch.

The album is frustrating, with no middle ground, and the strengths don't quite make up for the weaknesses.

Y2K! certainly isn't a disaster, but it's decidedly inessential, providing some new material for fans of her early singles without revealing any new tricks.

After challenging themselves on Whorl, Simian Mobile Disco push their craft as far as their comfort level will allow on Welcome to Sideways.

Most songs fall into well-worn territory about young love and teenage politics, while there's sameness to too many of the songs. But when it works, and it often does, their charms are undeniable.

As a listening experience in and of itself, Messier Objects offers very little to stimulate or engage and will likely only resonate with the most diehard among the Notwist's fan base.

The Punishment of Luxury continues the band's ongoing reunion without significantly altering their course. A few songs here could end up in the band's permanent setlist, but for an album so concerned with our present-day living, OMD seem too content to linger in their own past.

Information is a decent effort that unfortunately doesn't quite bite as hard as it should.

The Replacements were so luminescent because they played their bizarre, specific brand of rock for the kids at the front, all snot, spit and sweat. In trying so blatantly to recapture that magic, The Deadbeat Bang of Heartbreak City can't help but feel like a lot of smoke and mirrors.

Johnson has made great creative leaps with every new album he makes, but with Back to Land, he seems to have finally backed himself into a corner.

New Material's subjects are too broad for incisive commentary, and its themes of disenfranchisement and helplessness are played too straight for dark comedy. Ultimately, it's about as expressive as those one-word titles would suggest.

Golden is bereft of relative stinkers, but there's little to bring listeners back.

While it may not reach the heights of Acid Rap or Coloring Book, it doesn't feel as far removed — and, in some moments, indicates that those heights are still within reach.

On their self-titled debut, E focus on each member's strength, leaving listeners with an album that's at times more combative than it is collaborative.

Like much of Willie's work these days, Band of Brothers might not bring many new fans into the fold, but it's sure to please those already there.

While it is unlikely that many listeners will find this song [Just Waves] worth revisiting, the rest of the EP is strong, and recommended especially to those already familiar with the group.

Although Bieber created a decent body of work, it's hard to get past that the sentiments of the overall message is skewed by the lack of effort towards creating music that addresses any sort of justice or lack thereof.

Though some of MG comes off unfinished and thematically skeletal, Gore does a fine job at utilizing a multitude of sounds on experimental-leaning tracks like "Creeper" and "Trysting."

Though the triumph of 1000 Days is its fusion of light and dark, there are some moments that feel out of place: the murky noise on instrumental "Dovetail" is a bit harrowing against the gentle acoustics on the title track, while "Little Dream," a 38-second spurt of woozy punk, appears and disappears out of nowhere.

A further expansion of the clean stream of consciousness that is her discography, Chaos Angel proves, at its worst, that Maya has found her groove and ain't nothing's going to break her autumnal stride.

falling or flying may fall a bit short of the expectations set by her debut, but it does fly in the face of what you'd expect of someone on their second outing as a solo artist. It's a solid effort despite some missteps — among the clutter is some of the best material of Smith's young career.

All in all, there's ample material on here for fans, even if Mount Ninji lacks a lot of the bite that made albums like Ten$ion and Donker Mag so fresh and exhilarating.

If you're a big fan of the band, or if you have been feeling nostalgic for the Reverend, check it out.

Hexed is better than its predecessor, I Worship Chaos, and certainly marks one of Bodom's better efforts of late. Old-school fans and newbies alike will be sure to find enjoyable aspects, but will quickly figure out which songs to omit when crafting their next workout playlists.

Donoghue and Holland continue to be unmoved by the larger cultural forces around them, producing a record that doubles down on their best and, at times, worst impulses.

Without something steady to anchor it all, Hello Happiness sound less like an album and more like a compilation of stand-alones.

Ash still generate radio-friendly tunes on Kablammo!, but they lack the depth that they demonstrated at their peak, and sound a little like they're merely repeating their post-millennial releases at this point.

The songs--though sparely produced as usual--sound picked over, like they've been played too many times and have lost their fire.

Songs like "How Will I Get Through This One," "If You Ever Have Forever In Mind" and "I'm Pretty Sure That's What's Killing Me" are good, but not in a "tour de force, let's re-introduce the band to a whole new generation with some familiar, but next level stuff"-type of way.

It's hard to hear a group fall so flat on the follow-up to an album like Subiza, but even though there are some bright moments, Apar is undoubtedly a letdown.

Tall Tall Shadow (the long-awaited follow-up to 2010's Heart of My Own) sees Bulat lifting her voice once again--high above the fussy introduction of electronic elements--to a place where joy and despair mingle in heady measures.

So Joy Comes Back might be on your shopping list, especially if you're already a Ruthie Foster fan, but take this advice: It's only half a great album, so keep it on the B side.

For the most part, the rest of the album is less head-turning, which that can translate to forgettable. Still, it's about time Taking Back Sunday shook things up, so the high points make Tidal Wave an effort that should please dedicated fans and appease the sceptics somewhat, as well.

While the arrangements are relatively unadorned compared to the original versions, Campbell's voice is strong, and the overall results are a dignified last letter to his fans. There may be little appeal beyond that.

The trio are adroit musicians with pleasant vocal abilities--loving the falsetto--and if you look past the over-indulgences, the album is solid, if not particularly memorable.

This isn't poppier than anything they've done over the past decade or so, but few individual songs stick out like good pop songs should.

For the most part of Concrete and Gold, it's the same anthemic, meat 'n' potatoes arena rock we've come to expect; a little more punk or metal aggression here, a little more acoustic balladry there, but the mould is the same.

While this project will likely infiltrate the Serato of many a nightclub DJ, there's little--outside the three or four cohesive, codeine-fuelled joints surprisingly carried mostly by Future--that reaches the potential of what What a Time to Be Alive could have been.

There are a few new sounds here — prominent vocal harmonies in the chorus of the opening title track, electronic snare hits and a soft synth hum on the saccharine "Looking for a Vein" — but for the most part, this is familiar DMB.

Similar to how Drake and Future on What a Time to Be Alive, the two collaborators have trouble finding common ground here. They're equally impressive in their own right but they rarely connect, and when they try on each other's styles, it's awkward.

It's a remarkably ambient record that is also hard to settle into and relax around; it definitely rewards active listening.

August By Cake gets interesting when tracks like "Warm Up to Religion" and "What Begins on New Year's Day" tap into the melancholy that's occasionally haunted Pollard's melodies. Aside from those tracks, though, he shows little interest in the tinkering that made his earlier work so interesting.

The best moments here are either instrumental or wordless, when Coyne's voice--which, though never technically impressive, always fit perfectly with each album's sound, whether it was the ragged bombast of their Soft Bulletin-era epics or the hushed haunt of The Terror--becomes a whispering (or even whistling) texture. Lyrically, though, Coyne appears to have exhausted any last nuggets of profundity he once had.

Though the production lags at times, Wiley's performance overall is still a fitting conclusion to his groundbreaking journey in music.

There's enough here to keep fans happy and even win a few more over in the process, but it's another mixed bag from a band that are easier to like than love.

The first half of the album is presented with the clean and stripped down grain of early Karate songs, but the feel is less their trademark over-caffeinated tension and more suburban dad that used to be in punk bands jamming to Thin Lizzy songs with his buddies in the car port. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, but it's not very remarkable either.

These head-scratching moments mean that, despite the collection's successes, it probably works better as a sheet music oddity than a cohesive album.

In order to continue to excel, he needs to move past the solipsistic and look outward. He raps better when he does.

As tracks like the bombastic slow jam "Ascension" and the Drive soundtrack cast-off "Disclosure" add a bit of auditory depth to the album, much of Chiaroscuro runs at a dreary autopilot pace.

Despite 7 not being a fantastic project by any measure, the EP proves that Lil Nas X isn't a one-hit wonder and can find longevity in his career as long as he continues to show off his versatility.

Rubinos's major folly on Una Rosa seems to be her desire to push her craft forward and to challenge herself. And while that may be the main ingredient for truly groundbreaking music, she forgot to draw up a blueprint beforehand.

Mixing Colours shows Roger and Brian Eno at their most casual and unguarded, but there's simply not enough variety, curiosity or sense of adventure here to dub it as a must-listen.

It could have been much better. Kanye's foray into gospel should have been a heavenly experience, but it's half-baked, incoherent and ultimately falls short of godly.

At the expense of sounding more classically "Wolf Parade," the album suffices as a fun listen with some neat nostalgic nods, lopsidedness and all.

The thing is, despite the strength of the band (which also includes bassist Todd Sickafoose and guest Ivan Neville), much of the 12-song album feels like filler.

In the end, the album loses steam throughout, something that is only accentuated by all the potential bonus tracks.

It makes in confident swagger what it lacks in memorable hooks, but at 19 tracks, it's too imbalanced and stuffed to be considered a classic.

Yes, Pianoworks does have its beautiful moments of levity; Cooper is great at that. But the experience of listening to it feels very passive. It's happening, but you, the listener, are not so much involved as you are just in the vicinity. It doesn't wrap you up and envelop you the way Eluvium works often do.

Green's latest effort is a pleasant and sometimes surprising record. Yet, the album's constant adherence an identikit version of the '60s crooners struggles to land any outstanding tracks.

Although there are some standouts on the album, like the vocal push-and-pull of "Don't Move Back to L.A.," the soulful "Shelter Song" and the dramatic buildup of "Human Being Song," Sheff sounds rather lost throughout this album, hampered by indecisive arrangements and ambling verses.

Overall, while it does appear as though Angelides has been bitten by the sophomore album slump, there are some significant moments here that show an artist growing into something bigger and better than ever before.

Drenched in fuzzy guitars, '60s girl-group melodies and a dash of light punk (closer "When I Was Yours" blends all three), it has plenty of sticky hooks and sing-along choruses.

It's an uneven effort by a band that specializes in doing whatever the hell feels right.

There are layers to Bleached that are yet to be uncovered. Whether it's worth waiting for is a question still left unanswered.