Swathed from head to toe in ecstatic fuzz.

TV on the Radio relies more on the influence of eighties prog-pop than the typical Brooklyn grit, which is definitely refreshing.

Your Blues is some kind of masterpiece, the work of a truly original and iconoclastic talent.

What sets Franz Ferdinand apart is their unapologetic adherence to the pop formula.

What the band lack in cohesion they make up for with a healthy mania.

The concept is difficult to follow and the music occasionally unpleasant. But the band’s willingness to stretch in new directions is refreshing.

It's a bit of a disappointment considering the rich subject matter, though Trans Am prove themselves once again masters of their own oblique domain.

This is music that is both lovely to hear and challenging to ascertain at the same time.

While the group treads similar musical and thematic ground to [Nick] Cave, the results are nowhere near as ominous.

It's not that Kannberg has somehow "sold out" with Preston School of Industry, but for the time being, he's clearly lost the urge to take good risks.

Sonically, it's well-tempered between its beat-driven and its acoustic pieces; lyrically, a unique, personal pain drips out from Stewart's whispered vocals, providing the driving force of Muscles' challenging, diverse ensemble.

The first pleasant surprise of 2004.

As the album wears on, however, it becomes clear that Einstürzende Neubauten has spent more time cultivating their bristling sonic elements than exploring compositional variety or subtlety.

The result is a tad muddled, with the valleys unfortunately outnumbering the peaks.

This is at once a record to rock out to, a record to contemplate, and a record to immediately buy if you think it impossible for a band this well-hyped to defy their own press.

The concept does start to wear thin towards the end of the CD, and the recontextualized product is inherently one sided: it's the Beatles' soundtrack that is made to dance around Jay-Z's unedited verses.

On Obrigado Saudade, Pierce picks up where he left off on his last few Bubblecore releases, melding post-rock, world music and analog electronics into rich, earthy shapes.

Classical guitars, mellow piano chords and brushed drums lope across the proceedings like yawning animals still awaiting their first caffeinated jolt of the day.

Achieves that rare supernova of artistic vision that dares to reconcile palpable, unapologetic ambience with unpretentious soulful simplicity.

In the band's able hands, the music still sounds dangerous, unpredictable, and potent.

What separates them from their peers is a refreshing feminine perspective that draws from '60s girl groups and the conflicted teenage angst of Leslie Gore.

Corner's gutter low ends, amphetamine drum programming, and Dizzee's cockney slang-spitting place this record among rap's paradigmatic moments.

Phantom Planet, although obviously representing a group still searching for its sonic niche, nonetheless manages to entertain, perhaps proving there can be life after "California."

Mansions end result is a scarred mess, a fitting aesthetic for such introspective music.

The smart pop hook chops displayed on So Much For the City make it clear that this is one retro-minded band that may just make it to the future.

Room on Fire is a passionate, 32-minute burning effigy of the seemingly insurmountable expectations fans and critics had for the record.

Standout tracks include the Breeders' "Wicked Little Town (Hedwig Version)," the Polyphonic Spree's "Wig in a Box," Spoon's Stones-y take on "Tear Me Down" and the whisper-to-a-scream romp that Yoko Ono and Yo La Tengo let loose on "Hedwig's Lament / Exquisite Corpse."

Whatever their motives, this return to rock and roll is a welcome one.