Sure, stripped-down, acoustic versions of the songs could’ve worked, but with help from producer Richard Swift, they’re fleshed out into psychedelic dreams dappled with field recordings, Latin guitar and Jurado’s serene vocals, raising existential questions that don’t quite get answered.

The album adheres to a less-is-best philosophy, and the songs sound effortless. It’s simple, straightforward and immediate, just like the first Strokes album.

Rhys has weightier material in his body of work, but for sheer pop pleasure this album can't be beat.

You can't deny how interesting some of these dynamic post-rock explorations are.

The songs just have a bit more sonic depth and shine, and the new orchestral embellishments are so unobtrusive you barely notice them.

Bulat has the rare ability to simultaneously sing from all sides: hurt and sweet and wise.

Spiritualized always had that out-of-body, walk-toward-the-light quality; Pierce just seems to be doing it better now than on the last two albums.

The songs are effortlessly pleasant even when they threaten to dissolve into the ether like the woolly memory of a sweet dream receding into your subconscious.

There’s no denying the chemistry between these two; it throbs all over their impressive new disc.

Lindsey Buckingham appears on the quiet Soldier's Angel, and he and Nicks interlock in a unique way that tells us these two, at least musically, are bound together for life.

While the mixtape features strong guest spots from Ab-Soul, Action Bronson and a rare appearance by veteran Twista, none of them overshadow Chance, whose distinctive drawl, rapid-fire delivery and keen ear for experimental beats--ranging from hometown-grown juke to piano jazz--will have a bunch of labels tripping over themselves to sign him.

Williams gives her songs more room to breathe than ever before, opening up vast, cinematic visions of the highway and land that inspired them.

The result is often delightfully overwhelming in its heaviness, with the calm moments in between making the ear-splitting loud parts disturbingly jarring. These extreme peaks and valleys elevate the record into the realm of difficult but deeply satisfying art.

In a tight but varied 39 minutes, Tyler is exploring the sonic terrain in Flower Boy with a narrative concept that, like a non-relationship, feels endless and all-encompassing, then hard not to put on repeat.

MusicLive Music ListingsDisc ReviewsThe SceneDJ SpotlightClub SpotlightSite MapSearchHome www.nowtoronto.com/personals/ mydickonce again, just ask dont be a virgin... Browse... Women seeking Men Women seeking Women Men seeking Women Men seeking Men www.nowtoronto.com/personals/ Story Tools Email Print/Save Facebook Twitter Buzz This Share NOW Rating N N N N N Reader's Rating Disc Review She & Him Volume Two (Merge)By Paul Terefenko Welcome to Volume 2, the second release by cute-as-a-button Zooey Deschanel and quirky romance-soundtrack-meister M. Ward, aka She & Him. It’s largely a continuation of Volume One, so if Deschanel’s occasionally off-putting intonation isn’t too much for you, this sweet romp through a warm, largely carefree universe should nestle naturally into your listening rotation.

The spare melodies and bleeps-and-loops approach result in chillingly direct songs.

The album may have been borne in a fog, but the result finds Granduciel on the other side of the murk.

Gordon and Post haven't missed a beat. In fact, they might be better than ever.

This is a musical just waiting to be staged.

In producer Tucker Martine’s hands (he’s worked with Neko Case, Punch Brothers, the Decemberists and Laura Veirs), O’Donovan’s music sounds light and atmospheric, her folk freed up by billowing electric guitars and sensitive percussion.

Thankfully, this is more about Otis, Marvin and Stevie, which Lidell does amazingly well for a British experimental techno brat.

Improvised music already lends itself to the unpredictable qualities of the elements, but Tagaq and company also find their strength in building patterns. ... Her vocal performance on the record is inspired. It arrives like a violent current that you have no choice but to lose yourself in.

The Oslo five-piece flirt with overindulging their feedback fetish... but avoid wankery by reining in the songs just before boredom sets in.

Azari & III's sound is less about chasing contemporary club trends than it is about summing up the last 30 years of underground dance music, so the album still sounds fresh.

Songs you thought you knew are put through the spin cycle--each track deftly fastens together at least two of their best--so even if you're the level of devotee who owns 'Homework' in every format, you'll still be impressed by this heavy load.

A little rough around the edges, the album is pleasantly calm while simultaneously tapping into anxieties in its lyrics.

It’s Time For A Love Revolution, his eighth LP, easily ranks among his highest achievements.

The unending lights and sounds of Bangkok, Manila and Beijing inspired the duo's most electronic and propulsive album to date.

While it's true that Was I The Wave? is no booming party-starter, it's hard to deny its emotion and beauty.

There's a rich sense of open space and movement that feels close to dub reggae at times, which leaves plenty of room for LaVette in the foreground.

The first release under eclectic singer/songwriter Solange Knowles’s boutique label, Saint Records, the younger Knowles weaves a collection of alt-R&B songs together seamlessly.

Ditto’s lyrics are still a blend of sex and politics, always delivered with enough passion to fill the dance floor and keep it sweaty.

Their talent and impossible-to-fake passion merit the sudden attention.

Both sides are endearing in their own way, and both show off a musical legend with plenty left to say.

It’s exceptionally diverse, especially for hard rock.

Horns, synths and samples float above soulful vocals by members of Ruby Suns, Born Ruffians and Braids, while dense layers of texture and polyrhythmic percussion give way to beguiling melodies that worm their way into your subconscious.

Wait To Pleasure shows new facets, but that shoegaze tag isn’t likely to disappear soon.

Only a handful of songs are beat-driven, but the electronic sounds are often subtle and organic. It’s rare for any one element to overtake his voice in the mix, but there are times when he fades out.

Though you might have pangs for United's enjoyable weirdness, It's Never Been Like That is serious fun.

With everybody involved sharp and on point, Sour Soul is a contemporary classic.

Isis is an actual MC with real hip-hop history and skills, who, in between throwaway odes to ass-shaking, manages to tell some stories and flesh out some characters. That, coupled with Grahm Zilla’s versatile approach to beat production, puts them far ahead of the pack.

Throughout the nine tracks, the band maintains a grown-up punk sound rooted in air-tight musicianship.

Girls' have traded their early work's immediacy for something that requires more patience but goes much deeper if you've got the time.

A mood-altering drug for pop fiends.

Most songs clock in under two and a half minutes but manage to say plenty.

On his seventh studio album, however, he’s reinvigorated, dipping a toe into some of rap’s newer stylistic trends.

Many of Continuum's songs are on the softer, adult alternative side, but his melodic voice, warm production, complex riffs and thoughtful lyrics should cure the violent reactions Mayer's name used to evoke.

A far cry from the piano-tinkling heard in formulaic modern pop, Krug’s ivories are often filmic (Barbarian), or musical-theatre enough to evoke Hugh Jackman or Julie Andrews singing amidst a mountainscape (November 2011).

Accented by González's charming harmonies, close-mic'ed guitar work and Winterkorn's hazy, retro synths, the album is a headphones record that reveals new depth with every listen.

An hour of sprawling ambient electronic music made on a modular synthesizer, evoking the futurism of 70s sci-fi soundtracks while deftly avoiding cheesy retro trappings.

Thematically the songs stick to the familiar pop terrain of love--the least adventurous thing about them--but Oh No nonetheless makes a convincing case for broadening the term "pop star" beyond the glamazons.

With Subtitulo, Josh Rouse may just prove to be the missing link between Jack Johnson and Conor Oberst.

Their bleakest set of songs ever.

Broken Boy Soldiers won't reverse global warming, but it certainly tops Get Behind Me Satan for rockin' entertainment.

All those self-consciously avant bits of the two previous albums have been ditched along with Jeff Tweedy's laughable lyrical abstractions in favour of tuneful, direct songs that at least seem to carry some emotional weight.

In typical Rush fashion the compositions tend to feel coldly scientific or laboriously calculated.... Nevertheless, it's a solid record.

A beautifully tense and thoughtful record.

She catchily sends up herself, her Britishness and the unlikelihood of her (likely) stardom.

By no means a terrifically unique or fantastic sophomore album, it still manages to avoid mediocrity, and not just because our expectations were so low to begin with.

It's clear Sparta have finally come into their own.

Rather than try to duplicate the new-wavy sounds of their current output, the trio smartly keep the sound consistently raw, and lead singer Kelly Jones hasn't sounded this inspired or dangerous since 97's Word Gets Around.

Surprisingly impressive.

What's disappointing if you're a fan is that the man has his tropes -- both melodic and lyrical -- and stubbornly sticks to 'em.

Love may not be a full-on revolutionary take on the Beatles catalogue, but it does bring back some of the most awesome material ever to come out of a recording studio.

Sam's Town works well as a cohesive album, despite its delusions of grandeur.

Molko still manages to carry songs with his affected, nasal delivery as the band provides a steady backbone.

They sound more like a live band than they have since their debut, and this relaxed natural quality suits them perfectly.

Christ Illusion sounds like an bid to get back to the Reign In Blood era by reining in the tech prowess that weighed down God Hates Us All and Divine Intervention.

Eno definitely does imbue the mix with some sonically compelling elements, washing songs through some darker-than-usual moods.

Kelis... raps, rants and successfully maintains her spacey freakiness while sailing out into even radio-friendlier waters.

A perfectly enjoyable and to-the-point album that leans heavily on influences like the Cure and My Bloody Valentine.

Occasionally, the band comes close to falling back into old habits, but with their new enthusiasm for sounding nothing like they used to, they've successfully created an album's worth of intelligent music for the Warped crowd.

There's still space for reliable 'Driver fare: paranoid, vocab-intensive rhymes, self-deprecation and absurd imagery woven into a frayed lyrical tapestry that begs to be unravelled.

There aren't really any Beautiful People-type moments, only a collection of songs that work surprisingly well as a kind of musical diary for a performer who has finally acknowledged that he's not the threatening icon he once was.

The album as a whole does drag on, and the songs aren't as immediately grabby as those on their last disc, but We Were Dead is more interesting and varied than Good News.

23 is fundamentally a more interesting album than 04's Misery Is A Butterfly, neither as cartoonishly bleak nor as sonically pristine.

Probably his most personally revealing work yet.

Parochial pop somewhere between Supergrass and the Arctic Monkeys.

The Future Crayon, like Tender Buttons, is a little predictable at first but grows more complex after several listenings.

The result still falls within the confines of lilting indie pop but this time goes beyond cutesy pastiche.

Every song has a lovely flow, with a steady cadence and easy accessibility that no fan of poppy indie rock will want to do without.

This is a groovy record from start to finish, with no major standout fantastic song and nothing that sucks.

It appears that the recording regime involved in focusing on a series of 7-inch singles rather than a new album has brought back some of the old creative spark.

Despite the evident talent of his backup band – vocalists Patti Griffin and Jill Sobule, guitarist Smokey Hormel, bassist Don Was and Giant Sand's Howe Gelb on piano – it takes a while to get into, in part because the arrangements are often so busy that they verge on chaotic.

It’s refreshing to hear O sing so delicately--a contrast to the over-the-top persona of her slick main gig--we wish she’d let the heartbreak linger a few moments longer.

A solid offering that could have been improved by swapping some of the remixes for the originals.

Calla deal in that dark romantic narcissism guys like Nick Cave and Tom Waits are known to wallow in on record after record.

At her best, Sumie evokes the poeticism of Joni paired with the headiness of Mazzy Star. But given the songs’ lack of variation in tone and tempo, an EP might have offered a more focused introduction.

New wave, soul and house beats make this his most genre-bending album yet.

Without shattering any paradigms, they’ve assembled a very listenable collection of songs that’d be a welcome addition to a Starbucks summer playlist.

Too bad clunky lyrics hold things back at times.

As the title suggests, the band is evolving gradually rather than in dramatic swells.

There are worse artists to jack than David Byrne and company, but after all the breathless hype, you'd expect something a little more innovative.

It's an accomplished record for singer Adam Levine and his faceless group, even if the whole affair sometimes sounds clinical in its approach.

The production is restrained, leaving plenty of space for Staples's rich vocals, although some songs feel a bit too clean and reserved. It's all very pleasant but lacks the fire and passion we want from her.

At times, this sense of vulnerability in the music can grow stagnant and forgettable, but it’s usually pleasurable in the moment.

There's nothing especially memorable on offer, and a lyrical artlessness becomes obvious as the album continues.

Kings of Leon often seem torn between their stadium rawk impulses and their hip underground aspirations.