The compelling collision of a pop sensibility with organic guitar riffs, dystopian digitalism and sharp wordplay plays out like the score to a musical set in 2012 Soweto.

Ditch the padding and Interstellar could be a flawless EP.

Though the overall groove ("Don't funk with it," they advise on QueenS) is freewheeling enough to avoid being preachy, awE naturalE is implicitly political.

The Toronto trio's idiosyncratic blend of psychedelic rock, techno, industrial, New Age and cosmic folk has solidified into a sound that's unmistakably their own, and that doesn't depend on the theatricality of their live show to work.

Musically, songs are altogether pleasant, ranging from languid to downright danceable, with undercurrents of the German art pop that influenced much of the 'Lab's sound.

Otherworldly.

Slowly unfolding ambient pieces still display a gritty, second-hand quality, but that fits the vibe of the record: never-ending travel, where the only constant is loneliness.

The pair typically alternate between sexed-up dance-pop and psychedelic ambience, but Tales Of Us is their most pared-down effort in the latter category.

It's a great album to trance out to, but not as memorable as we'd hoped.

No matter how sobering Hypercaffium Spazzinate gets, Descendents keep things light by playing these wistful, grown-ass songs like teenagers.

The result isn’t quite on a par with their best work, but it’s nothing to scoff at either.

Dark Bird Is Home sounds carefully constructed, and Matsson keeps things simple rather than making easy moves toward a grandeur that could bury his songcraft.

It requires a certain level of self-denial to hate Fall Out Boy, as in, "No, I don't like huge hooks, soaring choruses or wild-eyed expressions of youthful ambition." If so, congratulations, you're 800 years old. Or a Joanna Newsom fan.

The music sounds slightly repetitive on its own, so he’s smart to collaborate with vocalists.

Essentially, Is Your Love Big Enough? is a restrained, technically proficient showpiece for a gifted artist.

Sequels rarely outdo the original, and despite The Game naming Kendrick Lamar his successor years ago, The Documentary 2 and 2.5 prove he's far from over.

Death Vessel have come up with a uniformly bland set of delicate ditties for Nothing Is Precious Enough For Us that are lightly strummed in a way that’s so frightfully fey, it could make José González want to rip Thibodeau’s guitar from his hands and smash it against the wall John Belushi-style.

The quality of the compositions is consistent and the album has an overall stylistic coherence that makes the Minus Five sound very much like a real band. Now, if he could only figure out how to make it rock, he'd be onto something.

Those who’ve come to associate him with theme songs to bad car commercials should check his reawakening on this late-career turnaround.

It's a trip, a varied one with heavy/light and ugly/beautiful balances in perfect moderation.

While it would have been more interesting if Goodman had channelled her punk roots more consistently, Hour Of The Dawn is full of the catchy songs she’s known for.

Sebastien Grainger’s vocals show the benefit of spending the last few years touring with quieter bands, and listen closely for the subtle analog synth touches Jesse Keeler’s added behind his trademark wall-of-fuzz-bass sound.

Many will hate it, but those willing to give it a chance will be impressed by the naked humanity West reveals. He’s gone way out on limb, and for that alone it deserves open ears.

They certainly keep up appearances on their 15th album, their troubles not for a second interfering with these 11 songs, the longest of which lasts three minutes and 41 seconds.

It's obvious Morrison was going for an early-50s throwback vibe, complete with oohing chorus singers and a forthright pedal steel twang, but it comes off more like a western-exotica caricature than the genuine article.

The album feels less ponderous and more balls-out than its predecessor, but the band hasn’t stitched up its maniacal tendencies into commercial pop either.

A macabre mood keeps it cohesive and lends a cinematic quality, kind of like the A$AP Rocky Horror Picture Show.

However varied the influences, there’s one thing the songs have in common: they all make you feel some type of way.

On Immortal, he tackles paranoia and police brutality in ways that are both heartbreaking and bluntly nihilistic, while Foldin Clothes is a blissful and unapologetic diversion into domesticity ("I never thought I'd see the day I'm drinking almond milk"). Elsewhere, his earnestness comes off as unwieldy in moments that precariously sit on the cusp of sleepy sentimentality.

It won’t be everyone’s cup of tea. My Brightest Diamond’s Shara Worden sings on over half of the tracks, and her operatic voice is at times jarringly high. But it’s also soft and masterfully controlled, never distracting from the nuanced soundscapes bobbing in the background.

It all informs this feel-bad album of the year, which sounds fantastic thanks to Sanford Parker's no-frills yet full production.

While they could tone down the synth on their next effort, this disc definitely lives up to the hype.

Even as they cop the slinky white funk of INXS and David Bowie on Love Me and aim for an easily romanced demographic with the electro-tinged ballad A Change Of Heart and the anguished The Ballad Of Me And My Brain, they sound suspiciously like dudes too eager to come off as sensitive and edgy.

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

Live fails to replicate the experience of seeing Eels.

The Double Cross, a slyly titled nod to their anniversary, returns to the songwriting style not of their beloved first two records, but of the equally strong One Chord, Navy and Bridges era.

Her best album in more than a decade.

[The album showcases] her technical precision as a singer but reluctance to colour outside the lines.

It’s exhilarating, cheeky, Pavement-influenced indie rock that’ll leave you exhausted – and maybe anxious – by track 15.

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

It sounds like FutureSex, so you’ll desperately listen over and over hoping to replicate how that album made you feel and end up surrendering to its pleasant, sanitized soundscape. But you’ll feel nothing.

After 9/11, it seemed like every North American recording artist scrambled to come out with a political message album. Unfortunately for Sheryl Crow, words that to rhyme with “gasoline” have become painfully redundant in 2008.

McCombs’s songwriting has become less opaque and more direct, without losing any of his signature poetry, mystery and dark humour.

Meat And Bone finds Spencer at what is arguably his most Bowie-esque.

It's mostly just softly plucked, atmospheric guitar and Webb's weary vocals building up songs that are achingly slow, sombre and intimate.

Pura Vida is more subdued (relatively speaking) than the group’s usual celebratory style, but the album’s best songs are still the most anthemic, the ones that sound the best alongside a hoisted, spilled beer.

Mostly, though, it's the usual whining about his tortured life as as a once-celebrated pop star and being unloved in a harsh world, but with fewer droll song titles and clever couplets.

It's so soft-focus as to rarely assert itself or command attention, but fuzz-pop Free The Skull brings to mind Pink Mountaintops, boogie rocker Slow Down Low has a blissful pulse, and Thieves gets terrific mileage out of a hypnotically repetitive riff.

As he wrestles with his isolation--a major theme here--Maine shows shades of Grizzly Bear, but he still fails to narrow in on his own distinct sound.

On MTMTMK, the duo moves through a range of global sounds, from Congolese kwassa kwassa to reggaeton to electro house.

Bejar’s singing with admitted half-fluency in another language is no barrier to enjoyment. Actually, it removes an element of his style that can frustrate some of us.

This time around he's found his soul. It's in his phrasing, his rhythms, the occasional Hammond organ punctuation and sultry balladry.

Monds-Watson is startlingly accomplished for her age, showing a deft hand at songcraft.

Some might say it lacks bite, but it works nicely with Liam Corcoran’s good-guy vocals, the hum-along choruses and the band’s stunning pop chops.

Though melancholy, the album never wallows or gets stuck or even treads water, largely due to all the movement constantly happening in the vocal and piano lines. It feels like an exploration rather than a sealed-up document of the past.

After the band’s polished, dance-friendly 2009 effort, It’s Blitz!, Zinner’s hard-charging riffs on Area 52 are a welcome return to the urgent, sometimes messy art punk of their early days.

He stays true to his reputation for unconstrained madness.

Green Naugahyde is very much a return to their glory years, which makes it a great introduction for new ears and a satisfying addition to the catalogue for long-time fans.

It's more about sound quality and songwriting than the calculated brand-building of his recent releases.

This festive album of mostly original songs has something for everyone.

Bada$$ hits a sweet spot. His production choices (and those of Statik Selektah, Kirk Knight and Freddie Joachim) are innovative and timeless.

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.

Highly listenable bangers like Tapes & Money, Garden and American Dream Part II make Trouble ideal for bouncing around your bedroom or the club.

Their approach is no longer as unique as it once was, but unlike many reunion albums, this one stands up fine next to their seminal work.

Despite solid production, the pop appeal of Nocturne doesn't quite transcend its 80s influences as well as Gemini's joyous, rough-hewn charms did.

Album highlight Paper Romance's pulsating, danceable track makes up for the tedious rock-bottom rock-out Look Me In The Eye Sister.

With help from bandmates Eric Fisher and Jenna Conrad, his eighth full-length could be the album to finally propel the little known guitarist to Arcade Fire-like heights.

At times, the mid-tempo brooding gets a bit monotonous, but Cole is an engaging enough character to make this a solid debut.

The 16 tracks sound similar after repeat listens, but if you think time has mellowed the band, guess again.

Rihanna is at her most adventurous, and while we're not completely convinced that all the wailing hard rock guitars suit her, the aggression makes sense within the context of the album.

Impressive song construction ruined by heart-wrenching dramatics.

Phantom Punch is a wobbly ride through tracks that, for the most part, hiss and snarl with the leather-jacket swagger of his garagey backing band while Lerche either nervously essays a pseudo-rock "growl" over top or reverts to his customary loungey warble, both of which sound equally absurd.

While it's clear that Last Train's combination of electro and house with hip-hop and R&B is Combs's baby, it's the group format that makes it work as an album.

The eerie voice blend still sends the occasional chill up the spine, and their songwriting continues to capture the painful earnestness of youth, but it all feels a bit staged.

Other Life isn’t too polished, which means it will appeal to Savage’s pre-existing cult fan base but not the wider audience it aims for.

All the reckless abandon the New York Dolls name conjures, the spontaneous handclaps, sloppy guitar-slashing and youthful over-indulgence that made those early Dolls recordings such a kick are sadly nowhere to be found here.

It’s a more introspective, political and mature sound, but no less fun.

It’s all very easy to listen to, but occasionally too close to easy listening.

While the rest of the band have proven they can write solid music, it's singer Geoff Rickly who presents the biggest problem, and that's mostly because the man simply cannot tone down his over-emoting.

Strangely enchanting.

The end product, however, is an album easy to admire yet tough to love.

Though QOTSA always seem to be on bland-rock stations, this is as different from the mainstream as you can imagine, and not in a bad way.

The production bangs, and there are many references that'll appeal to readers of liberal non-fiction (Fast Food Nation, Chomsky, Al Gore), but some of the good Mr.'s thoughts on this future we live in are unconvincing.

Stelmanis brings a more musical sensibility to the formula, even if it's still miles away from mainstream pop.

Requiem is a double album but only 13 songs long, which means you’re in store for plenty of extended instrumental jams. Those chugging epics help establish the hazy mood and create plenty of atmosphere, but the best moments come when Goat attempt more conventional song structures.

Having three creative forces acting on the music from different angles leads to frequent twists, turns and stylistic shifts--showing they can roll like Dr. Octagon one minute and Sly Stone the next.

Many of the familiar signifiers are gone, yet their well crafted and characteristically tuneful compostions still have a recognizable Calexico feel.

Truthfully, it's a mellow Sunday afternoon after a hard night's clubbing: perfectly pleasant, but quite forgettable.

By never taking her spare, mystical tunes down the typical singer/songwriter avenues, Ices sets herself apart from both the New Age and the folky acoustic guitar sets.

The burst of primal aggression is welcome (especially in today's political climate), but this EP is too meandering and amorphous to hit as hard as the band’s best stuff.

He’s a self-proclaimed lover of Cyndi Lauper and a proud balladeer with a knack for writing glimmering melodies.

While angular, skittering tracks like Stutter and album opener Haircuts/Uniforms add post-punk energy and experimental variety to the album, they also kill the mood.

Riveting, memorable, substantial stuff that’ll make you sit up and listen, and possibly wear you out by the 11th song.

Ono brings out the unexpected in everyone, and even the most conventional indie pop acts sound edgy with her idiosyncratic vocals on top.... The album would have benefited greatly from more careful curation, though.

Compared to his earlier work, it's just decent.

Though the album can get somewhat repetitive, Adem's polished production and intimate songwriting minimize any flaws.

Generally solid with more hits than misses, but my usual advice to DiFranco still applies: don't record everything you write – wait a few months and give us the best ones.

The band sounds like it’s trying to rejuvenate itself, thus injecting the release with a certain energy and vitality that "R.E.M. Live" lacked.