The unfamiliarity between Finn and his backing group is palpable.

It's never a bad thing to be concise in your songcraft, but this album reveals that Plants And Animals are best when not over-thinking things.

It's enjoyable enough, but the potency of Merritt's wit is gradually sapped by one wheezy, sluggish melody too many.

Wrecking Ball could've been great but was derailed by unnecessary gimmicks.

It's quite an impressive feat to combine goth rock with trance pop and still keep all your cool points, but that's exactly what Toronto's Trust have managed to pull off with their debut full-length.

It works best when DiFranco points to contradictions within herself, and worst when her lyrics get preachy or black-and-white.

Her best album in more than a decade.

Reign Of Terror still sounds like Sleigh Bells, but a more polite and conservative version.

Some Nights could be the breakthrough album that propels Fun. to the arenas where their lack of self-restraint will finally make sense.

When the punk, doo-wop, early R&B and psych influences come together, the high points are strong enough that you can easily forgive the lack of focus.

Ditch the padding and Interstellar could be a flawless EP.

Conveying so much harrowing detail in such a brief time is no small feat – one reason why his music lingers long after the album ends.

It's perfect mellow background music, with just enough going on that it's still interesting when you pay attention.

While Visions is unmistakably 2012 sonically in its references to R&B and hip-hop, it also fits remarkably gracefully into 4AD's impressive back catalogue of dream pop.

It might be an imperfect stepping stone, but the staircase he's climbing here shows great promise.

Dedicated to friend and colleague Vic Chesnutt, Lambchop's 11th album is as refined and dignified as the top-hat-wearing gentleman depicted on the cover.

A Different Kind Of Truth sounds familiar in the best way.

His usually formidable voice could have saved it, but he often sounds like he's struggling to hit the notes.

It relies heavily on ambiguous world music tropes, highly melodic, canned inspirational hooks and arena-style arranging.

15 seamless songs that consistently keep interest high and ideas varied.

This time around, though, female backing vocals add interest and drama to what is essentially a rich batch of breakup songs that somehow leave you feeling good.

The musical motifs get a bit redundant, but its stylish minimalism brims with drama.

On slick, feckless romance ballads like I Belong In Your Arms, that rooted-in-the-past sound can seem like empty nostalgia, but it blooms with freshness when used as a springboard for experimentation.

Much of her music aims to capture elusive emotions, yet she ends up spelling them out with literal refrains, banal narratives and sexed-up histrionics that leave little to the imagination.

At his best he reminds you of everything that makes Miike Snow's self-titled debut such an addictive listen, but at his worst he comes across like an electronic music dilettante.

Sometimes the lack of definition and the deluge of words grow tedious, but in these songs, all lushly arranged, as is the entire album, the effect is nothing short of riveting.

Aoki relies heavily on guests to pad out Wonderland, with mixed results.

The result is an album with chart-worthy songs that are uncomfortably familiar at times and a touch low on risk.

Old Ideas feels like you're hearing Cohen performing live at a small club with a top-notch band of veteran players, and this new level of intimacy suits him perfectly.

Although the first half relies on straight-up classic house beats and lyric imperatives to be stronger, work harder and get higher, they upend the formula with an oddball-pop sensibility, beautifully crafted melodies and general silliness.

Strong melodies make the tunes better than middle-of-the-road, but aside from a bit more distortion, the New York trio show little desire to venture outside their breezy alt-pop comfort zone.

MU.ZZ.LE finds the idiosyncratic artist more focused than ever.

While the five-piece continue to write virtually the same song over and over again (hell, practically in the same key), there are new proggier and acoustic bits (Ghost Walking) on display.

Still on offer are his immaculately crafted lyrics and preoccupation with place.

An hour long, Reverie's an unusual mix of gentle, drifting and jarring.

In the first few songs they stretch themselves creatively and come up with promising results, but halfway through it's back to overwrought ballads and middle-of-the-road mid-tempo rock songs.

All the trademarks are here, filtered through frontman's Dylan Baldi's snappy power pop talents.

It's not a tasteful formula, but that doesn't mean it's not valid.

Le Bon's pop sensibilities are much more pronounced, yet they don't dilute any of her wonderful weirdness.

This is an endearing and eminently likeable listen.

While it fails to match their previous hit quotient, it's still a decent listen.

The arrangements, though, are far more expansive, all gorgeously produced and delivered with subtlety.

The mood is still dark, druggy and claustrophobic, but this time Tesfaye is channelling a pain that's less about cold emptiness than it is about more traditional heartbreak and longing.

Syd the Kyd mostly drifts through the music, and is more compelling when getting into trouble--as on Cocaine and Fastlane--rather than lamenting love lost.

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

More about lyrical swagger than emotional substance, LiveLoveA$AP is a solid intro to someone who could be an enduring figure in the years ahead.

Songs, though distinct, spill into each other, with heady euphoria tying it all together.

There are shades of classic 50s-style crooning in Cox's vocals, but his voice has a sublime spectral quality that adds a lingering disquiet.

The combination of chugging half-time beats, machine gun riffing and techno's sonic extremism is way more pleasing than it should be, the weakest point being Jonathan Davis's earnest adolescent vocals, which we assume actual Korn fans will enjoy.

With an emphasis on covers, the overall mood is frustratingly lighter than Winehouse's two studio LPs. It's missing the pointed wit, energy and hard-fought candour that marked her best material, but her considerable vocal swagger is unmistakable.

They've made a sophisticated, thinking listener's indie-pop record.

Charlotte Gainsbourg's Beck-produced IRM was a stellar sleeper gem of an album, but this follow-up sounds tossed together.

While it's dense with mood, gloomy lyrics and studio texture, almost to a fault, it's thin on memorable melodies.

Her pain is less harrowing – she's older now and knows how to cope -– so instead of singing only for herself, she's doing it for her listeners, a noble goal but also dull and predictable.

Gareth's voice has gone from excited and jubilant to pained and miserable -– an uncanny cross between Robert Smith and Conor Oberst.

Maybe their tightest, most replayable album yet.

The production does justice to the 80s-underground-evoking mix of surf, punk, industrial and shoegaze.

If any rap group could pull off a project this unwieldy, it's the Roots, and they make it seem effortless.

[Disc two] makes clear the fact that R.E.M. never could get back to the top of the mountain for most of their career

Days is a step in the right direction, but we're hoping they can challenge themselves to do something greater on album three.

One of the year's most imaginative albums.

When she's not challenging herself in that way [trying to emulate the established RiRi formula], she can sound a little bored, but you could argue that's part of her ice-queen R&B appeal.

The singalong choruses are brilliant, but some of the sillier material might be best experienced live.

On her fifth album she mercifully avoids the monotonous dance-pop trend in favour of a timeless pop-rock sound that occasionally flirts with the dance floor.

Here And Now reinforces all the reasons so many people hate Nickelback, but those are exactly the same things that make fans pump their fists in the air.

It's an idiosyncratic, aggressively self-conscious and occasionally sentimental album, one that falls somewhere between languid, finger-snapping R&B and hip-hop braggadocio.

He composes rich, intimate electronic and acoustic soundscapes that suggest myriad emotions and intriguing songwriting possibilities. As a singer, however, he's maudlin.

It all makes Glass Swords a vivid, liberating experience (and, as a by-product, makes the canned wobble of dubstep seem oppressive).

On his sixth album, the New York anti-folk singer/songwriter takes a step toward silencing the critics, tempering his creaky half-spoken vocals with some surprisingly sophisticated arrangements and harmonies with guests like Dr. Dog and Frances McKee of the Vaselines.

Acrobats drags a bit near the end, but there's no denying that it's a huge leap forward.

In between standout tracks like Public Enemy No. 1, Never Dead and Fast Lane is less remarkable filler, and Mustaine's socially conscious lyrics are sometimes cringe-worthy. But his snarling vocals and guitar work never get old, and the production has a warmer, more vintage feel than steely recent albums.

Birds isn't a commercial risk, nor will Oasis fans find it a challenge, but that doesn't take away from its smart craftsmanship.

Though he used songs from the same recording sessions for both, Humor Risk is quite a different collection, accessible and verbose by McCombs's standards.

Lulu sinks to almost unimaginable lows.

[It] offers the comfortable familiarity of an old flannel shirt from the 90s but leaves you wondering if time has stood still for the Chicago post-rock quartet. It has not, as is apparent on the five follow-up songs.

There is plenty of [crescendos], but Gonzalez also proves adept at pacing, surrounding M83's bigger, more anthemic moments with ambient instrumental interludes and balladic "comedown" tracks.

Unfortunately, subtlety gets lost in the process, and only about half the guest vocalist are actually effective.

Like Mickey Mouse conducting the ocean in Fantasia, she often seems more a celestial vessel for the heady energy and abstract imagery than a relatable character--a balance she doesn't always strike.

Sustained by romantic tension, they walk a strange line between being mesmerizing and washing over you like sonic wallpaper.

Sure enough, this record brings to mind airbrushed vans flying through Day-Glo galaxies firing lasers at dragons, with no interest in any notions of good taste. Having said that, it fucking rocks.

It's wrapped in a confused concept--future lovers (the album title's characters) under siege by some kind of dystopian oppression--but several tunes will surely ignite stadium masses.

Sadly, Jane's Addiction lost the fire ages ago and are now sleepwalking through the ashes.

Taylor isn't pushing the limits of pop so much as flattening and stretching them out until they evaporate into nothingness. He creates a dreamy mood, but you may not be awake by the end.

The eclectic approach was often messy but also fresh, which can't be said for their middling sixth LP.

His newest album, on the other hand, is all technique and no emotion.

It's unlikely that anyone will prefer the covers to the originals, but Isaak's fans will find plenty to enjoy in this rock 'n' roll love letter to a bygone era.

There's plenty to enjoy here, but very little to get worked up about.

Despite the beautiful arrangements, it's hard to shake the notion that Still Corners, like a lot of new indie bands, haven't yet risen above the sum of their influences: movie music, Morricone, Slowdive, Broadcast, Nancy Sinatra.

Sometimes it feels like he's competing too hard with the intensity of the big, expensive-sounding production--especially on the mid-tempo numbers.

Despite a more eclectic stylistic palette, his sophomore Puscifer album is just as moody and dramatic as those other projects.

Essentially, Evidence harkens back to 00s rap nostalgia without resorting to preachy tirades or regressive concepts, a respite during a time of sing-rap and hyper-aggressive flows.

While their last four records loosely represented the four classical elements of water, earth, fire and air, The Hunter has no obvious thematic through line, and yet its 13 tracks make for a plenty cohesive listen.

Like her prior work, the songs are thematically dark and diffuse, but the dancey impulses on Vessel and Seekir signal headier paths ahead.

It might be too overwrought for many, but for those of us who like drama, this is a fine introduction.

There's a more visceral quality that will help win over those that have been on the fence in the past.

Bondy's third record isn't drastically different from its two predecessors, 2007's American Hearts and 2009's grossly overlooked When The Devil's Loose.

Biophilia is one of Bjork's best and most challenging records; it's in a galaxy all its own, one that's not for the faint of heart.

Awkward and embarrassing, the mixtape as a whole feels like a PR move to get you to listen to Nash-free embedded song Silly by new protégé Casha.