Bands in need of a catchy pop sound with a light edge should visit Chris Walla in Portland. The Death Cab for Cutie guitarist and producer can seemingly get this result from any artist he works with, including Michael Benjamin Lerner, aka Telekinesis.

Nevertheless, I'm With You is a strong record, with Brendan's Death Song and Police Station among the highlights, especially considering the challenge of replacing Frusciante's creativity.

Ferg has enough lyrical promise and personality to make him a legit trap player, if not, quite yet, a lord.

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.

Los Campesinos! are hyper-literate college kids out to make big statements from microcosmic situations, but the metaphors in the overly abstract lyrics often get away from Gareth and co-vocalist Aleks.

He’s much better at showing off his record collection on the well-chilled "Ice Castles," which purports to be a James Pants mix disc.

Each song is full of sonic acrobatics--sometimes glimmering, other times glitchy, but it's Weaver's voice that provides the heart and soul.

Skrillex-produced banger Go Off, Blaqstarr-assisted Bird Song and Visa are solid electro-rap party jams that also reference some of her past hits, while low-key dancehall track Foreign Friend and clubby Fly Pirate are among the handful of cuts that get stuck in filler territory.

The album is both challenging and rewarding. On songs like Fresh Laundry, Allie X’s vocals are often treated with high-gloss effects that steal the personality from her voice. It’s not until final track Learning In Public that you hear her unvarnished, which by then sounds jarring. It often feels like she’s doing too much with too much.

While IV shows a progression, it lacks the progressiveness that would keep BBNG in a league with their aforementioned jazz/hip-hop predecessors and peers. However admirably, it stays in its own lane.

Preoccupations don't fully hit their stride until album closer Fever, which sounds a bit like Heroes-era Bowie without coming across as derivative.

The fractured sounds give us little to hold on to; the songwriting's hidden behind so much distraction.

As the narrative grows sleepier, it feels as though she wants to see how much she can reduce her theatrical pop image into something small and seemingly impermanent.

The problem is that Birchard spreads himself so thin in his rush to tick off all the stylistic boxes, some songs sputter into half-realized cliché.

For an undisguised, heavy-handed topical Neil Young record, The Monsanto Years is actually engaging and mostly effective.

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.

It's more tripped-out and druggy, a looser version of the songwriting that gave Skeleton its immediate punch.

It's certainly not revelatory, but it makes no such claims.

Ascent is still recognizably Six Organs of Admittance, but it's often hazier, heavier and trippier.

Most of the songs, including the strong opening track, concern the duo's history as a couple and a band.

They’re perfectly produced but less captivating than the moments of emotional specificity.

It all adds up to an energizing, smile-inducing debut.

It's good enough to impress fans of David Gray and Coldplay.

Dos!, the aptly named second part of the trilogy, is relieved of the weight of expectation and, though it was recorded at the same time as the first, sounds less strained.

Ortega is more convincing when she leaves the music biz out.

Bad Religion’s Christmas album is one of the most unusual in recent memory.

Hakeem Seriki's sophomore album kicks off with his heavy single 'Hip Hop Police,' with guest Slick Rick, one of the strongest rap songs of 07.

Henry Wagons’s debut solo album is a slim but interesting collection of duets that are--like his work with his band Wagons--rootsy, genre-jumping and occasionally psychedelic and hard-rocking.

Lyrically, Daniel is more vulnerable than on previous efforts--transference being a part of psychoanalysis--but not enough that he takes many new creative turns.

While several other songs get overly-orchestral. Sometimes the strings work really well, though, like on Lonely Desolation, fuelled by plucked violin.

Unfortunately, the bass lines (all played by Mars Volta’s Juan Alderete) never quite capture the rubbery wobble of the era he’s trying to reference.

There is some insubstantial filler here, but more often than not, E = MC2 hits the mark.

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

Despite the flashy production values and singer Thomas Mars’s wispy croon, it ultimately feels as superficial as its subject matter.

Maths + English is not without its gems.

A record that finely straddles his gruff past and glitzier present. DJ Toomp buoys T.I. on Trap Back Jumpin. An incandescent collaboration with André 3000 balances out an unfortunate Pink cameo.

While not perfect, her fourth is full of upbeat (and pretty damn good) guitar-driven pop like 'I Do Not Hook Up' and the title track, as well as a few requisite (and equally decent) ballads that make use of her impressive range.

There’s a casual feel to this recording that generally works in its favour. Nothing sounds too laboured, and you get the feeling that they banged out the tunes quickly in an attempt to capture some live urgency. On the downside, the unpretentious approach often borders on unambitious.

None of the songs hit as hard as Kids or Electric Feel, but there's also no filler (which is more than we can say for OS). Instead, the band delivers a consistent if self-indulgent offering of oddball prog-pop.

It’s the band’s plainest meta-record yet: a recording that calls deliberate attention to its own materiality as a recording.

Nobody Knows is a more complete, fleshed-out version of Beal’s vision, replacing his former no-fi folk with ominous, gritty blues and soul (not to mention a guest spot by Cat Power), but it’s still a work-in-progress.

It's too bad hackneyed spider-woman metaphors and non-specific allusions to 'regret' don't match BHP's level of sonic sophistication.

It opens with the raucously bluesy 'Nothing Too Much Just Out Of Sight,' a promising start. But before long, McCartney reverts to pop messiah mode and tries to turn each tune into some grand statement about love, life and/or world peace in the hope that positive vibrations might inspire people of all races to join hands and sing along as one. Really.

Rault’s commitment and ability to ape the sounds of his idols is both his strength and his Achilles’ heel.

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

Curve isn't going to change anyone's mind about Our Lady Peace.

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.

The occasional “segues” throughout the record recall Fantastic Planet and although they help give it some variety and atmosphere, they also feel like too much of a throwback rather than helping The Heart Is A Monster stands on its own.

When they let their experimental impulses coexist with their pop instincts, the results are strong enough to overshadow the occasional misstep.

He seems to be making an effort to be more positive, though sometimes that comes across as cumbersome or strained.

Brazen Bull is a cohesive, if lengthy, album that offers only occasional audio reminders of who was behind the board.

Gucci's head-down focus on honing his signature sound is admirable, but the monosyllabic stuntin' gets old fast, and flashes of lyrical or melodic invention are scant. Disappointing coming from a man with an ice cream cone face tattoo.

Overall, the record is buoyed by relentless exuberance and good-natured charm.

Ufabulum won't blow the mind of anyone familiar with his work, but it's a decent entry point for new fans and a very satisfying collection of light-hearted left-field dance music.

While this is an atmospheric record, it's also upbeat and poppy enough to encourage dancing or at least vigorous head-nodding.

The tongue-in-cheekness can create a distance that prevents the songs from hitting hard and/or stirring up your feelings. But you can still sit back and appreciate Arner's songwriting craft, knack for memorable hooks, the intelligent places his songs go to, his and Delisle's harmonic chops and the lo-fi production aesthetic that speaks to a talent for doing a lot with a little.

After 16 songs ranging from electro-country to the parody-heavy We're The Pet Shop Boys and various quasi-conversational raps à la the Streets' Mike Skinner about losing his virginity, I felt the man should rope things in.

At first, the minimalist acoustic guitar and Canning’s murmured vocals sound almost nonchalant, but his deft playing and nuanced arrangements elevate tracks like However Long and Bullied Days.

While opener 'Trash' sounds like the sort of thing Bloc Party should have done after "Silent Alarm," most tracks are hurt by a real lack of lyrical depth.

PB and J also don’t lose their mass appeal here.

An album defined more by its background players than its star.

There's no cohesion... That said, Luda can still turn out solid tracks based on three qualities: clever lyrics, commitment to concepts and taste in beats.

When it works, it’s as joyful as the best Tune-Yards songs. ... Given her soaring delivery elsewhere, the talk-sung ABC 123 and Now As Then fall flat in comparison, and the reliance on 808s feels a tad dated for a group lauded for their innovative production.

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

If you can disregard the arrogance of proclaiming yourself outside the parameters of musical taxonomy and if you don’t mind Anna Barie’s shrill chanting, appropriately ghoulish on Sand Tassels, you’ll probably dig this synthesized blueprint of the future.

The intricate vocal arrangements and alluring harmonica parts of opener 'Shampoo' grab the listener with bright potential, while 'Hey' is a lovely upbeat duet with Lavender Diamond’s Becky Stark.

Being out of control is a hallmark of Wayne’s style and what’s made him impossible to ignore for the last two years. In this crew, only Minaj’s paying attention.

2 Chainz likes to offset the raunchy with the heartfelt, but when the tone shifts to earnestly autobiographical, he sounds derivative.

It's wildly diverse, but there's a lightness and unobtrusiveness to each song that mirrors her airy delivery while hinting at even more untapped potential.

This time, the Mos Def/Common/Talib triumvirate contribution is expectedly solid. Saigon proves his debut's delay is criminal. Malik B shows how much he needs to be the permanent Prince Po to Thought's Pharoahe Monch. And Kamal, Hubbard and ?uestlove flesh out a series of sonically stunning numbers midway through.

As sex-filled as Trigga is, typical bedroom R&B is no longer such a turn-on.... Nevertheless, Trigga is smooth and singable, with its share of gems.

The results are sometimes sharp, as on mischievous New York City and Here We Go Again, with their mirrored melodies reinterpreted on flute and sax. Other times, his lyrical directness relies on clichés--reminding us that love sometimes sounds quite ordinary.

It’s when the pace slows that the record drags slightly, though Klein’s lyrics elevate even the mid-tempo songs.

The trio hit on a raw, emotional, gritty new sound, but success failed to materialize until some 40 years later.

While the songs are hella catchy and pleasant, a little more grit and sorrow would have bridged the emotional disconnect.

This is still effervescent, hook-based pop, but it eschews the Delgados' more orchestrated moments in favour of simpler instrumentation, whipped into cabaret-ish arrangements or pared down into frantic post-punk, with driving lines of ringing single-note bass and guitar.

For the most part, this album would sound completely at home on classic rock radio.

Originality isn’t always the most important criterion in music like this. Familiar, nostalgic sounds can please just as much, as they do here.

Overall this is a testament to Wilson's endless creativity.

Where the project falls short is in the handful of filler tracks that pollute the listening experience, including the repetitive Temptation, F&N and Overdose. Yet it still counts as a victory for Future, who has now introduced The WIZRD to the world. It will be interesting to see what he does next with that persona.

Their second album is full of clean, infectious dance numbers that bring to mind both New Order and Peter, Bjorn and John.

Though this outing focuses more on the smooth, laid-back side of their sound, Circuital is still the work of a band that refuses to stand still.

Their latest successfully revisits elements of their thrash-metal prime, eschewing bloated self-indulgence for straight-up head-banging aggression, with decent riffs to match, thanks in no small part to producer Rick Rubin.

Even though the songwriting's tight, the uniformly delicate touch of adult contemporary arrangements will leave you struggling to stay awake till the album's end.

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.

SZA’s lyrics are impressionistic, and her melodies arrive in fits and spurts.

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

Whatever is driving her interest in self-identity is obscured by overwrought conceptualism and confused by a push to sound more slickly commercial.

Born Ruffians’ sophomore album is a cohesive, occasionally repetitious helping of choppy indie pop, almost brutalist in its minimalist instrumentation and dry-as-a-bone production.

Their fourth, Last Of Our Kind, includes some formulaic hard rock, Cheap Trick and Starship apery and flat-out misses. But it has its moments, to be sure.

Things pick up toward the end with the slightly more upbeat run of Lost In Yesterday, Is It True and It Might Be Time. For the most part, though, Parker is a better producer than he is a songwriter.

White’s yelps and screams, reverb, synth and jittery guitar riffs could be more pleasant or cohesive, but that’s not White’s style, especially not on this record. Piling it all on seems to be the point he’s trying to make--this sense of being overwhelmed, constantly, at the hands of technology.

Emancipated Hearts’ chilled-out songs are strong, though, built on solid, simple melodies and weary, disillusioned lyrics.

They return to remind us that there's still one side of dance rock they haven't tried: rock. On Four, Bloc Party turn up their amps and tune down their guitars.

By trying to please all demographics here, Clark gives little sense of who he is.

His latest album is full of sexy slow jams, hip-hop samples and an overall tone better suited to a club than a lazy house party.

While it’s not a bad debut, it’s nothing special either.

Yet something needs to be said for Allen’s ability to make cursing seem cute, and tunes about giving head sound charming.