Sonic Youth fans should find plenty to love, but we’re more intrigued by the instances where Moore leaves his established comfort zone.

Throughout, the material is simultaneously current and nostalgic, recalling the optimism and discovery of the 60s and 70s, especially on Progress, sung by Jim James of My Morning Jacket.

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

Whether anyone outside of the NPR listening audience actually gives a shit about what clever socio-political points Cooder is trying to make metaphorically is difficult to say.

It’s nice to see Aiko atypically solo (Common provides the only rap feature), but more variety would be welcome.

On La Radiolina, an unmistakable molotov cocktail of fierce resistance anthems, Manu Chao continues to do what he does best.

Thematically it's overboard and at 16 tracks over 60 minutes repetitious and ham-fisted. But musically, Year Zero offers moments of industrial brilliance.

A raw masterstroke, A.L.L.A. is a depiction of underground millionaire culture that should have "think of the children" conservatives shitting their pants.

It's a downtempo album, especially its sleepier last third, but unlike its title suggests, it's not even a little depressing.

More than 130 minutes long, Time Flies opens with the untouchables (Supersonic, Roll With It, Live Forever, etc.), veers into the questionable (The Hindu Times, All Around The World) and the avoidable (The Importance Of Being Idle), and ends with late-period tunes that demand reconsideration (The Shock Of The Lightning).

An infusion of their earlier hazy laid-backness would've add more variety, but Tiger Talk is still an enthusiastic, confident follow-up from a band well on its way.

The closer, We Are Circling (featuring Buffy Sainte-Marie), acts as a coda, binding the whole concept together, underlining the sacredness of family, community, music-making and the passage of time.

While clearly her most varied album to date, it still sounds decidedly Mirah: DIY folk singer/songwriter of the 90s with that heartbreaking voice and a knack for killer guitar melodies.

A contemplative but intense listen.

The more nuanced approach is less immediate but stands up better to repeated listens.

Although Young's compositions on Chrome Dreams II aren't quite up to the quality planned for the first volume, the 10 songs at least have some of the shape and gravity if not the epic dimension of his classics written decades ago.

[It] treads a fine line between charming and cringe-worthy.

Alphabets picks up where Animal Planet left off and the devastating Labels began in 1995, but it suffers from the law of diminishing returns.

Not that a few half-baked progressions spell disaster for Hawk, a record that methodically moves from dreamy, lush, introspective numbers to tension and ultimately catharsis in the way Mogwai is close to perfecting.

Bernard Sumner's rhymes are still a bit cutesy and obvious, but, as ever, the same old quibbles take a backseat when the pop is this solid.

As is Fidlar’s style, nearly all of the 14 songs are deceptively rollickin’, sounding more like a call to arms for bored suburban teenagers than the confessions of a 28-year-old man going through relapses.

For all its glossy, soul-searching schmaltz, the band’s full-length debut is a polished record full of consistently catchy hooks.

These 10 tunes feel dashed off.

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

While the album could’ve benefited from the trim of a song or two, it successfully avoids the dreaded career stagnation.

This is the album I've been waiting nearly 10 years for them to make. Better late than never.

Things gets off to a pleasant, somewhat meek start, but bongo-touched Clearer soon stands out for its forceful, head-turning melodies.

Suri's clearly committed to losing his joke rapper image, and while this attempt is not consistently successful, the high points balance out the stumbles.