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.

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

It's clear that Skinner has worked on his flow a lot. He sounds less loosely conversational and more bound to the rhythm.

Most impressive is the lightness of touch Hynes brings to his arrangements.

Banjo, flugelhorn, tuba, cajón, accordion and tablas all prop up Stephin Merritt’s distinctive bass and dry-humoured lyrics, which, fans will be glad to know, remain in top form.

The outlandish baroque-cubed excess here, from the warbling chorales to the bleating woodwinds, weighs down track after track after track after track.

It suffers from a lack of focus--some songs are classic indie pop, while others are experimental musings rife with strange samples--but it's a fine collection that displays Thorburn's versatility and commitment to writing a catchy synth line.

Even with quick, dense and precisely rhythmic flows, his rapping is like verbal dancing. Its joyous and romantic moments make the album feel more like a thematic refinement than a musical one.

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.

There's the occasional clever turn of phrase, but MellowHype's brand of vulgarity is subtler and less arresting than Tyler's.

The problems that litter No Line fall into two categories: mind-numbing blandness on the part of the band or embarrassing, face-palm-inducing vocal choices by Bono.

This entirely live album is warmer and more consistent [than 2010's Harlem River Blues], with a lot of heart.

Springsteen has trouble leaving well enough alone. No matter how small the song idea, he whips it up into a sweeping epic with lavish choral accompaniment and blustery solos all building to some grand final flourish.

Despite a few tripped-out pop gems, the album is largely what you'd expect to hear after gazing into Moss's glassy eyes: a classic sound but not a classic record.

Unfortunately, the band lacks Grizzly Bear’s songwriting chops. After that early-album peak, the tracks begin to sound like undercooked compositions coasting on bells and whistles.

There’s a constant push and pull between the sometimes ridiculous aspects of classic hard rock and his more serious artistic and political concerns, and while it’s often unclear when he’s joking, that tension is exactly what makes it all work.

Earlier generations of psych fans had the Grateful Dead and Pink Floyd to worship and pursue on tour. Now, three albums in, TOY could become this generation’s long-haired psychedelic heroes to follow around in VW campers.

The songs have cool, memorable hooks and great guitar textures, but an overarching lack of enthusiasm hurts even their strongest material.

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.

Anticipation has been high for the album's official release, and Heady Fwends doesn't disappoint.

It's not exactly adventurous, but he remains tough to pigeonhole and doesn't sound like he'll be slowing down any time soon.

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.

They’ve got the formula down now, so you can’t sweat the technique, but it would make for a more engaging spin if Stereolab could mess with the equation now and again.

There’s only so much nudge-nudge, wink-wink you can take before you want to shove a sock in the dude’s mouth. On the bright side, they stand a good chance of scoring a few top-40 hits with this dreck.

Viva La Vida starts off with promise for fans who felt that "X&Y" was a far cry from "A Rush Of Blood To The Head."... Unfortunately, the rest of the record fails to build on this.

For those who never quite got John Vanderslice, he’s finally made a love-on-first-listen recording. Yes, you have to pay attention to the lyrics, but the reward is clever, well-developed storytelling.

Stellar 12-minute opus 'Time Flies' teems with Pink Floydesque arrangements and moving lyrics, while 'Octane Twisted' offers up massive guitar riffage that you can bang your head to.

It gets tiring trying to figure out what Lew is saying (mostly, her vocals are mixed a touch too low), but the themes are hinted at in her sober delivery.