Wrist is yet another excellent record from mainstream hard rock's only real hope.

Produced by VanGaalen, this record explores a whole host of interesting sonic ideas, which keeps things nicely unpredictable.

New wave, soul and house beats make this his most genre-bending album yet.

The Swedes have stepped it up in the songwriting department.

Shards of digital distortion and self-indulgent instrumentals are pretty much gone. What remains is a novel reworking of the California surf punk formula.

The grand aesthetic that makes Arcade Fire such a force is on full display. But compared to last year's plodding AF album, Reflektor, Butler gets to the point so much quicker.

At times, the material here comes dangerously close to sounding like 14 versions of one song, but he manages to mix up the moods and textures just enough to avoid that pitfall.

Let's face it, outside of the obvious singles, it's filler town.

The increased repetition of blurted nonsense phrases and the further dumbing down of their very basic progressions should serve to rid them of numerous long-time fans who hoped the Hives could save rock 'n' roll.

Hopefully, Canadian audiences won’t be fooled by the British hype, because Bell X1 don’t have what it takes to win over the Great White North.

There’s an urgency to the songs--aided by crisp production--as if Smith resolved to get all his feelings out.

The record will prove inaccessible for those seeking a retread of the members’ more famous projects but works when approached on its own terms.

Continually developing and evolving, the Ex sound as vibrant as ever, and Catch My Shoe has an enviably timeless feel.

These are understated, heartfelt tunes carried by lovely acoustic guitar work.

Bub's knack for whimsical, 8-bit bleep-bloop electronic is apparent, and in addition to a few purrs or meows here and there, her magic shines in the arrangements.

Williams does sound inspired, and there’s an energetic current running through Little Honey that was missing on previous records.

It's an interesting listen but doesn't leave a strong impression.

It's almost as if, released from the role of playing less weird anchor to Spencer Krug's art rock savant, Boeckner's figured out how to maximize and expand what he does best.

Blood struggles to shift out of platitude territory with lyrics fixated on horizons, stars and sunsets, and it soon becomes apparent that La Havas is content not to go much deeper than vague universalism requires.

Judging by Devonté Hynes’s ambitiously grand follow-up to Falling Off The Lavender Bridge, with its piano intermissions, ubiquitous orchestra and choral chants, there’s been some Freddy Mercury blaring through his player.

Despite a few hiccups, Loney, Dear is one of Sweden’s best exports.

Barter 6 eschews obvious hits for what feels like an attempt at crafting a cohesive work.

13 gets tiresomely monolithic and ponderous.

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.

After four albums of American girls, dirt roads and fingers in dust with the radio on, it's tough to overlook the clichés.

Anyone familiar with the Flat Duo Jets will tell you that Dexter Romweber is a helluva guitarist (Jack White is a proud fan club member), yet our boy Dex has always been lacking in the vocal department. So his delivery on Ruins Of Berlin sometimes sounds more like a Buster Poindexter impression of Conway Twitty.

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.

The whole album is rich with memorable hooks, as opposed to just the singles.