It’s satisfying enough to nod off to, even if it confirms suspicions that the band peaked at Pentastar.

Whether you'll like the newest Keane offering depends largely on your appetite for melodrama.

Tarantino's habit of including interludes of dialogue is especially distracting here, and it's hard to get around the discomfort of white actors casually throwing around the n-word. Morricone and Tarantino super-fans will enjoy it, but it's an uneven listen for the rest of us.

Production by El-P, Aesop Rock and F. Sean Martin gives this album that trademark Def Jux feel, but the rock-driven direction of a few tracks may be a deal-breaker for fans of Cage’s earlier sound.

On Immortal, he tackles paranoia and police brutality in ways that are both heartbreaking and bluntly nihilistic, while Foldin Clothes is a blissful and unapologetic diversion into domesticity ("I never thought I'd see the day I'm drinking almond milk"). Elsewhere, his earnestness comes off as unwieldy in moments that precariously sit on the cusp of sleepy sentimentality.

Many of Morby's tunes sacrifice his twangy, down-home warmth. Luckily, both still write simple, timeless hooks.

Musically, Ne-Yo spends most of his time here worshipping the throne of Michael Jackson ballads, which suits his falsetto crooning quite well. However, it's the handful of upbeat techno-influenced speaker-thumpers that stand out most, revealing his potential to be a much more versatile artist.

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.

Those who go to genuine underground parties every weekend will find it a bit lame, but considering the work of his fellow chart-topping populists, you could do a lot worse.

It's the near-painful purity she conveys in the high notes that surprises most, especially on the mellower tunes.

Lyrics, when employed, are simple and to the point, thoughtful but sparse enough to let the classical musicianship shine.

Sweet and Hoffs’s pedigree separates this covers comp from the chaff, which is why people like Lindsey Buckingham guest on their inspired version of Fleetwood Mac’s 'Second Hand News' and George Harrison’s kid, Dhani, on their take on 'Beware Of Darkness.'

Sound The Alarm shows that while they're still very much an acquired taste, these guys are much more capable than many would have liked to think.

The production is much bigger, and his songwriting more assertive and hook-heavy. Unfortunately, the awkward charm and intimacy of his early efforts are missed.

Where the album falters is in his overly ambitious and affected vocals, which fall on the waifish end of 80s new wave.

An anxious mood comes through clearly but doesn’t quite go anywhere, kind of like a protagonist who seems the same at the end of a book as at the beginning.

His third album is likely to disappoint fans and critics listening for those big, emotional climaxes, but Matsson's career has been defined by his ability to find new ways to paint with a limited palette.

dvsn’s deeply satisfying and sputtering beats are accentuated with wandering and jazzy piano riffs, melodic guitar and classic soul/R&B nods that maintain warmth and red-bloodedness but also overemphasize the Morning After’s sentimentality.

With summer so far away, this record’s only downside is that it lacks a hit song to help it last until July.

Dreams In The Rat House isn’t as diverse or ambitious as its predecessor, Sleep Talk, but it shows an increasing ability to balance winsome harmonies, raucous drumming and jangly guitar riffs while maintaining the unvarnished punk quality that makes them irresistible.

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 more conventional pop/rock tracks detract from his eccentric impulses and feel like compromises.

At times there's too much going on to be comfortable, but that sonic complexity also keeps things interesting. Shlohmo deserves kudos for making an instrumental electronic album that expresses anxiety, despair and sadness so vividly.

Though minimalist, it's not all austere.

While half the fun is spotting the differences between the original and the remake, Where Have You Been All My Life? is also an excellent intro to Villagers, a summary of five years in one album.

It’s refined, poised, sweater-and-scarf music to settle down with in advance of winter’s messy hysteria.

It’s odd that he doesn’t mind how much he’s starting to sound like the Black Crowes. Still, overall quality remains high, making this a more solid listen than some White Stripes albums.

It's the mini-opera that moves spryly compared to the proper rock album half.