They've made a sophisticated, thinking listener's indie-pop record.

Charlotte Gainsbourg's Beck-produced IRM was a stellar sleeper gem of an album, but this follow-up sounds tossed together.

While it's dense with mood, gloomy lyrics and studio texture, almost to a fault, it's thin on memorable melodies.

Her pain is less harrowing – she's older now and knows how to cope -– so instead of singing only for herself, she's doing it for her listeners, a noble goal but also dull and predictable.

Gareth's voice has gone from excited and jubilant to pained and miserable -– an uncanny cross between Robert Smith and Conor Oberst.

Maybe their tightest, most replayable album yet.

The production does justice to the 80s-underground-evoking mix of surf, punk, industrial and shoegaze.

If any rap group could pull off a project this unwieldy, it's the Roots, and they make it seem effortless.

[Disc two] makes clear the fact that R.E.M. never could get back to the top of the mountain for most of their career

Days is a step in the right direction, but we're hoping they can challenge themselves to do something greater on album three.

One of the year's most imaginative albums.

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 singalong choruses are brilliant, but some of the sillier material might be best experienced live.

On her fifth album she mercifully avoids the monotonous dance-pop trend in favour of a timeless pop-rock sound that occasionally flirts with the dance floor.

Here And Now reinforces all the reasons so many people hate Nickelback, but those are exactly the same things that make fans pump their fists in the air.

It's an idiosyncratic, aggressively self-conscious and occasionally sentimental album, one that falls somewhere between languid, finger-snapping R&B and hip-hop braggadocio.

He composes rich, intimate electronic and acoustic soundscapes that suggest myriad emotions and intriguing songwriting possibilities. As a singer, however, he's maudlin.

It all makes Glass Swords a vivid, liberating experience (and, as a by-product, makes the canned wobble of dubstep seem oppressive).

On his sixth album, the New York anti-folk singer/songwriter takes a step toward silencing the critics, tempering his creaky half-spoken vocals with some surprisingly sophisticated arrangements and harmonies with guests like Dr. Dog and Frances McKee of the Vaselines.

Acrobats drags a bit near the end, but there's no denying that it's a huge leap forward.

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.

Birds isn't a commercial risk, nor will Oasis fans find it a challenge, but that doesn't take away from its smart craftsmanship.

Though he used songs from the same recording sessions for both, Humor Risk is quite a different collection, accessible and verbose by McCombs's standards.

Lulu sinks to almost unimaginable lows.

[It] offers the comfortable familiarity of an old flannel shirt from the 90s but leaves you wondering if time has stood still for the Chicago post-rock quartet. It has not, as is apparent on the five follow-up songs.

There is plenty of [crescendos], but Gonzalez also proves adept at pacing, surrounding M83's bigger, more anthemic moments with ambient instrumental interludes and balladic "comedown" tracks.

Unfortunately, subtlety gets lost in the process, and only about half the guest vocalist are actually effective.

Like Mickey Mouse conducting the ocean in Fantasia, she often seems more a celestial vessel for the heady energy and abstract imagery than a relatable character--a balance she doesn't always strike.