While the minimal production and closely miked vocals on her debut emphasized the pop hooks and her fragile voice, Li and producer Bjorn Yttling (Peter, Bjorn & John) give listeners a more all-encompassing, if familiar, sound on Wounded Rhymes, nestling her vocals amidst girl-group harmonies, psych organ and shambolic percussion.

They're clearly aiming for epic but more often accomplish exhausting. It's admirable to see a band unselfconscious enough to present such unapologetically maudlin balladry (in a good way), but there's only so much of it you can take in one sitting.

Adele's husky, powerful voice is what keeps you listening, but here's hoping she experiences something besides betrayal before writing her next record.

Williams is more observational than personal throughout Blessed, looking upon her downtrodden characters with sympathy and compassion.

Collapse is a genuine return to form for the band, blowing away anything else they've done for more than a decade.

Despite their brevity, the songs are repetitive, wanky and almost impossible to differentiate. They make you yearn for the days before genre cross-pollination.

To Rock's credit, his touches don't actually get in the way of the songs, and hopefully his tweaks are just what Sexsmith needs to garner the support he deserves.

RAA's secret weapon has always been the expert drumming of Paul Banwatt, and here he's given more of a chance to shine.

Shapeshifting may sound very contemporary, but it's not in the least derivative.

Whether howling eerily over a low, rhythmic pulse or riding a huge riff, Calvi's sensuous presence brings much-needed sexual heat to today's tepid rock 'n' roll landscape.

What sets Yuck apart is their excellent songwriting. It takes hooks to pull off songs like these, even if they're buried under piles of grunge, and Yuck have hooks in scores.

Bands in need of a catchy pop sound with a light edge should visit Chris Walla in Portland. The Death Cab for Cutie guitarist and producer can seemingly get this result from any artist he works with, including Michael Benjamin Lerner, aka Telekinesis.

If this were purely an experimental electronic album, we'd overlook the lack of hooks, but even as such it's not particularly impressive.

While it took a little while for the magic to finally get laid down to tape, the results are worth the wait.

Yes, many of the chainsaw bass lines on this comp will be derided by some as knuckleheaded "brostep," but those bangers are balanced by enough forward-thinking productions that anyone new to the genre can get a fairly accurate snapshot of the style at this point in time.

While their spacious, mostly instrumental music makes good use of dynamics (and reaches ear-bleeding volumes during live shows), they mark their label switch from Matador to Sub Pop with a lightness (as in absence of darkness, not bereft of weight) that's refreshing.

The production on this unfocused album is, as usual, nothing mind-blowing. Still, Skinner has an insightful charm and a lyrical gift that makes this a respectable send-off.

While these new recordings aren't that different from the original versions, their stripped-down arrangements highlight the strong songwriting, not to mention the musicianship of everyone involved.

Blake's songs are built around a single typically melancholic lyric and melody that he works over, kind of like an R&B singer, while gradually switching stylistic gears.

They're the kinds of songs that make you want to run into the street and scream to the universe that life is beautiful and magical, which is a pretty nice feeling as long as you can stop worrying about whether people think you're crazy.

Mixed so its songs blend together, Tao is such a cohesive record that when the second track, Pure Radio Cosplay, is reprised midway through, it seems like the end of an intense musical detour rather than a simple replaying of the song.

While a couple of catchy turns of phrase compensate for some elementary rhymes, there aren't enough hooks to make the songs memorable.

The record's emotional centre hits toward the end, so stick around for Your Moon, a cathartic downer backed by processed strings and 808 claps.

Girls continue to bypass fads by making timeless music about the universal themes of love, heartache and drugs.

Strangely enchanting.

The shoegaze genre usually plays better in a live context, yet Ghost Blonde is a relatively immersive record. You need to crank the volume to hear the vocals, but it's the guitars that provide the hooks anyway.

A sample-heavy hodgepodge of indie rock, hip-hop, garage rock and mature instrumentals fills out the rest of this joyous album whose almost wistful title track near the end brings everything together in the most satisfying way.

It doesn't sound quite the same coming out of a pair of headphones as it does, say, from the bathroom at Sneaky Dee's, but even on record it's sure to quicken your pulse by a few beats.