While not quite as satisfying as Wilco's 1998 collaboration with Billy Bragg, Mermaid Avenue, the new record is a great document of two groups that enjoy experimenting and pushing the musical envelope.

Singular parts of this disc throw forth a few pretty piano chords or guitar strums but don’t expect to gain anything from this listening.

Not unlike Wilco’s Being There, Show Me Your Tears gives classic rock lovers a new album to celebrate -- an album to drink by while mourning the fact that most aging rock icons rarely supply anything this raucous anymore.

After repeated listens, Title TK congeals into a beautiful little slice of fuzz-rock-pop.

A major rebirth, relegating the chirpy melodies to expedients, relying less on Sadier's monotone singing, and reaching for new formats within the group's formidable compositional skills.

Dark, downtrodden, and gloomy.

The album has its share of enjoyable tunes, and more than a couple great ones.

The material is maddeningly inconsistent, sometimes in the course of the same song.

A gentle tremble of an album.

It's an okay album, not nearly as overproduced as Liquid Skin nor as unnecessary as Abandoned Shopping Trolley Hotline. It isn't anywhere near the stellar debut, though, which is quickly becoming a tag Gomez is sick of hearing.

The band's most consistent, well-written effort yet.

Cure fans will enjoy this record, it's well-made and Smith doesn't break character. Everybody else, no sequels to "The Love Cats" will be found herein. Feel free to stay the hell away.

It augments the band's traditional pop sound with string arrangements and baroque instrumentation, to varying degrees of success.

The best record Lou Reed has made in a long time.

While Golden Greats features some intriguing tracks and a healthy dose of Brown's trademark bravado, it doesn't come close to ringing in as powerfully as the Roses' era-defining sound.

A glossy, major-label-sounding record that’s dull, atmospheric, frustrating, and beautiful in pretty much equal amounts.

While the songs aren't that different from "classic" Spiritualized, the method in which they were recorded presents a whole new set of sonic possibilities.

Most indie-somethings will scoff defiantly upon hearing the note-for-note schlepping of excerpts from Mogwai's Young Team or the Sonic Youth-isms dripping from some of the guitar build-ups. Still, the members of Kinski, like a stubborn weed in a thicket of thorns, grow past their numerous predecessors at times, unearthing moments of pure psychotropic bliss.

It's an improvement over Standards, which sounded unfinished, but it's nowhere near the peaks of Millions, TNT, or even the self-titled first album's great "Tin Cans And Twine."

Belle & Sebastian's formula is beginning to see some wear.

It almost sounds like Pirner is born again, and as anyone who's heard some of Soul Asylum's earlier records -- especially Hangtime and And The Horse They Rode In On -- knows, that's a good thing.

In relation to what the Dave Matthews Band is capable of -- or even what they've recorded previously -- it's dreadful.

He wastes half of the ideas for lack of a good singer, and can't resist some counterproductive musical doodling in the arrangements.

The big downside is the lyrics.

Once again defiantly demonstrates Ween's talent and versatility.

For the first time in a long time, one can actually listen to David Gahan's lyrics. Indeed, on Exciter, he has rarely sounded less moronic.

Thanks to fresh melodies, a surprisingly effective voice, ever powerful rhythms, and burning guitar/bass workouts, Jason Loewenstein has coined a voice of his own.

Is The History Of Rock the worst album of all time? In a word: Probably. I suppose I can’t say for sure, as I haven’t heard Kid Rock’s other records.

In the end, Porcelain pulls off a rare feat: able to appeal to hardcore/emo lovers as well as fans of good, old-fashioned guitar rock.

The album leaps between influences of Hawaiian music, classic indie rock, '70s-era orchestration, and country -- all very very delicately, as is Aden's way.

Although the whole thing begins to make more sense after (many) repeat listens, the overall results are at best uneven, and at worst, absolutely baffling.

BLD is arguably Black's most straightforward rock album; his sound is becoming more and more "classic rock" with each passing record.

Devil's Workshop is the most compact realization of the group's aesthetic, and it contributes 11 solid songs to Frank's ever-expanding canon.

The majority of the new songs are keepers.

A rather haphazard collection of dialogue snippets, instrumental vignettes, and the occasional proper Belle song.

Sounds more like a toss-off by a drunk band in the studio.

The catchy songwriting doesn't sit well next to Neil's crunchy soul, and the performances feel so stiff it makes for an unusually uncomfortable listen.

By turns alluring, obnoxious, and laugh-out-loud-funny.