Yet it still feels honest, like something said out of necessity instead of opportunity, and the result is an album that engages with the idea of loneliness in exceptional ways.

It lurches along like a junk-heap jalopy, unsteady and unsafe, bits flying off in every direction, stopping, starting, and bouncing in pain.

Many tracks come off as retreads or ideas freeze-dried for consumption at the trio's famous exhaustingly intense live shows.

Sumday is all glorious, throbbing heart.

Kittenz and Thee Glitz is Housecat watered down by trivia and outside egos.

An epic, sweeping cycle of songs that's completely over the top-- usually in the best possible way.

Earnest without being sentimental, and authentic without sounding contrived, The Hold Steady are one of the most convincing rock bands to emerge in recent years, a can-crushing throwdown of unadulterated aggression and ear-splitting amps.

Unfortunately, "She Will Only Bring You Happiness" isn't a single, and there a dozen other tracks to account for, none of which live up to that song's pop splendor, and few of which even come close.

The majority of the album's highlights come courtesy of the songwriting tandem of Bracy and Hoffman, whose maturity as songsmiths is notable-- this record is consistently concise, punchy and poignant.

Earthquake Glue meets any GBV album that isn't named Bee Thousand or Alien Lanes.

In its best moments, Collisions has an edge that's grittier and more emphatic than its predecessor.

As the less ambitious of the two albums, Hypnotize is at once more aggressive and more restrained.

While the record is far from a failure, Bishop Allen's studio revisionism also falls short of offering anything substantially new to much of the EP material.

In truth Who Killed Amanda Palmer spans a decade of songwriting, and by 'Leeds United' the disc has revealed itself as a broad collection of rich character studies born of Palmer's lyrical acuity, likely laced with personal touches that nudge some of the material toward the at least loosely autobiographical.

It's hard to predict where they'll go from here when Receivers sounds as if they've stretched their favorite sonic ideas to the very brink of saturation--but no one could have guessed they'd take them quite this far.

Expertly paced, Cubehouse's highlights are judiciously spread out, its occasional down note always quickly offset by something more boisterous. It's the Spaceships' most consistent listen; with no lows to speak of, it's easy to see this becoming the go-to for fans.

DeCicca's delivery, alternately grim and genial, sometimes averages out into nonchalance, and some of the black humor in these lyrics is a bit funnier on paper than on the record itself. But he's always been sort of a tricky read as a singer, allowing Sayre's ever-present violin to hammer home the emotional content, and Don't Blame the Stars finds the two neatly complementing one another.

It feels like he's listening harder than ever to feel out new ways to move forward, causing him to quietly cleanse his vision in ever more compelling ways.

As a stylistic culmination of sorts, Vanitas is a fine place to start.

Though a few songs stretch out an interesting idea too far—for instance, the post-Nae-Nae scrum "My X"--SremmLife is a showcase of an electric new talent paired with all the trappings of a bigtime major label debut.

Even in their repeated defiance of having anything to prove, Pond still scramble with the passion and irreverence of underdogs.

Riot Boi delivers what its title promises--a transgression of pop cultural limitations--most clearly in the final three tracks, socially-conscious slow jams with far more overt political messages than Le1f's usual banger-obscured radicalism.

Late Nights, in its subtle seduction, feels all the more special in an era that increasingly rewards artists who shout the loudest. Jeremih makes you shut everything else out so that you can hear him whisper in your ear. It was worth the wait.

Even as they explore alien aesthetics, the Body and Full of Hell are constantly finding ways to uphold the spirit of each other's work.

Despite Dâm’s preference for playing tracks pretty much all the way through--which suggests an infectious, wide-eyed passion for the music that fits into his mind-control powers--the mix is properly appreciated as a whole.

Defying all bureaucracy, borders, and strife, this concert and this orchestra proves that art at its very best is a grand gesture of empathy above all.

Cost of Living revels in the gleaming, multi-tracked expanse of a professional recording studio. It’s a richer, fuller sound; the stereo imaging is wider and the saxophone (they’ve stripped down to just one, now played by Joe DeGeorge, who also handles keyboards) has more presence in the mix. The bigger, brighter sound often serves them well.

The Hanged Man continues to project a bold, subversive spirit even after that introductory blast of static clears.