All over Let's Build a Fire, +/- fails to capitalize on the moments of beauty and originality by either doing too much or doing too little.

The fact that Warm Slime doesn't quite measure up to the band's lofty previous releases is hardly the point. Thee Oh Sees are already careening down another road at 100 miles per hour, and you best keep up.

The album's true stumbling block lies in the Friedbergers' inability to follow many of their ideas to any sort of logical conclusion.

Koster's songwriting and arranging is growing by leaps and bounds, and Mary's Voice is his most assured batch of songs to date, it's just too bad that the production can't catch up or exude the same kind of progress and confidence.

This is an unambitious album in the best way.

Music for Men is a relatively safe album for Gossip's first major release.

The real problem with Stars is that the most poignant, affecting songs sound like natural, and somewhat neutral, follow-ups to his other songs.

Slappers is a much more unified, low-key whole [than its predecessor], and it's both stronger and weaker for it.

In the case of Super Animal Brothers III, you can either sit down and dismiss Ear Pwr for daring to play a game with the music, or you can see the state of the board for what it is and roll the dice.

The high points of Break It Up scratch the itch the in a way only a Be Your Own Pet album could, which is more or less the best compliment you could pay Break It Up.

Unfortunately, the dichotomy between the chaotic glee of Akron/Family’s set and Gira’s more traditional leanings diminishes the album’s luster.

Takes could have used a few more experiments of this nature, because while his versions of the Breeders’ 'Invisible Man' and Yo La Tengo’s 'Tears Are in Your Eyes' are tasteful enough, there’s no real sense of adventure, no real feeling that these songs needed to be covered in this way, no real attempt at making this anything other than a stopgap between records.

Esben and the Witch sure can make a racket, but parsing out the minimal substance is the real challenge. Better than Salem? Definitely. A perfect debut? Not quite.

Sonically, the lean disc is more in line with Weezer’s recent work and the overall mood is playful--with plenty of lyrical references to a radder era.

By coloring within the lines of dream pop Quever has recorded a pleasant release but not necessarily one that goes beyond the normality of his band's moniker.

The results are hit or miss going forward.

So Amazin' may not be the huge leap in artistic achievement she may have hoped for, but it is a step in the right direction.

So eager are Klaxons to prove they're not one-trick "new ravers" that they fall into contemporary dance-rock conventions.

Five American Portraits will not earn the band new fans, most likely, and may only inspire a spin or two from experienced fans. But this is a record that has its merits, mostly due to its odd, hypnotic concept and benign perversity.

It's unfortunate that Tan Bajo is so over produced by trying to be so under produced, but this is a document of a band experimenting with the hurdle of translating their famous live shows into a studio setting and over-calculating their sound in the process.

Mostly though, Pusha seems lost.

A disappointing missed opportunity.

What you get, then, is an album that may have a sonic breadth, but really only two sides: one of sweet pop tunes, and one of strange goof-offs.

Your enjoyment of this album will depend on how open you are to cats meowing, telephone rings, and French spoken-word passages weaving in and out of the songs.

Scab Dates does an adequate job of capturing what is best experienced in the flesh.

There are few compelling reasons to listen to The Exchange Session Vol. 2 more than once.

Quarantine The Past, a "best of" compilation designed for those who didn't experience the band at the right age (a group that is now well out of college), attempts to put the band's best musical face forward.

Shock Value isn't a perfect album, but it does possess various charms.

Even at its best, and it gets pretty damn good, such as on the stark "Black Sweat" and the rock single, "Fury," the record still sounds like it's stuck somewhere in the past.

Just Like the Fambly Cat sounds like a Grandaddy album, but only in that it rehashes everything the band has already done.

Brown is riding on the coattails of artists greater than he is, but he is clearly a talented performer who can deliver high-octane club hits.

An album that while fun, often stagnates no matter how much the trio push things into the red.

Be Still Please occasionally falls victim to over-orchestration. But McCaughan proves too much of an indie-rock veteran and pro to let that sink the entire album.

Passively waiting to be noticed, Holopaw’s second album, Quit +/or Fight, is like the kid who never raises his hand in class but whom everyone knows is the smartest in the room.

All the Why? hallmarks are there, but the album just lacks effusive energy or emotional rawness needed to bring it all to life.

Archive acts as this brief glimpse into the evolution of a celebrated songwriter and a band, yet with the quality and the high level of music geekery required, it's obvious that this one's intended for the superfans.

If Sea Drum/ House of Sun was the debut album from some little-known psych act, I’d be hailing it as one of the year’s best records.... But from the Boredoms, Seadrum/House of Sun is nothing special.

Unfortunately, Sigel has taken a step away from reconciling the truth on his fourth full-length, The Solution. Instead of shedding the one-note dimension of his popular Broad Street Bully persona, he simply cloaks himself in another unconvincing and uninteresting trope: the mack-lover.

The album is a tightrope walker, constantly straddling the line between sincerity and unapologetic rocking.

Diamond Hoo Ha is by no means a return to the band’s glory days, but it at least offers a simple reminder of their talent for writing energetic, hook-laden pop songs.

Black Mesa ventures deep into individuality but it's ultimately a fever dream that's more accessible to the man who created it rather than to an audience.

Kweli shows again that he deserves the respect he receives, but Eardrum is simply not cohesive enough.

Music that's built more around the image earnest and honesty than musicality can definitely be a powerful thing, but that's just the problem: It's either powerful or it's not. On Year in the Kindgom, J. Tillman is either a soothsaying troubdaour, or he's not.

Ghetto Bells finds Chesnutt running the gauntlet -- string-laden balladry, desert folk-rock, thumb-piano noodling.

There aren't any real missteps, but neither is How We Operate a step forward.

By merely keeping up, they don't do much to separate themselves from the flock of young bands crossing the Atlantic -- again and again.

In the future, the guys in Jurassic 5 need to do a better job picking their friends and their song subjects.

In their desire to avoid repetition, however, they’ve indeed strayed somewhere they’ve never been before: the middle of the road.

And though it's doubtful that any of these qualities will duplicate the success that Moby had in 1999, Last Night is a surprisingly solid and fun listen for anyone who ever gets nostalgic for MTV's Amp.

Sure, this is a relatively slight effort--those in search of adventure had best look elsewhere--but for the aural equivalent of a fluffy blanket, this is your crack rock.

The members of Viva Voce accomplish a catchy cohesiveness that's at its best when they allow their songs to stray.

The perfect antique Cadillac album.

From the band we never expected to evolve, there is enough sweeping ambition to have knocked us on our heels - if only the members had learned the art of discretion.

We, the Vehicles is ultimately too redundant to graduate Maritime into a more mature audience.

Even if Sov doesn't live up to the hype, there is enough quality material on Public Warning to warrant more music from the self-proclaimed "biggest midget in the game."

Keys to the World does have a few great moments, but it's not the definitive solo record he's been promising.

Campfire does little to surprise.

What's lacking this time around is the cohesiveness of the Konono No. 1 record.

you've heard them before. But it's not enough to sustain interest. The dead spaces in between just feel flatter in comparison, and those same hooks end up feeling disposable. It's a sharp, quick-burn of an attraction.

A solid first work.

Given that it's reassuring that he is writing and recording solo material again, it's disappointing that his fully finished renderings don't hold the same fascination as the sketches.

So Two Thousand is rich in guitar-disco atmosphere and tone. But it's weirdly lacking in personality.

What's really preventing Minus the Bear from making a breakthrough with El Oso is the band's unwillingness to head in new directions.

Discipline, is nowhere near the high point of her career, but it is better than its predecessor.

The record succeeds because of the instrumentals.

Ultimately, Beach House is a mood piece, finding a specific tone and lingering there for its entirety.

When Fish Ride Bicycles was probably never going to be as good as hearing "Black Mags" for the first time, but no one could have bet that it would be this boring.

In small doses, Animal Lover acts as the perfect antidote to a musical landscape often cluttered by acts too timid to truly challenge their audiences.

Mandell’s best, most varied album is hidden somewhere inside Artificial Fire. You have to dig through 20 minutes of brightly painted filler to find it, and unfortunately 12 of those minutes make up the album’s first three songs.

Sticks to the mold of its hook-y predecessor.

All in all, though, Total Life Forever is a slightly more assured record from Foals; this time out they sound like they've taken complete ownership of their music.

Here, Friedberger has once again proven his capabilities. At times they impress, but too often they confound, and it's beginning to seem as if he's too comfortable in his distance.

To be certain, the push and pull is lost through most of The State vs. Radric Davis, replaced by a straddling of the line between commercial and street rap.

Some of the tracks still don't feel like they offer enough.

The album's lows remain limp and strangely clinical, making its true promise all the more disappointing.

Perhaps Adams is just earning cheap sympathy with his strained, tour-weary voice, or maybe it’s just too thrilling to hear him revisit Gram, but Jacksonville City Lights does seem to come by its sound honestly.

Loose, sloppy playing and power hooks.

Plat du Jour is never dull, and if you went your whole life not knowing what it was about you could enjoy it on a basic scale. But as a project, the record is somewhat of a disappointment.

Despite a heavy reliance on acoustic guitar, the album never rests on one sound and feels fresh throughout. Unfortunately, the songs that shape all these solid sounds don't quite come together.

The band’s energy works alongside unusual arrangements and crisply recorded instruments.

Therein lies the personality crisis of Jackson Hill: The sole connecting thread for all these tunes is a band whose love for its craft just barely surpasses what a hodgepodge mess it often is.

Axes... has three distinct sections. The first is quite inspired, the second is mostly interminable, and the third is just inventive enough to rescue the whole venture.

Ultimately, however, The Minus 5 is the indie-rock equivalent of Ocean's Twelve. Everyone involved is clearly having a blast, and the result for the audience is often infectious. But just as often it is distancing, like watching footage of someone else's birthday party.

As a result, Thao & Mirah is a nice side-project for two great performers, but not as revelatory as it could have been for either of them.

The songs on the Dark End of the Street EP are well-sung and nicely arranged, but they are missing that vital thing that turns a song into a necessary document of feeling and experience.

The unhinged guitar liberation the group achieves on stage can’t be touched by the inspired but ultimately uninspiring sound of Return To Form.

On We Are the Night, Tom Rowlands and Ed Simons pull out all their tricks, delivering an album of euphoric psychedelic electronica, quirky guest appearances, and danceable grooves.

The second half of Good Evening picks up and runs right off, with the hooks hiding under all the reverb and fuzz starting to scratch at the surface with a fair amount of urgency.

Nothing sounds empty, nothing sounds cluttered.

Fergie is talented enough to compete with the likes of Gwen Stefani and Christina Aguilera, but the material on The Dutchess won't take her to those heights.

Fuck Death, compelling as it is, never quite finds the same charged feeling of purpose [as Skin of Evil].

About seven tracks in, 119 settles into a series of mid-tempo jogs that fail to really go anywhere.

Noah and the Whale try their best to make weighty songs (look no further than the paint-by-numbers description of a funeral on the limp “Death by Numbers”), but they’re better as a pop group that digs ukuleles and acoustic guitars.

On what has been for the most part an impeccably executed commercial rap album, TI again reminds us what he’s really capable of.

Yeasayer's only triumph here is perfecting a niche they've already seemed to master.

Unfortunately, it takes quite a bit of effort to sift through 30 such songs to find the more immediately arresting moments. The sugar-rush aesthetic grows tiresome over the course of the record and threatens to overshadow the more sublime moments.

Unfortunately, the bad tracks merely remind us that for all Cut Your Hands Off’s brazen energy, towering sound, and melodious verse-chorus one-two punch attack, it’s the subject of the songs that ultimately bores. Which is a shame, because most of the time, these guys get everything else so damn right.