With his band's fourth studio album, frontman Will Sheff stakes a claim here for the right to be called the best songwriter working right now.

Finding Forever, then, is Common's snapshot of hip-hop's awkward middle age--an album that is neither here nor there.

Any other attempt at describing Khan's sound of Renaissance antiquity cross-pollinating with postmodernity--the trip-hop bass of 'Trophy' that riptides into the autoharp lilt of the spectral 'Tahiti,' for instance--falls woefully short of music so cleverly askew and oddly beautiful.

With only the faintest hint of retracing his past successes, Prince is still on top of his game.

The Con is a mostly mature collection of solid songs.

These songs are so direct that they lack the depth and texture that more sonic detail would deliver.

While managing to side-step both preciousness and predictability, The Broken String pulls together the long-anticipated and full-fledged follow-up that fans deserve, at the same time aptly defining where Bishop Allen is now: all over the map.

With Luppi's influence, the band holds its ground in more sophisticated territory on Grand Animals than it has in the past.

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.

They are still too tied to their musical ancestors for any serious maturation to take place.

In the end, Calling the World left me bored as hell.

This record improves on the band's earlier work and might even score them a stateside breakthrough.

Interpol's third LP sounds more or less like the last two, and that's its biggest problem.

They've found the blueprint to the instantly memorable rock song - and Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga contains several - and continued to follow the instructions.

Perhaps the most successful aspect of Cross is its appeal on both the dance floor and the headphones, the pounding rhythms complemented by the nuanced detail of the arrangements and unified flow of mood.

Most of these songs are only pleasant for thirty seconds or so.

Clark never seems able to strip away all the orchestration to show true emotion on Marry Me.

It's almost as if Fantastic Playroom is trying to do too much. With so many agendas, it's a miracle that New Young Pony Club ended up all on the same page at all. Such ambition makes Fantastic Playroom a disjointed experience, but its triumphs are worth delighting in.

It's the most cohesive and listenable record he's made to date.

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

Dylanesque is a mess. Nearly every album has a few bright spots, but this is a lazy collection of covers that offers no insight into the catalog of one of the twentieth century's foremost songwriters.

The Fragile Army is the Polyphonic Spree's most consistent album, and it thunders with an assurance that was missing from "Together We're Heavy."

Like the White Album, Exile on Mainstreet, or Wowee Zowee, this album's risky lack of sonic cohesion becomes the very through line that binds the work as a whole. Unlike those albums, however, not all of the experiments here are uniformly excellent or thrilling, nor do they all live up to the promise of the wonderful, muted Satan.

More so than the debut's, these songs fare like standup comedy on repeated listens: Once the punch lines are spoiled, who wants to listen to a joke again?

Arthur & Yu may be too grounded in the past to alter the future of pop music. But if they make songs this lovely, there's no shame in that.

They seem to have packed up that cleverness with their Scotchgard bongs and headed straight for the wishy-washy world of adult contemporary without even knowing it.

Like many within Iceland's post-rock movement, these musicians have not quite mastered the ability to rein in some of their more excessive tendencies. But Kurr exceeds both the promise of Amiina's distinct instrumental premise and the musical and physical landscape from which the band originates.

You can hear the band rediscovering its footing as one of the strangest, funniest, and best acts of the decade.

Part of the album's appeal is its lo-fi production values. These songs are clearly built on analog four-track recordings and then embellished with overdubs.

Although none of the new material is even remotely bad, a handful of diverse tracks on the album's second half exceed the high standards set by the hand-picked singles.

Much like that of the band's previous albums, the value of Ma Fleur is in its exploration of how to grip an emotion out of simplicity.

The album is a stunningly lackluster, impersonal anti-work.

The album often ventures into the cheesiest territories of pop music, but this is Rihanna's strongest effort to date.

The indie-rock universe hasn't coughed up a record as rhythmically thrilling as Mirrored in ages.

The writing, arrangement, and pacing is deliberate enough to create a sensible package yet light enough to invite a listener in.

This album is a detour from the straightforwardness of Per Second, which means that comparatively it also often feels disjointed and uncomfortable.

You probably won't remember the first time you hear Plague Park, but that's not because Boeckner and Perry have failed or their record's pleasures are few. It's simply that their goals are modest and their tools humble.

When it all comes together, as it does on the amazing singles "I Could Fall in Love with You" and "Sunday Girl," the effect is intoxicating. Music like this makes you happy to be alive. When it doesn't come together, as on "How My Eyes Adore You", the result isn't unpleasant so much as tedious.

What makes Fort Nightly rise above the dance-rock pack is an ear for writing immediately catchy songs.

Five Roses is far from mere homage. This is the work of a precocious and incredibly ambitious songwriter who is playfully navigating the history of pop music.

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

Sky Blue Sky is Wilco's first step toward aging well, but it transcends transition and is an album that sounds right in its place and time.

A tight, orderly marriage of the pastoral and the psychotropic -- plenty precise, but short on soul.

As she sets her sights on bigger targets, namely war and terrorism, it's hard not to wish she'd remained as narrowly focused on the politics of personal freedom.

All the swirling riffs and overlapping repetitions might be tiresome if not for the sad, imperfect voices at their center.

From the first notes of Everybody, the band is trying to recapture the fire of its early albums. But the band has been moving away from that style since its inception; it's not surprising that the transition back may not be as smooth as they had hoped.

What makes New Moon succeed is something similar to what Shakespeare gets at in many of his sonnets: the ability of art to beat death.

Everything Last Winter may be the most accomplished debut of 2007, and it will invariably be one of the best.

The Magic Position feel[s] more like a missed opportunity than a legitimate breakthrough album.

Baby 81 is a wicked crystallization of all the sounds on the first album, tightened up and brightened up and even louder and more textured.

Beyond's highlights not only stand comfortably with Dinosaur's legendary best, but they also sound like they could have been lost outtakes from the very same sessions.

She continues to extend a thoughtful arm, whittling intricacy into something poignant and manageable.

Tears of the Valedictorian is an incredibly dense record and may take several passes before you can even begin to peel away its layers. That sense of rigor, though, is what makes it so arresting.

A stunning, grandiose pop record.

It's far from his best work, but, as Callahan takes a detour into rootsy musical traditions such as country and gospel, it is a characteristically eccentric release.

Favourite Worst Nightmare is tempered by a few duds -- "Balaclava" and "If You Were There, Beware," please stand up -- but more than that, it's kind of joyless.

As Olivier's lyrical content matures along with the rest of the band's elements, Midnight Movies could be ready to move into primetime.

Largely forgettable.

It's like they rented studio time in the red room from Twin Peaks.

Aside from... one unstructured, unwieldy track, Dumb Luck proves highly smart and skilled.

Applaud Reznor for attempting something that doesn't read like school graffiti; shake your little fist at him for doing it anyway.

Cassadaga represents a next phase, one that will prove enduring even as the kids latch onto their next rock 'n' roll savior.

23 is one of the more enjoyable musical experiences I have encountered this year.

They're a tight fit: Ant likes to experiment, and Ali's nimble enough to keep up and make it work.

There's No Home offers a rewarding finish as a slow syncopation turns to an eerie final verse featuring Jana and John and Matthew Brownlie.

And Their Refinement of the Decline is a nearly two-hour opus that at times dares us to deny that it can, in fact, be classified as music. That spirit in Stars of the Lid is commendable--even if it makes for a project that often seems more an experiment in deconstruction than an attempt at creating a universally enjoyable listen.

The perfectly pleasant Traffic and Weather is inarguably diminished returns.

Because of the Times is Kings of Leon's turn at maturity, without any of the pretentiousness that customarily surrounds that label.

An ambient record that doesn't bore or get bogged down in its insistence on fading into the background.

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

Fourteen Autumns and Fifteen Winters is full of thoroughly enjoyable tunes and melodies if you're willing to give it time.

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

Buck the World doesn't quite match his 2004 debut.

Red Gone Wild serves its purpose, reminding us that Redman can still be a lyrical beast at times.

He's doing something he hasn't done in years: approaching each concept, no matter how trite or overdone, as if it's his first time, surprising himself as much as he surprises us, and in the same breath.

There's a refreshingly human scale to everything on Pale Young Gentlemen--the songs are so strong that the crack of a snare drum and the bowing of a cello, simple gestures as they are, can achieve the band's grand theatrical ambitions.

As a cohesive album and a personal statement, Sound of Silver is superior in most every way.

It's exhausting.

The sound is still layered and textured, and those gut-achingly gorgeous seamless harmonies between Sparhawk and wife Mimi Parker are still there.

The album features Leo's most meaty and confidant singing to date.

Glitter is a guilt-free collection of mature rock/pop.

The songs on Armchair Apocrypha are broader, more sweeping in content and delivery than their immediate predecessors.

This is her best album to date.

Although it's certainly inventive in approach and execution, there's no denying that Person Pitch sees Lennox working within decidedly pop-centric parameters.

Some of the material is brilliant, though much of it only hints at the gems that would eventually make up Dilla's collaboration with Madlib on Champion Sound.

Even if almost every song here sounds like something someone else has already done, there's still originality to be found.

This is a heavy-metal record in the classic style, stealing bones from the open graves of Black Sabbath.

In a vacuum, Hats off to the Buskers exists as a charming, innocuous piece of work, perfectly fine for mass appeal; in the real world, Falconer and company are gonna have to grin and bear just a few more Arctic Monkeys references.

Back to Black stands in testament to the fact that talent and originality still exist.

The Fratellis won't change your life or any of your top-five lists. What the band will do, however, is give you a few good tunes to throw onto a Saturday night playlist while you wait for the real thing to come along.

As previous albums did, Myth Takes sees !!! aiming high in terms of grandiosity and intensity but falling short of its ambitions.

Symphony may have more of a cinematic steadiness and flow, but the absence of songs as hauntingly memorable as "Cherry Blossom Girl" or "Surfing on a Rocket" does not make for a better work.

Some Funeral devotees may be disappointed by the more straightforward approach on Neon Bible, but their numbers will likely be easily replaced.

An album that is warm and inviting without being overpowering and rich and varied enough to warrant repeated listening.

With experimentation comes error.

The album has plenty of stirring moments, but it falls short of being truly engulfing with its sound.

Ultimately Dalek's fragmented drone makes [rapper] dalek's tired wordplay obsolete, thereby redeeming Abandoned Languages.

Ultimately, We All Belong hints at the band's innocuousness. Nothing here offends, but there's nothing anywhere near compelling, either.