The lyrics are especially vapid here in the Stadium Arcadium.

Anything that was either subtle or complicated has been erased to provide ready-made heart-on-sleeve love songs.

The songs on Without Feathers are fine, really, and for the most part pretty well-crafted, but there just doesn't seem to be a good reason to listen to them.

Beirut's mournful horn riffs, driving piano, sprightly ukulele, dense percussion and occasional synth loops proved haunting and entrancing at best, flat-out morose at worst, and benignly pretty the rest of the time.

Serena-Maneesh sounds like the kind of record many bands spend their entire careers trying to create.

If you have the time to dedicate to these genre-bending excursions, the effort can be worth it more often than not.

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

Strikes with a magnificent urgency.

Unlike the Darkness or Eagles of Death Metal, these guys don't think this shit is funny, and instead of making them ripe for mockery, it makes Wolfmother that much more respectable.

Even with a few overdone songs, though, Shut Up I Am Dreaming is a solid effort.

Where Now Here Is Nowhere was equally about force and restraint but always in separate parts, Ten Silver Drops does well to blend the two.

With about half the tracks on this record falling short, Skinner would seem to be teetering on the edge of irrelevance. But even the failed tracks here sound interesting, and if he's lost his way somewhat thematically, it's all in the name of searching for his new voice.

Of all the group's works, Pick a Bigger Weapon has a greater sense of inclusion and belonging.

Nothing sounds empty, nothing sounds cluttered.

Songs and Other Things' mid-tempo pop feels tossed-off, like Verlaine couldn't have been bothered to do more between walking the dog and a few dart games.

It's hard to figure out what exactly the concept is behind this concept album.

Richard Butler is a personal and, at times, beautiful album, but sadly not enough to qualify it as a success.

Sometimes it's hard to take seriously a band that bases its identity on a shtick -- but it doesn't seem like the members of the Dresden Dolls are much interested in being taken seriously.

It showcases an artistic range that had been up to this point unexplored.

The guitar work is straight out of the Velvet Underground/Television songbook, and the production begs for comparisons to the Strokes or Interpol. That's not to say being compared to these folks is bad, it's just that those comparisons don't reveal how unimaginative The Black Magic Show really is.

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

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

If the members of Rye Coalition had at least done a masterful job of impersonating their muses, we could call Curses a tribute album. Sadly, they fail even in that.

[Producer Paul] Epworth's accomplishment is obvious throughout the record. Having remixed some of today's indie-elite, infusing garage rock riffs with electro elements, he knows the importance of dance-floor accessibility and brings out all the shadows and contrasts that make Kick the accomplishment it is.

The band's shortcomings only become apparent when looking at the album as a whole; its repetition of the same sunshine formula loses it flare right around the third track, when the record's pace begins to slow.

Built to Spill has managed to elevate rock's pre-eminent instrument to a pedestal while creating something that's both approachable and timeless.

Despite the occasional moment when Garden Ruin sounds like a garden-variety alt-country-rock album, its moments of pure Calexico charm outweigh its missteps.

Most of Death by Sexy plays like the hard-rock equivalent to Ying Yang Twins or a stripped-down version of anything in Motley Crue's catalog.

The Animal Years feels effortless.

The songs sound as modern and fresh as if they were recorded last year.

There's enough here to justify a listen, but with LL's considerable talents, a little more was expected.

Mono has upped the post-rock ante with You Are There.

Vessel States' uncanny familiarity is its central disappointment.

The more you listen, the more you'll start to pick up on the elaborate instrumentation that exists in the background.

The simpleness just keeps on coming until it's simply deadening.

Musically and melodically, this is the best work Green has ever done (even counting The Moldy Peaches -- which isn't to suggest for a second that Jacket is the superior record). Lyrically, though, it's the same old Adam Green bullshit.

Sonically, the album picks up exactly where the Lips left off with Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots: heavy on the pop psychedelics, occasionally odd without being inaccessible.

[His] vocals don't have the same strength or range they did just two years ago on You Are the Quarry.

If you are able to ignore the lyrics, you'll be rewarded: the choruses on Meds are catchy.

Despite the jovial cover, this album comes off as almost entirely serious, which is all well and good until you hear some of the most misguided pontification ever laid down on a hip-hop track.

An abundance of hook-laden choruses, New Order analog-boogie and Stone Roses-cool could not be more frustratingly baked into this crumbly crust.

Even when it's not the most innovative, the sounds they use are fresh, and the duo tends to eschew hooks and conventional structure for letting the song slowly evolve.

Return to the Sea is filled with breezy, infectious melodies and quirky whip-smart lyrics; qualities that were sometimes lost underneath the Unicorns' shtick.

The music is cutesy and fun, but the lyrics are subversive.

We know this routine well; it's comfortable and pleasing to the ears. But throw on a disc by one of the originators (Pavement) or the cream of the modern crop (Wolf Parade) and Tapes 'n Tapes is trumped hands-down.

If Jungles presented the formula, Ideal Lives gives us the answer.

Irving's penned a batch of songs that can hold your interest in short bursts but will never inspire arguments. And that's damnation for pop music.

Show Your Bones is much more accessible than its predecessor, but there isn't really a "Maps" to serve as a gateway.

Another great release from the most important emcee in hip-hop.

King lacks an overall cohesiveness or direction.

The Back Room has the feeling of an album cobbled together too quickly.

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

Without any previous knowledge of Treacy's work, My Dark Places could be shoved aside as an album from some bloke being different just to be different, but this is nothing new for Treacy and the Television Personalities.

It's true that many of these tracks are not for the casual listener, but that's also not the point.

'Sno Angel Like You is not only beautifully performed and recorded, but also wonderfully written.

Other than on "Answers to Your Questions," it's not real pretty when O'Rourke steps to the microphone. Most of his songs stab at a Tom Waits-style balladry but end up sounding more like schmaltzy Steely Dan castoffs.

By the time the final tracks roll around and Gardner and Hammel still haven't changed their sound much, their lovey-dovey frivolity gets old.

Yes, the Sounds' music starts to blur together, but what a blur.

Skipping from dizzying keyboards to bluesy guitar, this is one of Coomes's finest musical hours, capturing his muddled musings into tight and coherent disarray and focusing in on the dynamic between these two exceptionally talented divorcees.

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.

[A] great debut.

There is a lot to be said for good chemistry. Nothing about this album is jaw dropping, but Murs and 9th play off each other so well throughout this short but sweet album that I don't really care.

Cannibal Sea's saccharine pop flirts at times with levels likely to cause diabetic seizures in the biggest Cardigans and Komeda fans, but the band does a good job of maintaining the album's balance.

Backed by Archer's stark soundtrack, Bohm remains as cool as the proverbial cucumber; her pretty-yet-monotone voice never betraying her stoic front.

Movie Scenes is further proof that Madlib is the Miles Davis of hip-hop: He's always finding a way to set the bar just a little bit higher.

Kratitude is dense, urgent and filled with inherent contradictions.

Tracks such as "Boner" and "Peanut Dreams," stripped of any excitement, are nothing more than highly polished and easily forgettable songs to ignore at a swanky upstairs club.

Love Travels at Illegal Speeds is by far Coxon's best solo album, and if his sensibilities remain where they're at now, it's conceivable that he'll never be able to top it.

They've got an amazing musical connection between them and its evident on this tight, pulsating, thumping record.

An air of pretentiousness definitely sits over Supernature, but this is a rather enjoyable work that surpasses most material of a similar nature.

The band's accomplishment on Fear Is on Our Side is that no matter what direction the song goes, the journey is always worth it, the ending is a satisfying resolution.

Under a Billion Suns is a great record, and Mudhoney is one of the best bands in rock 'n' roll, period.

Unlike previous releases, when we were taken on several rides within a solitary track, the thrills and tempo changes have been stretched out to album length, making this offering essentially a forty-three-minute song, with each track becoming a spike or dip along the way.

Ballad of the Broken Seas is mysterious and theatrical and totally cool.

Case's genius as a writer, evident from track to track, stems from her ability to write lyrics that conjure up amazingly clear images but that still leave the songs as a whole up to interpretation.

Axis of Evol remains yet another solid release from the Black Mountain frontman.

In between the dead-horse beatings, the Mael brothers pull off some brilliant one-liners and explore uncharted thematic territory, which suggests that Hello Young Lovers could have been truly great if the Maels wanted it to be.

Dead Drunk sounds six billion times better in concept than in execution.

What stands out on Etiquette, what makes it so powerful, isn't the full instrumentation -- it's still not exactly a wall of sound -- it's the moving and earnest lyrics Ashworth deadpans over his dark, minimalist beats and minor chords.

Together, Reid and Hebden weave engaging tales without ever managing the transcendent spontaneity these kinds of collaborations sell themselves on.

It's a perfect chill-out record, readymade for a sunny day or starry night, and it straddles the line between evolving style and signature sound brilliantly.

It has sunshine in its music that isn't clichéd, a range of songs that never let the progression slow down or stagnate, and an array of emotional explorations that are refreshing and accomplished.

What does all this mean to the casual music fan? Invest in a reissue of Jeff Beck's Truth.

The fun is gone. On The Invisible Deck, the Rogers Sisters sound like just another band.

Unsatisfying.

Sticks to the mold of its hook-y predecessor.

In a genre where dullness is constantly being fought off, there's never a moment on Soft Money moment when monotony threatens to take over.

Although it's firmly in the commercial-R&B camp, it's got much more energy than those slickly produced records, and at times, the record's production verges on dirty.

Presenting four or five great songs on any fifty-minute album is a rare gift, and on Leaders of the Free World, these bittersweet Brits prove to be worthy rainy-day companions.

When the record's not playing, it's hard to miss it, and the tracks that aren't standouts are simply boring.

Things improve considerably when the pair abandons the preening street-cred game; Moffat and Middleton seem finally to realize that if they're going to make a love record they might as well not half-ass it.

"Everything Is Under Control" is worth a download, and Saul Williams's spoken-word performance on "Mr. Nichols" is worth noting, but how much of this record has been done before and how much of it will be done again? What Coldcut mix can you say the same about?

The most apt comparison would be Dylan's more recent comeback albums; if not quite the masterpiece of Love and Theft, it beats the hell out of anything McCartney, Jagger or Simon have put out in the last fifteen years.

Those who choose to fixate on Bejar's lack of a pretty singing voice are missing the point. Much like John Darnielle, everything outside of Bejar's verse should be seen as peripheral -- a means to deliver the lyrical ends.

Had this been Dilated's second album, I probably would have found it a lot more entertaining. But it's not, and the moments of originality were few.

Man Man's music will irritate you, make you laugh, put you off and then bring you back for more.

This album is so ripe with hubristic self regard and musical monotony that most of its worth gets crossed out.

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