Under The Pale Moon pays homage to the pasty romantics of '80s pop, the dramatic crooners of years further past, the intriguingly depraved icons of post-punk, and several others without sounding like a pastiche or a mere exercise in genre tourism.

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

The tuned-down Melvins-like squall from their earlier records is still present and accounted for, but Torche have managed to shove their guitar work into unexpected places that balance limber melodicism with punishing heft.

Thankfully, their lovable debut has more of the former than the latter. They know the importance of consistency and pacing and are only left with the task of fine-tuning their band on the road.

Tomboy's best quality is its consistency with Lennox's vision, in spite of the critical hullabaloo surrounding it.

In highlighting the more tasteful, nuances of their sounds, they’ve emerged with a more cohesive whole, a representation that better captures their classic-rock heart while simultaneously stripping the fat away and revealing the core behind the chaos.

Sisterworld is their first album that fits in soundly with the work of other bands. Whether or not that’s a good thing for Liars is a matter of debate.

Here Low are, still going strong, still this consistent, still delivering vital albums like C'mon.

Little Hells still works from start to finish, but if that's the case, then it's pretty good for process output.

In others' hands, this could be maudlin or self-indulgent, but Hauschka's attention to detail is his strongest characteristic.

Sure, this record doesn't quite match their best work, on 2002's ...and the Surrounding Mountains, but it is just as strong as anything else in their discography.

The bulk of El Camino keeps that approach fresh by twisting their rock sound into a pop sensibility that may feel nostalgic, but here--in this concentrated, potent dose--reveals itself to be just as eager to move forward as it is to revel in the past.

Perkins has proven himself to be a versatile, surprising and compelling songwriter. On Elvis Perkins In Dearland, he walks the thin line between charming entertainer and confessional songwriter beautifully.

I’m not convinced that the second season, while musically not that adventurous (R&B and hip-hop tracks take up a lot of the disc) doesn’t measure up (and occasionally surpass) the heights of season one and the group’s self-titled debut.

For the most part Only in Dreams is a sound that is firmly theirs.

There’s no telling if Ludacris will ever be given the level of respect he desires, but this help proves that he deserves it.

Whether you call the Arctic Monkeys' evolving sound Britpop or Britprog, it's clear the album shows remarkable progress for the band.

What’s funny about the album is that despite all it hard-rocking aggression, it’s a collection of mostly love songs. And it works.

But no matter, because the tracks that Universal has okayed are the kind of ballsy primal rock that conjures up images of a glorious multicolor three-way between Bikini Kill, the Ramones, and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

Unlike the surreality of their peers, distant and hiding behind static, múm is entirely here, wholly present and astoundingly beautiful.

As an album The Lady Killer achieves everything it purports to be. Its music is familiar enough to attract broad attention.

While Dragonslayer might not be the best album in Krug’s robust oeuvre, there’s still enough here to convince us that Krug is still the ascendant king of indie rock, and that he might have a magnum opus yet to come.

While Compass, due partially to its longer track list, features a few duds that prevent it from surpassing the superior Jim, the album still shows Lidell as indie’s best answer to Robin Thicke and his compatriots, artists Lidell bests on a regular basis.

This is Spoon at its most Spoony.

Keep Your Eyes Ahead could easily be seen as the result of making the best out of a bad situation and succeeding in spades.

It’s great headphone music and would make a suitably dense soundtrack for a drunken stroll through the Lower East Side, where much of the inspiration for NYC was found.

Despite its short shelf life, Real Estate, if it hits you at the right time, can be splendidly transcendent.

The incredible ride finishes not with a bang but with a whimper. Preteen Weaponry isn't much more than a 39-minute sonic experiment for a band seeking a new direction, but it's such a mindfuck to listen to, who cares where it ends up?