The original Pussy Cats may not be classic enough to be untouchable, but Nilsson was enough of an oddball original, and the album carries so much back story, that a remake of it just ends up being a "why bother" moment.

Fol Chen's debut, Part I: John Shade, Your Fortune's Made, is end-to-end melodrama and that's fine; so far, they're doing it right. Instead of the kind of melodrama that produces sugar and hooks, Fol Chen appears to opt for storybook.

Unfortunately with No Witch, there just isn't enough excitement to hold the listener's attention for long. And while the group is to be commended for their artistic efforts, it could benefit from a more aggressive fusion of sounds on its next album.

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

[There] are only the few standouts on an album otherwise comprised of facile dance tunes with overwritten lyrics.

Aside from the occasional goofy detail (“I love sandwiches after sex”), their horndog bravado provides exceedingly little in the way of memorable lines, growing numbing and interchangeable over the course of 15 tracks.

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

Like much of today's synthetic approaches, Splash reaches broadly, but his process is more substantive than his content.

Through its happy welding of superb vocals and tactical percussion, Gold Leaves achieves a timeless quality, with a bright future on the horizon.

Sometimes, the band forms something interesting and new from these starting points.

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.

What Portastatic is able to achieve on Who Loves the Sun? without using vocal melodies is impressive.

When The Virgins are paying homage to their New York forefathers in terms of their aesthetic and lyrical content, they have trouble distinguishing themselves from the Jets of the world.

Put simply, this music is slow, the same slow soggy tempo the whole way through.

[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.

While not as hybrid as Abe Vigoda nor as melodic as Jay Reatard, these women kick out a place in the musical universe through sheer, happy, blasting audacity.

Rather than mature effectively, Electric Six has pretty much reached the end; at this point, the band is just cashing out.

All too often Shadow Temple falls short and is flat out boring when it should be actively engaging. It took Rama 14 years to rise to the throne and bring peace and harmony. The band members need to do more than this if they want to if they want to outperform their namesake.

This is a solid record, at times sparse and moody, at times lush and hopeful, but always chill. Very, very chill.

The best song here, "Chinese Braille," isn't going to top anyone's song of the year list, but when Candy Salad is on, it seems like the only music you'll ever need. And that counts for something.

Upon hearing how masterfully Black Tambourine pull off these covers, it all makes sense. The sound these women helped codify with their music and their writing is inescapable today.

Howling Bells fall into the same trap that kills most sorta-weird rock bands when they try to write a more popular sophomore album: Everything sounds bigger, but everything is easily more forgettable.

Stronger, more contemplative feelings are at work here; gone are the sugary la-la-la's and superficial lyrics inserted on cue.

Although its completed form has been framed as the most explicit tribute to Fuchs on the album, it is the furthest thing from somber, rocking an insistent downstroke bass part and a series of statement-making, sunsoaked guitar parts.

Inter-Be was good, but this record proves the band can make a sound uniquely theirs. In doing so, they've also made something far more lasting.

Excerpts takes it one step further and expects audiences to linger on the great tidal shifts of memory happening in our minds every day. If we manage to lodge ourselves within his cause, Alary has a whole world behind a world to open up to us.

Taylor doesn't get caught up in making his sounds too big, too large, or too much. He could, but he doesn't. He maintains control, doesn't get lost, and the result are nothing short of terrific.

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."