Mountaintops is a decent pop record, and will surely add a few fan favorites to the live set, but for a duo that did so much with just two instruments, they too often do less with more here.

The other moments here retread instead of reform, so while the trio's stubborn vision for their music is abmirable, its limitations become glaringly clear as you get to the record's end.

Most of these songs would make for a devastating end to an emotionally charged, disturbed album. But ten songs like that in a row?

Legendary Weapons is fine enough for diehards, but doesn't reduce the general desire for an actual Wu-Tang album.

With Howl of the Lonely Crowd, Comet Gain will likely continue to lack recognition.

Like fellow hook king/smooth soul singer Nate Dogg, Brown takes most of his solo record and spreads some watered-down slick R&B all over the dance floor and fucks up everyone's game.

There isn't a song here that truly rises above the rest, and nothing here is as offensive as anything you'd hear at a stop on the Warped Tour.

For the most part this album is devoid of those special moments--no big choruses, no unexpected climaxes. Just 11 consistent tracks to perhaps one day rediscover, individually, while idly browsing your iPod's shuffle.

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

Those who were taken with the band before will likely believe this album lives up to last year’s blog-induced hype. However, everyone else will probably think that Everything Goes Wrong is, well, no fun.

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

This is a carefree release that is meant for our "reptilian" brain.

The album is nothing like a career-killer, but it is a career-worrier.

Attack Decay Sustain Release sets a dance-friendly party mood and sustains it over the course of forty minutes, but it does not explore new territory.

Like the subjects of these songs, the music itself wanders.

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.

On their appropriately (and doomily) titled third album, Oceans Will Rise, Montreal band The Stills address the end of the world in the only way they know how--with marginally catchy, heart-on-sleeve ballads that never hook up with their aspirations.

"Blackout" seemed like it signaled a more club-orientated path for Spears, like Madonna or Kylie Minogue, but Circus is a hodgepodge of pop themes that never really finds a face.

As a band whose biggest source of praise so far has been its unpretentiousness, The Shaky Hands may be better off with a little more bombast. If only they had the skill to put it together for more than a flash.

So while this new set of Civil War-era songs is an often beautiful listen, they end up obscuring Kenniff's musical vision rather than illuminating it.

Despite the impressive stylistic voices and rich production, there's ultimately something hollow around the project.

This album isn't on par with the Sadies' searing early material or recent similar country-rock albums from the likes of Oakley Hall or Okkervil River.

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?

The result is a schizo split between album and single: While you’ve got ten tracks that other bands have done bigger and better before, you’ve still got one that’s untouchably singular enough you want to root for the guys, even when they seem to be fighting their own best interests.

Who Killed Harry Houdini? is beset by lukewarm, heart-on-sleeve ballads that spoil the album and sub-form slices of pop that never take off.

The skills Barthel and Carter possess at creating this kind of sound with just a keyboard and guitar, as well as the two bandmate's longtime personal chemistry, points to a promising future. Professionally, however, Eyelid Moves is something of a stumble out of the gate.

Though Manchester Orchestra’s dedication points to the possibility of good things in the future, Mean Everything to Nothing falls largely flat.

The Seventh Seal is perhaps the most stale, thoroughly unremarkable album of 2009, and confirms a sad fact: Some comebacks are better left unexecuted.