Obsession with detail is one of the most appealing qualities of his work, but it's also one of the most frustrating. Echo Party bears this out in painstaking detail.

Kid Sis has elected to keep things simple--so when the album works, it becomes clear that it really works.

Some of these songs do, of course, belong on the radio: They’re saturated with production effects catered to a generation that calls its designer drug “ecstasy,” all wrapped around indulgent hooks, sentimental lyrics, and a sweet voice airbrushed into flawlessness. But Annie flaunts too much.

Them Crooked Vultures sounds more like an awkward attempt to introduce classic hard-rock rhythmic synergy into a Queens of the Stone age album, an effort that proves remarkably disappointing.

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

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

For dedicated adherents, A Friend Of A Friend is an essential part of the Rawlings-Welch story, but casual listeners should stick with 2001’s high water-mark "Time (The Revelator)."

The result was as smart and refreshing as any rap release of the last two years. Felt 3: A Tribute to Rosie Perez, despite its droll title, is similarly serious minded.

He clearly yearns to evoke the mixture of fun and grit that made "Get Rich or Die Tryin’" such a remarkable effort, but he’s misguided in his approach.

The rookie blunders are kept to a minimum, and Wale’s mesmeric talent--the left-field punchlines, the charmingly laid-back flows, the nakedly emotional storytelling--is enhanced by lively beats that juggle eclectic synth-pop with throwback soul.

It was made confidently, with no apparent intentions of it being some toss-off or fan-only disc. But by album's end, don't be surprised if you're reaching for "Citrus" to dive back into their dream world.

Sonically, the lean disc is more in line with Weezer’s recent work and the overall mood is playful--with plenty of lyrical references to a radder era.

With In Love & War, Amerie has adopted to trying times with spunk and style, grace and flair. And, yes, swag.

Listening to Bleach now, the main thing that comes across is how little it sounds moored to a specific time.

Look, if you’re seeking out the latest flavor of the month or are looking to see where this chillwave shit is going, Love Comes Close is probably not high on your list. But spin this thing once and it’s hard not to become engulfed in the aesthetic gloominess and seedy milieus Cold Cave are delivering here.

Although it's a stylistic elephant in the room compared to Invisible Girl's other offerings, it's a welcome indication of Khan and BBQ's scope and talent, testifying to their expanding interpretation and application of garage rock's attributes.

The rest of the 15 tracks are of two types: sub-par production work DOOM did for other people (like Masta Killa) or two-minute tracks where DOOM drops a vintage sample, says a few winking pop-culture references and then moves on without consideration.

Banhart clearly gets bogged down in that freedom, as the amount of sheer hokiness on some of his albums can attest to. But with What Will We Be, Banhart gets back to earning that right for total creative freedom.

What We All Come to Need is a largely successful display of Pelican’s well-defined sound with the invigoration of guest star peers and promising glimmers of growth.

You won’t get the same thing twice on Kids Aflame, and Goldstein keeps the surprises coming with subtle changes to his vocals, adding layers of horns in unexpected places and by simply choosing not to be safe.

At 15 tracks clocking in at 57 minutes, it shouldn’t feel as lengthy as it does. But certain cuts tend to drag, be it because of the inconsistent production, Moye’s sometimes phoned-in rapping, or both.

Instrumental mastery can provide for some fireworks (particularly on the opening triptych), but spending six minutes in service of sprawling songs with no substance (like most of the album’s middle third) doesn’t do anyone any favors.

It’s also worth pointing out that as good as White Denim is at riling up your inner animal, they can also charm its socks off with tracks like the jaunty, upbeat 'Paint Yourself,' which opens with a lively acoustic chord progression that soon erupts into lo-fi pop bliss.

Logos, while just the second solo album from the frontman for a band of marginal fame, represents the latest and greatest chapter in Cox’s ride to indie stardom.

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

While The BQE might not put Stevens in the running as the most groundbreaking voice in contemporary classical music, it's certainly a damn sight better than the orchestral efforts squeezed out over the last several years by the likes of Paul McCartney, Billy Joel, et al.

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.

Even with slick production the instrumentation is lackluster, missing that rattling punk energy; in their overt politics and complete lack of subtlety, the lyrics are trite.