And not unlike the uncertain characters populating their songs, the band members have yet to stake out a distinctive musical identity, borrowing a little too liberally from their Southern Rock roots without adding anything original to the mythology.

While the upbeat message is laudable, the entire exercise could prove overly precious, not to mention repetitive, if not for a few tunes that help add much needed variety.

Sadly, the album's consistency is also its failing; you can only take so much softness... before you're just listening to elevator music, and after 19 tracks that's what this becomes.

The cumulative effect of Trust Not is a wearying one.

Granted, the world isn’t exactly better off since since the last Gorillaz album, but that doesn’t mean we need to be reminded of it by a loose collaborative outfit that will never be mistaken for the Clash when it comes to political or social consciousness.

Rilo Kiley's most consistent and sharply executed release to date.

There isn't much variety on the disc, which many will find a bit thin after repeated spins, but there's no doubting the band's clean, confident sound.

A triumph tempered by doubt, an accomplished collection of conflicted feelings and guarded optimism.

The Secret Migration is a beautiful-sounding record, but Deserter's Songs managed to sound spectacular and still work in adventurous detours.

Clips and clatters, glitchy mechanics and breathy cooing have displaced the beautiful melodies that are Múm's strong suit.

A noisy, stamping, querulous assault on the senses that could have certainly benefited from more than a little editing.

Back to Me is a solid successor to Failer, though at some point Edwards is going to have to toss aside the sour-relationship crutch if she truly wants to distinguish herself from the rest of the country-rock crowd.

Mostly, it sounds like no more and a little less than one might expect (or hope for) from such a union: Scott Weiland singing over some relatively crunchy Slash guitar templates.

Yr Atal Genhedlaeth sounds like a one-off; a palette cleanser for the Furries’ frontman. It doesn’t rise to the level of Rhys’ work with his day job, but then again, it isn’t meant to.

Whiskey Tango Ghosts is a supremely intimate, homespun album, one that isn't meant to arrest the senses so much as it strives to assuage the pain of turning on the nightly news and being bombarded with grim tidings on a global scale.

As solid a listen as it may be, one can't help but yearn for a little bit more of the testosterone-charged hard-rock muscle that the band members' resumes evoke.

It’s one thing to strive for the primal truth of a particular sound; it’s another to vainly bludgeon a thoroughly pulverized style in search of unsullied beats.

While there's nothing approaching the memorable hook of Solace's "Into the Fire" or the stalking menace underlying Fumbling Towards Ecstasy's "Possession," Afterglow stays true to McLachlan's impeccably designed songcraft and keen sense of melody.

Once the contrivance of The Forgotten Arm’s vaguely sketched plot device crumbles, there are still solid tracks to be found.

Subtitulo certainly appears to be an accurate representation of where Josh Rouse is in his life: comfortable, confident, and beneath-the-radar contented. Good for him; bad for fans of Josh Rouse albums brimming over with great hooks.

A refreshing and revelatory palate-cleanser.

It's not earthshaking, but it manages a small cocktail of politics, jazz, and well-produced indie-rock that you can refer to as "jams" without feeling embarrassed.

Bloc Party will almost certainly find success. Based on Silent Alarm, however, it won't be as innovators or firebrands, but as purveyors of familiar hooks, passionately delivered and smartly promoted.

The sound of a band throwing itself relentlessly at the limitations of its genre.

On the whole Electrified offers too much syrup.

Springsteen sounds natural enough singing many of these songs, but we never forget that that's Bruce Springsteen -- Bruce "Born to Run," "Born in the USA" Springsteen -- singing these songs, and the necessary baggage that the rocker's voice brings with it raises unavoidable questions of intent.

It's not half-bad, providing you can get over the fact that the Earlies have yet to find a sound to call their own.