The concentrated unity of form and content that elevated sterling sophomore effort Bows & Arrows has been replaced by a footloose approach to songwriting and style that fails to mesh.

The butter-drenched vocal harmonies can be overwhelming in spots, but each of the principals involved brings enough of his songwriting savvy to the table to make The Thorns a guilty pleasure of pure California dreamin'.

She manages to gush with happiness while still maintaining a clear focus on her craft, thanks to the unwavering integrity she brings to her lyrical phrasing and musical arrangements.

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

It's difficult to listen to the album without coming away with the impression that it should really be two different records. Casablancas' disaffected monotone increasingly seems to belong on a different record from the assured sounds of a band slowly feeling its way out of its pigeonhole.

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.

Untilted lives up to its title, finding Booth and Brown unbowed in their belief that clinical repetition and street-smart hip-hop beats can coexist in the universe. But it’s a big universe, and there are times when locking onto the exact coordinates Autechre’s transmitting from can be a long, cold and lonely chore.

There’s little doubt that Chaos Theory does what it's meant to do: provide solid background noise to special-ops, night vision-wearing virtual stealth warriors. Compared to the rest of Tobin’s catalog, however, it’s merely a mildly engaging diversionary maneuver.

The Furnaces refuse to play it commonplace... which is both their greatest strength and most frustrating weakness.

On the whole Electrified offers too much syrup.

Folds has mastered his material to the point that he no longer relies on a smartass punch line to deliver the goods.

Cold Roses’ first set is by-the-numbers, brokenhearted MOR fare, sometimes maudlin (“When Will You Come Back Home?”), infrequently dramatic (the piano-driven “How Do You Keep Love Alive”) and mostly forgettable. The second disc redeems Cold Roses from an even-less-enthusiastic recommendation.

Perhaps an unrefined but fiery bar band would have been better suited to accompany such nakedly raw material.

This most confident debut presents Hope of the States as a band for the future -- a place it'll most likely find very comfortable.

A grab-bag assemblage that simply doesn’t flow together very well.

Fast Cars is volatile, angry, and certainly unappreciative of the current administration (especially its war policy). Fortunately, Aesop Rock manages to criticize without losing the beat.

Lacking its predecessor's edgy tone, Life For Rent offers up one bland, polite tune after another.

Body of Song is patchwork and spotty, dappled with a handful of sparkling additions to Mould’s estimable catalog.

The album dies far more often than it flies, mistaking a crazy-quilt musical approach for creativity, and wrongly miscalculating the strengths of its anemic vocalist.

North moves with an inevitable constancy, and could have perhaps benefited from one or two more upbeat tracks. But such consistency is certainly a forgivable flaw, especially when it's done as elegantly and earnestly as presented here.

In its reverential tone and the sheer joy expressed by Clapton and the all-star collection of session men joining him, the album proves utterly incongruous with the form it champions.

The casual fan could do just as well building his own sequence from the 1970 original, Naked and the third Anthology disc.

Without interesting stories to tell, it all feels like an empty-calorie exercise in vapid songcraft.

While it may not match the exuberant authority of a band at the height of its powers, set by Millions Now Living eight years ago, it does manage to prove itself worthy, in its own way, of the distinct creative voice that high-water mark captured so well.

Fans of Simple Things, Zero 7's debut effort, won't hear anything new or different, but considering that Falls makes for lovely background music, it should satisfy those fans just fine.

It's that sobering confessional quality that gives the album an unexpected dose of depth and grace.

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.

The Understanding is one of those bold sophomore efforts that will most likely split fans of the duo into two camps, with the Air/Boards of Canada downbeaters lamenting the new direction and the dance-oriented, Basement Jaxx set reveling in the unexpected vibrancy of Röyksopp’s present sound.