The inspired moments of sunny pop and weirdo noise seem effortless, but so does all the aimless jamming.

Along with four new Pretenders, she's crafted a statement that's stripped bare and dangerous, just like Hynde herself, who abandons much of her haughty cool to expose some long-concealed wounds as painful as the ones that Janis Joplin unfurled on "Pearl."

Their bright Americana ditties have a newly retro, country-fried twist that suits them just swell. [Nov 2008, p.88]

However much she slurs her lines on this fine fourth album, the shabby rockers and frayed ballads cut deep. [Nov 2008, p.93]

It's not the conceptul masterpiece he was clearly hoping for, but there are moments of transcendence just the same. [Nov 2008, p.89]

Moonwink's manic tunes are miniature rock'n'roll extravaganzas, with intricate melodies and airtight, detailed arrangements providing a dramatic setting for chamingly woozy singer Nick Krill. [Nov 2008, p.102]

The vocals can still dilate your pupils, but her melodies (on "Ruler," "The Package Is Wrapped") deserve equal attention, as Stern bids to become one of the few finger-tappers who's also a songwriter.

The Argentinean TV actress emits powerful hallucinogenic vibes, creating a slippery soundtracj for the subconscious. [Nov 2008, p.98]

Abraham's broken-glass belloiw is often matched with folk-siren backup vocals that disorient more than they soothe. Multi-tracks thicken and slur the guitar riffs, heightening both the tension and complexity. [Nov 2008, p.102]

Thier major label debut is drenched in the same warm sonic haze and bizarro imagery as Flaming Lips, but any weirdness comes in the service of the songs. [Nov 2008, p.98]

She's more convincing as a moper, but the album's alternately punchy and slinky conclusion is heartening proof that's she's no quitter. [Nov 2008, p.102]

This Montreal group's first full-length features a slightly brighter, looser sound than their wonderfully sludgy 2006 EP, perhaps due to the input of Justin Vernon (a.k.a. folkie marvel Bon Iver), who coproduced with the band.

'Shake the Devil' purrs with a Ray Charles-worthy retro R&B beat and the furious nonvegan chorus of 'Shake that Pig!' [Nov 2008, p.88]

They use mopey melodies and nature imagery to evoke heart's near the breaking point. [Nov 2008, p.100]

He still operates un the shadow of his semi-seminal indie rocjk outfit, due to an inconsistency that also plagues Forfeit/Fortune. [Nov 2008, p.89]

Dub dropouts and freestyle toasts monkey with the beat; the rap on 'Magnificent Seven' yields to 'Armagideon Time,' then returns for more. Many people probably danced. [Nov 2008, p.89]

The joyous problem: All the repitition, all the sunshine, all the sound can get tiring. But the same goes for anything that releases endorphins this ecstatically. [Oct 2008, p.122]

None of this will make Devin a star anytime soon, but that's less his fault than it is everyone else's. [Nov 2008, p.90]

A good time, if not a terribly memorable one.

The debut album from G-Unit producer Jacob "Jake One" Dutton plays like a crowd- pleasing beat reel for future employers.

Alongside the preternaturally mature croon of frontlady Linnea Jonsson, those threads fit seamlessly:

Folds is incapable of mediocrity, but Way to Normal comes way too close.

Snowflake Midnight ranges widely, from synth-heavy orchestration to film-score dramarama. And between those ambient bookends, there's virtually no filler.

Much of 4 feels like beautifully baroque soundtrack music desperately seeking a movie about a rainy afternoon.

On his second agit-folk album under the Nightwatchman persona, Rage Against the Machine and Audioslave guitarist Tom Morello incorporates electric instrumentation and foregrounds his sonorously ponderous baritone, aspiring to, if not attaining, the gravity of Johnny Cash, Tom Waits, and Nebraska-era Bruce Springsteen.

The Glass Passenger, the group's second album, chronicles McMahon's successful battle against leukemia, matching hyperemotional melodies with his tender voice on dramatic tracks.

Murs for President has a cumulative bang that's impossible to deny.

Too bad inconsistent vocal performances from Prince Po to MED, tempt you to switch the dial on this hour-long jam. [Nov 2008, p.96]

The result is the trio's startlingly impressive debut: astute, melodic evocations of plinky new wave and the Cocteau Twins' smeary dreams that achieve a timeless emotional response. [Nov 2008, p.89]

Geist keeps it coolly retro. [Nov 2008, p.91]

Trading in easy recognition/gratification, the barrage grows as dizzyingly nostalgic as Oz's tornado. [Sep 2008, p.116]

The trio offers copious catchy bits, more tonal variation than the usual guitar-plus-beats norm and an appealingly pleading frontman in Ed Macfarlane. [Nov 2008, p.91]

When they work up a good buzz and growl ('Batcat') or hit a scrumptious riff ('The Sun Smells Too Loud'), Mogwai still take your breath away.

On their fourth album, the Kings of Leon still rule with a messy hand, applying rough magic and blurry, slurred imagery to their swashbuckling rock.

Throughout Dear Science, TV on the Radio--which includes the rhythm section of bassist Gerard Smith and drummer Jaleel Bunton--flesh out Adebimpe's and Malone's ruminations with relentlessly inventive arrangements that make even familiar sentiments seem fresh.

Relying on sturdy-legged piano chords ('I've Seen Enough'), boogie rock ('Mexican Dogs'), and caffeinated backbeats to boost Willett's narratives, Loyalty to Loyalty is rarely subtle.

Acid Tongue is glossed up at the expense of Lewis' charming flaws.

Slivers of banjo, rattles, kalimba, and what sounds like a coffee percolator swirl across winsome exotica minitures. [Nov 2008, p.93]

The band's freak-out, slacker glam jams return, but it's Earley's comparatively focused alt-country side that impresses.

Fender Rhodes–heavy groove of 2006's self-titled breakthrough gives way to more discernible melodies and socially conscious lyrics (see "Oppressions Each"), buoyed by soulful horns and backup vocals.

His fifth solo album, which is rife with clichéd storytelling, shows signs that another makeover might be in order.

Plundering the 1980s for inspiration (shock!), 27-year- old New Zealander Pip Brown emerges with a confection of synth-infused, mammoth-chorused tunes that sound surprisingly and thrillingly fresh.

Powered by rattling drums, simmering organ, and Stuart Staples' resonant baritone, the first half of Tindersticks' latest is a can't-miss proposition....Too bad the disc's second half descends into a morass of half-finished, melancholic curios that mostly go nowhere lowly.

A clear attempt to re-create their most commerical sound--which works well on the ingrating antiwar titile track and the glistening time capsule 'Oh My Heart.' [Nov 2008, p.96]

Gift of Screws boasts a lot of attractive touches, from the lovely acoustic guitar of 'Bel Air Rain' to the crashing chorus of 'Love Runs Deeper,' but less polish would add some soul to the mix.

The album is a dark gem, a high-IQ song cycle that combines guilt, neurotic lust, and low self-esteem into piano-based tunes that come studded with lyrical daggers.

The Georgia quintet's debut may appeal to My Morning Jacket fans, but songs like 'Heavy Petting' and 'Start Me Laughing' (which recalls Kurt Cobain at his nastiest) possess more growl than that comparison implies.

These Los Angelenos deliver a brash follow-up to 2006's platinum-selling "15." Spewing filthy oaths and sweet promises, sometimes in the same line, frontman Josh Todd does his best to give misogyny a good name.

The album is more a rebirth, with Metallica exploring what they've learned durig their 20 years at the top of the heavy-metal slag heap. [Nov 2008, p.96]

Credit producer Butch Vig, too, who brings the trio closer to sonic Nirvana by coaxing out their snarls and then compressing and polishing them to maximum shininess.

Tricky reengages with his pain that gave him his original power. [Sep 2008, p.128]

Carried To Dust's songs travel a trail that seems carved out of ancient echoes. [Sep 2008, p.114]

Their more subdued follow-up doesn't dirty things up much, but it does give some character to the quartet's airtight groovemaking.

The Stand Ins, is packed with the same compound sentences, sprawling narratives, and precarious, barn-dance guitars that made its companion piece, 2007's "The Stage Names," so weirdly gripping.

Mostly, though, they demonstrate that pop trumps piety.

Depending on your disposition, former Moldy Peach Kimya Dawson is either endearingly naïve or impossibly irritating. Parents who fall into the former camp could do worse than this children's album (it beats Kidz Bop!), but caveat emptor when uptight grandparents are around.

Zac Pennington sounds a bit pubescent himself as he sputters the record's bizarre, hard-to-follow story, but the impeccable arrangements, wormy melodies, and jarring carnal imagery get the point across.

Key elements--shy vocals, shimmery guitar--remain from the Kadanes' previous band, slow-core pioneers Bedhead, though Matt now actually enunciates the band's diary entries.

The arresting second album from this five-piece trades the jangly folk rock of their only-pleasant debut for a harsher, more jittery approach.

They're never slavish imitators, and when they goose the velocity--those comparisons gradually fade into classic, shimmery guitar pop. [Nov 2008, p.88]

Torrini's much more engaging, though, when cooing Me and Armini's less flamboyant folk pop. [Nov 2008, p.102]

The songs often end up miles away from where they started, but the characters and melodies persist.

She's smart to dress her aching, powerful voice in something other than rhinestones. [Nov 2008, p.90]

Sweetly and unmistakably, That Lucky Old Sun limns the sunset of Wilson's career, while still showing how California is at its most beautiful through his eyes.

Despite the album’s cornpone reflex and occasional meandering, guitar-diddling foray (“Muck Machine” should have been dragged to the trash folder), provisions has its Southern-fried charms.

Not all moods suit Andersson--the sultry, overdramatic 'Locusts Are Gossiping' falls flat--but she builds enough goodwill elsewhere that you’ll want to hear her try everything.

Tokumaru counters the tweeness of his Japanese-language croon (plus the unrelenting innocence of his twinkly, trebly melodies) with arrangements that densely interweave oddly organic twittering to suggest psychedelia without ever stooping to its cliches.

He cuts through Slime & reason's rudeboy grime with poker-faced nerve. [Nov 2008, p.100]

Are the Verve back? Maybe. Definitely.

All Hope Is Gone, reportedly the first thing they've recorded in years without wanting to kill each other, proves that there's still musical unity in disharmony.

Yoking fuzz-stoked guitars (credit Television vet Richard Lloyd) to gorgeous melodies derived from the Beatles and Big Star, Sweet serves up his best tunes since "Altered Beast."

Despite passing echoes of Spoon and Violent Femmes, Delta Spirit's rough barroom pop is its own creature, with jangly pianos, rattling drums, and scruffy acoustic guitars making a thrilling ruckus.

The endlessly quotable single 'Little Bit'--"For you I keep my legs apart / And forget about my tainted heart," the singer coos over spare electro clatter--is already a viral smash, but much of Li Lykke Timotej Zachrisson's debut is nearly as riveting.

Anchored by four tracks from a previous EP that were re-recorded with the hooks highlighted, this nimble full-length wrings catharsis from pop with no lapses into pretension.

Johnny Whitney has made an art of singing like a deliriously deaf 12-year-old, but the debut of his new trio with Blood Brothers bandmate/guitarist Cody Votolato and ex–Pretty Girls Make Graves guitarist Jay Clark (now on drums) plays like a preteen daydream.

The hooks are hidden in dense atmospherics, but after a few late-night sessions, these grand, moody songs will reveal secrets worth waiting up for. [Oct 2008, p.122]

Singer-guitarist Courtney Taylor-Taylor has an undeniable way with a sticky-sweet hook -- too bad most of them are buried in self-indulgent sludge.

Three albums in, the Stills still sound ambitiously confused.

Adeptly recorded both through the board and from the audience, Remember is a microcosm of the band's career--an ambitious mess.

On his debut album, he shoots for the stratosphere and lavishly scores.

The 23-year-old Malibu rapper's debut is as shallow as a spray-on tan; it's stocked with bro'd-out, giggly rhymes about 420-filled nights and T&A aplenty over lazy, midtempo beats from producer/reality-show rocker Cisco Adler.

Surprisingly vital.

His first Music Tapes album in nine years suggests an unhealthy obsession with Brian Wilson's "SMiLE," the wobbly-voiced outsider makes his own quaint magic.

The title track gusts in more forcefully, but on the duo's best songs, they harmonize like Simon & Garfunkel shutting their eyes against approaching shades of winter.

Percolating tracks such as 'Pum Pum' and 'Chooga Cane' are more like undercooked, meandering jams than songs, mixing loose grooves and breezy synths as the profane Perry portrays a muttering old codger.

These C-grade tracks ape RZA's trademark sound, but lack any sense of melody; and the album seems randomly cut-and-pasted. [Oct 2008, p.112]

The Swedish quartet--best known for "Jerk It Out," featured in an iPod ad a few years ago--also churns out concise, addictive tunes that wrap fierce emotions in soaring old-fashioned '60s garage pop.

Though he inexplicably apes Slayer once again ('I'm Alright'), the tempered ingenuity is an encouraging turn.

Marling's voice, rich and tenuous, recalls Joni Mitchell, but her fatalistic screeds--sung over acoustic guitar, with an occasional burst of percussion or strings--owe more to Nick Drake and Will Oldham.

Although the daughter of Little Feat's late leader Lowell George charms with a crisp, vibrato-less chirp that suits her airy tunes, the star here is Parks, Brian Wilson's SMiLE collaborator, who surrounds George in a florid orchestral fantasia that flickers like a luscious, precisely gardened flower bed teeming with hidden fauna.

The first album under his own name is stranger and more varied, a psychedlic/psychotic kaleidoscope worthy of early Animal Collective. [Oct 2008, p.114]

The latest from these Nebraska dance rockers doesn't instantly charm like the '80s flashbacks found on 2001's breakthrough, "Danse Macabre." But its fixation on the present pays off with repeated plays as clashing guitar and keyboard hooks hammer home the Faint's central theme--the chaos of a world in conflict.

The album does an admirable job of living up to its low- key title (with spare acoustic tracks) and its situation (with loosey-goosey, classic-rock-indebted numbers).

He's still way too fond of show-tune orchestration, and then there's the tossed-off corny stuff, but the orneriness of Newman's now-64-year-old wit makes George Carlin seem like Dane Cook. [Sep 2008, p.120]

The Rumble Strips are so contagiously charged up that it's tempting to overlook their pathetic mind-set.

these increasingly experimental Girls remain an appealingly peculiar party band. [Sept 2008, p.112]

Re-Up's wordplay outstrips their production. [Sep 2008, p.122]

By the end, when Johnson stakes a place vocally, geographically, and alphabetically "somewhere between [Waylon] Jennings and [George] Jones," you're relieved he still has his wits about him.