Even with its sonic detours -- the slightly nutty percussion, a lot of general yelling -- the record feels a bit monochromatic, like a just-fun-enough surrey ride whose background keeps repeating.

It's an overly gauzy, booming-echo epic that doesn't leave much trace after it's over.

The muffled, placid Daybreak lacks the burn of the first two parts and never illuminates.

Era Extraña picks up as if that criticism (and 2010) never happened. Some tracks sound 25 years old and they're one Martin Rushent assist away from being genuine synth-pop hits.

Guitarist Adam Kessler's exit makes room for a more overtly expansive approach on the Drums' just as solid sophomore outing.

The male-dominated world of dubstep may dismiss all this as too lightweight and precious, but Katy B may transform into the queen of this boys club yet.

Transpose the communal exuberance of Los Campesinos! to the U.S. and you've got this quintet, who prove that sunny, adolescent, pop-rock catchiness will never go out of style.

Memories does indeed trigger some, particularly when a big-chorused rocker ("The Afterlife") opens up like a razor-blade suitcase. As for the ballads, you're better off YouTubing "Glycerine" -- or one of the tearjerkers ("Forever May You Run" ) from Rossdale's underappreciated 2008 solo disc.

Blitzen Trapper's Eric Earley performs the amazing feat of making alt-country seem fresh on the band's gripping sixth album.

Green Naugahyde is all rubbery, aggro Bootsy, picking up where 1999's nü-metal-chasing Antipop left off.

Mountaintops has plenty of upbeat romps, but the most compelling moments are the epic, minor-key laments.

Lowe's sexagenarian years have real sparkle.

Legendary Weapons attempts a reinvigoration by employing session band 
the Revelations to muster up grooves that recall the sort of '60s soul songs that RZA once loved to sample. It's a quaint idea, but the execution is too slick to mesh with the raps, and fails to evoke the Wu's murky pall.

You don't really hear that stylistic growth, though, on this slab of down-tuned chug-and-glug, which finds the band returning to the grim recriminations of early tunes like "Mudshovel" and "Suffocate."

The middle of the road was always their destiny, it seems, and they arrive with blatantly pleasant but character-free ditties to accompany you while shopping for a smart new Ben Sherman shirt, though those ditties likely will be forgotten the moment 
you exit the store.

The resolutely midtempo album peaks with the ghostly "Ace of Hz" (recycled from a 
recent greatest-hits record), which polishes chillwave's hazy psychedelia into glossy yet dense ice sculptures.

This full-length debut confirms Taylor's love for Arthur Russell's underwater electronic grooves, but these fussy, avant-prog slow jams rarely come up for air.

A motley crew of producers (Diplo, El-P, Rostam from Vampire Weekend, Drake affiliate Francis Farewell Starlite, one of the dudes from Yeasayer) serves up shinier, harder, louder, thornier beats, and our heroes occasionally respond in kind.

If the Sheryl Crow–isms of the first few tracks throw you off, sit tight: From tempestuous meditation "The Beast" on, every song is chillingly badass.

Like all of Lil Wayne's albums, it's a mess; unlike some of its predecessors, it's not a terribly ambitious mess, nor is it much fun, which for Wayne is a sin.

Clark's complex femininity, both self-possessed and keenly evolving, is what makes her music so powerful and fascinating.

After a 2009 album, assorted seven-inch singles, and a recent live recording for Jack White's Third Man imprint, Jacuzzi Boys have taken their place among the best sloppy racket-makers bashing out easy-boogie soundtracks to your next drunken night at the local rock dive.

Offering a vision more golden age than apocalypse, Thundercat's music sparkles, and the effect is both lovely 
and overwhelming.

With Leisure Seizure, Vek doesn't retool his sound much -- slabs of jittery synths underpin his urgent yelps, which start to grate over 12 tracks.

Her 1976 debut (reissued plus one new song free for download) is brief and unpretentious, a soprano celebrating heaven on earth over harp and piano.

Wild Flag offers odes to volume and youth ("Romance," "Future Crimes"), suggesting the barely contained frenzy of teenagers. It's all the fury you want, but executed with the capability and confidence of lifers.

Processed guitars and keyboards, wordless 
vocals, and muted beats blend into a pastel wash of sound, as shifting patterns hint at familiar styles without assuming a clear shape.

My Morning Jacket sound right at home on "Emmet Otter's Jug-Band Christmas," while Rivers Cuomo and Hayley Williams conjure some bizarro odd-couple energy in "The Rainbow Connection."