LaVere sounds like a gifted kidnap victim--scared, angry, resourceful. You just know she's going to set herself free.

With his unnerving falsetto, Nikolaj Manuel Vonsild, frontman for this mesmerizing Denmark quartet, suggests an exotic creature who's fallen to earth, while his bandmates fashion a deliciously minimal version of synth pop that evokes Low-era Bowie.

With contributions from various of-the-moment producers (TV on the Radio's Dave Sitek, Santigold's John Hill), the Brooklyn boho's major-label debut is a painfully hip slice of style-mag electro-soul.

Their wit keeps maturing, but TMBG's gentle weirdness is forever young.

Wayward Fire swoons and grooves deliciously, but the lyrics have a distinctly processed flavor.

Little Dragon's third full-length deepens the group's down-tempo mix of icy techno and smoldering R&B.

Pleasure's ten tracks of gorgeously distorted, lo-fi pop glides languidly enough for '90s slowcore, but with woozy rhythms, lovelorn lyrics, and reverb-saturated textures that feel timeless.

[John Gourley's] thin, inexpressive singing and gloopy lyrics lack the mumbo-jumbo grandeur of Marc Bolan, an obvious influence.

For his full-length debut, Greene teams with producer Ben Allen (Animal Collective, Gnarls Barkley) to revisit his '80s reveries, crafting Balearic bliss ("Eyes Be Closed") and refreshing New Romantic flounce ("Amor Fati"). He even invigorates '90s trip-hop's head-nod ("Before," the title track), making for an even better coast soundtrack.

Producer Left Brain breaks ground on bangers that stitch ambient electronica to cracked G-funk, while Hodgy sports the casual swag of Wiz Khalifa or Lil Wayne, with 
a less cringe-worthy sense of humor than his peers.

Too often on the Antlers' second full-length, their washed-out melodies suggest powerfully memorable hooks that never fully materialize or cohere.

While producer Budo creates melancholy set pieces--from the funereal piano of "Bloody Poetry" to the soulful organ grinding of "Heartbreak Hotel"--Grieves shines as a friendly, thoughtful voice, gladly ready to share secrets.

When Fish Ride Bicycles may pay homage to Chicago summers, but this duo rarely break a sweat, rhyming in dulcet tones about designer sneaks and tricked-out GMCs.

While Damnesia makes a surprisingly strong showcase for the Trio's songwriting chops, they should've taken a few more chances.

There are expected blips of Fiery playfulness -- pinballing "bop bop" vocals, backward-masked beats -- but this is as straightforwardly evocative as abstract pop gets, with the hazy beauty and fractured narratives of a vintage Polaroid slide show.

Tracks like "VHS Sex," the complex yet laid-back "Glawio," and the robotic apotheosis of "Futureworld" send you hurtling back toward electronica's past perfection.

Bakesale was the catchy, coherent 1994 breakthrough--a missing link between Nick Drake and Sonic Youth.

On the band's seventh studio album, Incubus fully embrace surf-bum balladry.

Vast proves his lyrical bona fides on gems like "Horoscope," rasping, "She would use music to escape / Press play, close her eyes, and dreamscape." Unfortunately, OX 2010's middling beats aren't quite as inspiring.

Skying lacks the urgency of their raucous goth-punk debut Strange House, but the broadly hooky single "Still Life" could fill an arena nicely, and the band actually sound interested enough to entertain the possibility.

The secret weapon on their second album is an unironic embrace of the elegant, harmony-rich hooks and wide-eyed lyrics of rock forebears the Righteous Brothers, which gives the Orralls' blistering tunes their own earnest, romantic edge.

With Wiley's vocal attack as sharply acerbic as ever, 100% Publishing is a boldly independent declaration.

From chintzy keyboards to karaoke-style performances, Maus exaggerates the stereotypically artificial to tap into something real.

Player Piano's handcrafted tales of loneliness and bad romance draw quiet power from Hawk's charmingly reedy vocals, while the layered synths and other scruffy keyboards evoke subliminal longings and anxieties.

Rock'n'roll pioneer Buddy Holly was no stodgy purist, an idea the best of this all-star tribute adopts gracefully.

Pitting his manly baritone against squishy feminine keys in the sexually ambiguous '80s tradition, O'Regan gives his transformation a thrilling edge, not least because there's real danger involved.

The few moments where star power wanes, Teddybears suggest they don't have much to offer on their own.

By any math, though, Candidate Waltz is a solid entry point, showcasing the band's mid-tempo stomps (reliably 4/4, despite the title) and Johnson's Zevon-cribbing rasp and wit.