Wisely, the album flows like a mixtape rather than a stab at artistic self-definition, with Brooklyn funk band the Dap Kings laying down a unifying groove and Ronson's love of vintage '80s synthesizers providing a stylistic through line.

Everything in Between is nearly 40 minutes long, which is epic for a band whose last two full-lengths were triumphs of brevity. And while 2008's Nouns alternated between rave-ups and bliss-outs, here the band spends more time, well, in between.

From bracing opener "Precious Stone" to the chugging fan appreciation "Rock Crowd" to a heartfelt version of Gram Parsons' "Wheels," Yorn emerges with his most purposeful, affecting album yet.

Hip-hop-style braggadocio doesn't quite jibe with the band's relentlessly earnest outlook, which comes packaged here in songs no less hooky or propulsive than usual. It might have provided a jolt of excitement, though; even the amped-up standouts (like "Coffee and Cigarettes") are beginning to feel a bit by the numbers.

are a few new wrinkles--the manic push-pull of "Meeting of the Minds" could almost pass for System of a Down--but it's generally overdrive-guitar heaven.

Seedy, feel-bad music. Half-dead, sometimes gorgeous, and willfully dumb beyond repair. Call it alienation porn. Sound awful? Well, it is kind of awful--and rivetingly so.

Le Noise, produced by Daniel Lanois and recorded solo with a reverb-swathed electric guitar, is all about doubt and desperation, and Young is never better than when he's unsure of himself.

It's also in those nature-obsessed lyrics, delivered in tones so dulcet and hypnotic that the inclination to don a robe and commune with Vespertine-era Bjork is overwhelming.

At his best, he sounds like he's sweating it out in a kitchen with flypaper dangling from the ceiling. But on The Appeal, he could be anywhere.

Pompadoured George Taylor Jr. has more than enough melodic grace and pretty-boy swag to nail the sound.

Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark's first album in 14 years--and first in 24 to feature the lineup that recorded the bulk of their hits--meticulously returns to the ostensibly perky sound and pensive sensibility of the Merseyside quartet's early-to-mid-'80s heyday.

On this solo-ish debut, though, he gives that funk factor full reign, recruiting pals Karen O and David Byrne to sing over synthed-up disco-rock that's brighter and bouncier than his main band's anxious throb. Maximum Balloon deflates when Sitek switches into avant-cabaret mode.

Imperfect Harmonies plays as if Frank Zappa had lived to experience the glories of the Crystal Method, Ozzfest, George W. Bush, and Final Fantasy X.

The results don't always play to the singer's melodic strengths; ?uestlove sounds a bit reined-in, too. Occasionally, though, they send up some serious sparks, as with a raw garage-funk take on Baby Huey's "Hard Times."

Recognizable shapes of jazz and post-rock often accompany Gira's baritone croon, but they're always delivered between passages of fastidiously crafted clamor that's as cauterizing as ever.

Shorn of its usual grime trappings, Manuva's deep, gruff lyricism sounds playfully inspired on catalog highlights like "Proper Tings Juggled."

The detached aesthetic can turn anesthetic when the tunes occasionally falter or the overdubbed grooves fail to generate frisson, but the sweetly twitchy one-two punch of "Dressed in Dresden" and "Last City" brings this studiously chic debut to a sweaty climax.

Caressed by gentle guitars and synths, her elegantly serene voice and airy melodies impart a sense of stubborn, reassuring endurance in the face of soul-crushing melancholy.

On Epic, she's grown as brassy as vintage Lucinda Williams while still drowning in the intimate bite of street noise, the confessional feel of studio chatter, and the postmodern swirl of dream-pop slurry.

The band's aims are more modest now: have fun, get people to sing along, share a common feeling or two. Hurley achieves those goals with something approaching dignity.

Minimized guitar bluster emphasizes his ample vocal assets, but Flowers wilts when the sunny tempos subside, revealing himself to be an AOR softie.

Root for Ruin's dreamy ferocity is familiar, but the feeling of camaraderie keeps growing.

Lisbon, like 2008's You & Me, is a gorgeous journey into the elegiac, inspired by the music of Memphis' Sun Studios.

"Satan, your kingdom must come down," Plant croons on the penultimate track. Take that, Jimmy Page.

Linkin Park's fourth studio album (and second collaboration with producer Rick Rubin) contains plenty of aggressively arty material that might surprise fans of the megapopular rap-rock outfit.

Business Casual's libidinous wit can't quite match 2007's Fancy Footwork, but this day at the office still features booty calls, romantic squabbles, and digitally syrupy declarations of devotion.

Throughout Grinderman 2, the guitars and violins pant and howl with a visceral, veteran's swagger. Late middle age has never sounded so thrilling.

Although False Priest, Of Montreal's tenth album, is easily Barnes' most accessible, you can still hear his estrangement in the unpredictable chord progressions, the anxiously whimsical rhythms, and the distancing effects in the melodies that counter easy consumption.