The biggest, boldest, and best moments on their second album nod flamboyantly to influences never before evident -- Erasure ("Ambling Alp") and Haircut 100 (the tropical "O.N.E."), among others -- but somehow they're seamlessly integrated with trippier old jams.

One Life Stand finds the boys settling down and growing a tad soft in the middle.

His weathered voice has fissured in all the right places.

Trip-hop pioneers give doom a romantic tinge.

Old-school romantic Ville Valo croons as often as he screams, so that even when aiming for the stylistic median, a bit of local weirdness oozes forth to make Screamworks more interesting than it's designed to be.

Taking a cue from Shelby Lynne, the Watsons consult vintage Southern styles for inspiration, incorporating touches of country and plenty of hot-blooded soul.

The songs could use more steam, but Crows reveals yet another color in Moorer's palette.

Often gorgeous and never soothing, the damaged pop on Phantogram's mesmerizing debut is pure nightmare fuel.

On his third full-length, Weber keeps the beats crisp but more varied, conjuring steamy pipes (on "The Splendour," featuring !!!'s Tyler Pope), wind chimes (the twinkling "Bohemian Forest"), and a bullet train ("Welt Am Draht").

Galactic struggle to accompany all these signifying voices, sometimes resorting to hard, strident rhythms that don't really augment the performances.

While some of the instrumental workouts (like "Safari Strut") are loose and inspired, it takes a handful of appearances from backpack-friendly rappers Percee P ("Reverse") and Mr. Lif ("The Gift") to keep Earthology from fading into lava-lamp background grooviness.

Even though the lyrics stay hippy-dippy, there are hard-earned moments of musical release.

After 2006's acclaimed debut, Hello Master, this Montreal metal foursome had to cut through a mass of red tape before Fire, their long-gestating follow-up, could get a U.S. release date. Someone should be fired for the delay, because this baby burns.

With Strong Arm Steady's MC trio of Krondon, Phil Da Agony, and Mitchy Slick (plus extended fam like Planet Asia, Phonte, and Fashawn) dropping lyrical barbs ("Telegram") and creatively reheated thug-isms ("Needle in the Haystack"), Madlib chops up loops bubbling with quirky humor and analog soul.

Gainsbourg and Beck generate one catchy track after another without producing much heat, but sometimes canny dabbling is its own reward.

Romance, their third album in 24 months, is more slickly assured -- and far less twee -- than its predecessors.

This Baltimore dream-pop duo, whose dense-fog organs, reverb-y slide guitars, and nodding harmonies feel as lush as a midnight walk in a wet garden. On their third album, those feelings now sound like actual songs, with swelling choruses and an all-encompassing ache.

while he name-checks fiery saxophonist Albert Ayler on "Love Cry," the track's steady, nine-minute crest signals Hebden's return to meticulous melodicism.

Rarely has whimsical weirdness been done with such finesse.

Stunningly blending American country, English folk, and Victorian pomp, the album documents a life resigned to sadness amid a world brimming with beauty both real and fake.

The mournful ballads are achingly pretty, but Rae is most compelling when trying to distract herself from her loss.

Think of this impressive, 25-song double-CD compilation as Singles Going Screaming -- a testament to a Canadian punk institution.

The jams always pull back at just the right moment, and the songs equal their folksy models. There's so much heart here that even the most exacting re-creations of bygone FM wank seem spontaneous.

Her minimal songs--just one guitar and sporadic drums--unfold laboriously, as though forcing themselves from Niblett's clenched mouth and hands.

The change in emphasis is jarring at first, but embrace your inner goth and you'll realize that the band's signifiers--frontman Tom Smith's outsize baritone, a penchant for high drama--remain intact.

Unlike 2007's self-indulgent The Third Hand, here he wisely picks his spots, chirping a few modest ditties. Four albums deep, he's found his comfort zone.

Astro Coast can stand up to online scrutiny--it's girls that keep Surfer Blood's reverbed indie rock jumping out of its skin.