Mixing the lawlessness of Hank Williams with the Gypsy fervor of Gogol Bordello, the band's second album is a scrappy, vaguely deranged, country-punk mélange that goes down like an impeccably mixed mint julep: sweet until it burns.

Though he's unlikely to encounter much trouble selling these romantic conceits to his female-heavy fan base, some of the scenarios on John Legend's third studio album could be fresher

Like "Tiger," Cardinology is long on midtempo country-rock shuffles that sound comfortable with their own familiarity; Adams isn't straining to reinvent the Great Art of American Songwriting, and that allows you to focus on what he and the cardinals are actually playing, as opposed to what they're thinking about playing.

Ultimately, Just a Souvenir is the awesome, but hardly mind-bending, spectacle of an electronica wizard buying a fuzz box.

Alpinisms' sweeping, ethereal pop owes a stylistic debt to My Bloody Valentine and the Cocteau Twins, but the debut album by former Secret Machines guitarist Ben Curtis' new project reveals a range of influences and a sophisticated approach to arrangement that sets the trio well apart from less imaginative latter-day shoegazers.

Brooklyn's Crystal Stilts filter trembling surf guitar and tambourine shakes through echoing chambers of effects until their wistful, barely-there tunes seem to dramatically float out of murky, cavernous depths.

Love letters, brief smiles, a touch on the arm, friends, and pets abound; throughout, Russell poignantly captures and echoes life's ephemeral delights.

Thankfully, their debut album does little to clarify the group's intriguingly eclectic sound.

Reliably excellent but emotionally detached, the Sea and Cake's eighth album is of a piece with their first seven.

When the band wraps itself around singer Lizzie Bougatsos' singular shrieks, they ascend to vertiginous heights on 'Holy Communion' and 'Dust Storm,' creating something truly transformative.

When they stay focused and sweet (as on the sparingly orchestral 'Berlin Heart'), they soar. But when Lightburn adds spoken-word bits and überwanky guitar solos ('Lights Off'), ending with an 11-minute, church-inspired requiem ('Saviour'), you may be ready to follow his former band members out the door.

Damn Right Rebel Proud, typically, raises less convincing hell than plenty of current mainstream Nashville product.

Much of the record satirizes plastic surgery and oversexed macho men, but despite the ironic humor, there’s a compassion in the music that’s unexpected coming from a band best known for a Taco Bell–referencing novelty hit.

Singing en español, clear-voiced Andrea Echeverri ponders subjects like immigration ('Bandera') and pregnancy ('28'), projecting unflappable confidence.

Grainger's solo efforts are more restrained than DFA 1979's sweaty frenzy, and ultimately, his blues-frilled rock would be pretty pallid if not for the playfully sarcastic undercurrents.

Scattered predictability aside, AC/DC still sound strong and hungry 35 years on, as if they could pulverize riffs in perpetuity.

Favoring a bright, treble-heavy guitar attack, the group skew their arrangements in ways that feel more canny than contrived.

On album three, Keane trick out their pretty piano melodies with tasty synths ('The Lovers Are Losing'), booming rap beats ('Spiralling'), and fuzzy new-wave guitars ('You Haven’t Told Me Anything').

The result is her finest record since "Car Wheels on a Gravel Road," the decade-old masterpiece by which her career will always be judged.

Well respected for sparse, plaintive bummer folk since his 2004 debut, LaMontagne gets a bit more expansive here, gently juking his earthy rasp with Stax-y horns, guitar twang, and lilting lady backup vocals.

On Pebble to a Pearl--an authoritative, refreshingly organic pop-funk manifesto featuring musicians who've played with Al Green and Stevie Wonder--the exhilaration of liberation literally screams from R&B workout 'Can't Please Everybody.'

Adding electronic gurgles to heavy, prog-rock power chords, The Secret Machines recalls Rush and Black Sabbath at one end of the sonic spectrum ('The Fire Is Waiting') and David Bowie’s spazzier, punk-era edge at the other ('Atomic Heels'). In between those far-flung atmospheric poles, the band proves they’re more than just the sum of their seamless influences.

Peace Queer includes an acoustic antiwar rant and a ghostly reading of Creedence’s 'Fortunate Son' (with Patty Griffin on backup vocals). But the high point is a ragged bar-band jam about the dissolution of the middle-class dream ('Stuck on the Corner [Prelude to a Heart Attack]').

Touching on elemental fears and desires, Changing of the Seasons rewards intimate listening--in the final verse of the title track, a lover’s embrace suddenly silences any thoughts of straying.

There’s still sunshine (check the gleefully voyeuristic 'Paper Planes'), but frequently it’s obscured by autumnal clouds.

Like the good postmodern thrashers they are, Gojira blend blast beats ('Adoration for None'), sludge stomp ('Yama's Messengers'), and death-and-doom riff spirals (take your pick) with unexpected quirks, like the solid minute of stick taps that open 'The Art of Dying' and the math rock of 'Toxic Garbage Island.'

The ballads tend to turn murky, but the rockers are terrifically drunken reveries.

Over inventive arrangements that feature more live instrumentation than on any other Streets album, Skinner gives maturity a fresh coat of meaning.