It doesn't always work.... But when it does, in the blended tones and dark piano chords of "The Fox and the Hound", the result is magical and otherworldly.

Bavarian Fruit Bread comes with the same warning as most of the winter season's baked goods -- it's rich, warm and full of flavor, but overindulgence will result in unplanned napping.

The album is never anything more or less than it pretends to be. It offers a good time, and it delivers. As a soundtrack to mindless partying, it is first-rate.

But as wonderful as parts of Old Ramon are, the spaces between the high points are at times, less than impressive.

The Johns (Linnell and Flansburgh) are firing on all cylinders here, wrapping their suitably obscure and sometimes ethereal humor in the most capable songwriting of their careers.

Making the effort to unravel the tightly packed layers and unconventional (even by 'Lab standards) song structures can seem downright daunting, regardless of how long you've been following Sadier and how many of her EPs you've devoured.

The Clientele have crafted another lovely batch of tunes, perfect for autumnal introspection and wintry solitude -- but somehow it doesn't seem like enough.

Elkington's wry, sodden compositions are enlivened with sparse yet crisp instrumentation and steady melodies. Imagine shoegazer tendencies jolted by the cattle prod of Midwestern edgy folk rock.

8,000,000 Stories is not a perfect album, but it's an all-around crowd pleaser that doesn't stoop to the lowest common denominator.

Listening to frontmen Jason Hill and Brian Kareig chop-up every '60s and '70s rock 'n' roll cliché, remorselessly blending Iggy, Mick, Bowie, Marc Bolan and Johnny Rotten into a light, frothy frappé of sex, violence and coked-up come-ons is, at the very least, consistently amusing -- and even better, surprisingly tasty.

Equal parts prog-rock pretension, spiritual rejuvenation and glam rock harangue.

Effortlessly charming and strangely compelling, despite moments of complete and utter unlistenability.

There's a shimmering sense of otherworldly grandeur at work here that captures the spirit of exotica better than any of the other so-called "revivalists".

Teenage Fanclub has absorbed the Britpop successes and failures of the past decade and made an album that celebrates everything that can go right when musicians listen to far too many Beatles records.

For all his skillful sampling and solid lyrics, Blueprint hasn't broken any new ground with 1988, which just underscores the troubling tendency of underground art forms to become more like the mainstream as they age.

Titles & Idols' songs solve the same acoustic guitars + electronica beats equation as do the songs of Beth Orton and Everything But the Girl, adding up to adult pop with just enough jitter to give it a tinge of hipness.

The songs on Fallen Leaf Pages are all played at roughly the same glacial pace and share a very mellow, thoughtful and regret-filled vibe. Some listeners will find them repetitive, even tedious.

This is an odd album, weirdly compelling and madly frustrating.

It's almost as though, by writing what can be experienced as one long, explosive track with pauses, they have created a different way of hearing small variations. While this trick has been used to good effect in any number of electronic albums over the years, it has rarely worked this well in a rock context.

The only thing keeping Is This It from being absolutely storming is the questionable production work of Gordon Raphael, whose primordial approach lacks the necessary punch to really bring these tunes to life.

It isn't identical to Mass Romantic or Electric Version, but it differs from them in ways that probably could have been predicted, modeled and simulated.

While I'm thoroughly satisfied with the maturity and elegance of Silence is Sexy, I can't help but wish they'd push the sonic envelope a bit more aggressively and try to add a bit more discomfort to the listening process.

So infectiously content are the Oranges that they can make even the most jaded listener bop his/her head or tap his/her foot to their power pop structures -- but this is also their downfall.

They so precisely meet your expectations that no matter how good the music might be, you can't help but be disappointed by the sheer dearth of surprises.

If you've ever enjoyed an Arling & Cameron record, reveled in overtaxing your speakers with Big Beats or enjoyed the more anthemic, production-intensive side of hip-hop, Super Sound is for you. Not every record in your collection needs to be a ground-breaking, classification-defining, intellectual agenda-toting classic.

Fans of their debut will probably be glad to learn that their boisterous sound has changed very little, but many of the best moments are still the quieter ones, which serve as respites from the surrounding chaos.

Although its quality and creativity never falter, as Fugu 1 goes on it becomes a little redundant.

Plat du Jour is a more interesting an outing for remaining ambivalent in spite of itself.

A rewarding, re-listenable collection of solid rockers and ballads.

Don't look to Open Season to get your heart pounding or your blood flowing; it trades in less cathartic experiences.

There's a fragile beauty inherent in Printz's slapdash slop-hop that belies the duo's goofy profile and bodes well for their future endeavors.

It's certainly a lot more wide-ranging and engaging than its predecessor.

Like a comfortable old Pink Floyd album, this is the kind of thing to listen to while floating in space.

While the lack of further experimentation in the songwriting becomes tiresome after a while, overall the band seems comfortable and happy to be playing together again.

The Anomoanon's vibe, despite their sometime sunniness, is more Led than Dead, but they bring it firmly into the twenty-first century.

The Decline of British Sea Power is a record you'll probably tell your friends about, but it won't make you into a fervent, foamy-mouthed convert -- at least, not unless you're in a suitably receptive mood and play the record at its optimum volume...which, in case you wondered, means as loud as possible.

Yes, Lali Puna are taking the Radiohead Route. Not just thematically, either: the tone and ambience of Faking the Books is as detached and cold as Amnesiac was, though more straightforward: there are more "straight" guitars and "actual" drums on this album.

More balls than brains, but it's that swaggering, careless spirit that gives Kasabian its razor-sharp edge.

Elegant, downbeat orchestral pop songs.

It's a refinement of James' existing art form rather than an exploration of startlingly new concepts

For as good as the majority of the tunes here are, the grandiose scope of Highly Evolved turns out to be a bit more than the young quartet could chew.

Today Is the Day! is much better than most between-albums rehashes.

This might be the most varied record they've ever made.

The jazz leanings and fascination with electronic music remain, and are sometimes imprudently indulged, but in general the band seems to have a renewed awareness of the needs of the people on the other side of the speakers.

Compared to similar but more extroverted acts like Capitol K and Manitoba, Clue to Kalo lacks the jagged pop edges that stick in the listener's memory.

A few missteps into the mainstream aside, Log 22 shows Bettie Serveert entering their second decade of recording with grace and winning humility.

It's blink-and-you’ll-miss-it running time and rather hefty price tag are the album’s only real drawbacks, proving that even after five years away, these kids can still write tunes that get stuck in your head for days.

The first thing that really jumps out at you about Two Way Monologue is that it lacks its predecessor's exuberant, puddle-jumping panache. But when you stop and look at things closely, you realize that the progressions Lerche has made on the songwriting front more than atone for any zeal he's trimmed off the back end.

Peopled with starry-eyed lovers and draped in wistful melancholy, it brilliantly captures that lonely netherworld between love and loss.

His machinegun flow is as cerebral as ever, but too much of the album's production slides by in a dignified haze of twinkling clips and clacks, devoid of real grime or grizzled substance.

This isn't really one of those cases where bands like Wire or Mission of Burma or Vashti Bunyan come back years later with stuff that ranks among their best, but it isn't bad, either -- not bad at all.

For a fractured album that spent several years in limbo, Amber Headlights does two things very well: it's an impressive introduction to Dulli's far-reaching musical talent, and a spiritual cleansing for the wry vocalist himself.

For the most part, words and music are woven together in interesting and convincing ways.

Some listeners may find the results to be a little bland for their tastes.

As you might expect, the sheer number of tracks means there's a sizeable dollop of filler.

These new stylistic change-ups give Of Montreal a contemporary edge, but dull the pastoral chaos that made them so charming to start with.

Even though Mississauga Goddamn isn't completely without flaw -- some of Gibb's lyrical and compositional choices are pretty obvious, for one thing -- it allows you, for a little while, at least, to escape from the everyday world.

Annie has delivered a solid pop record that does a lot of things well, but -- and this is the important thing -- that's what we should expect from all of our pop records.... Anniemal isn't a high-water mark; it's a benchmark.

They might not have the lyrical substance necessary to be the new Manics, but Gay Dad's unpretentious take on modern glam makes snorting coke while wearing striped hot-pants and sprinkling stardust on passers by sound like a hell of a lot of fun.

You won't necessarily encounter anything substantially removed from their prior work, but you will witness the duo allowing new voices to assume a greater role in rocketing each song to some bright red futon in a distant region of the cosmos.

The danger that Ladybug Transistor faces in working within this retro-country-folk-pop oeuvre -- above and beyond the fact that most people are conditioned not to listen to it -- is that it's difficult to rise above the level of pastiche.

I Com proves that this talented singer/producer is as adept at making her own music as she is playing around with others'.

Soft pop isn't everyone's favorite genre, and there are those who will find Soft Commands too sweet for comfort Still, even at its most pop-friendly moments, there's enough muscle and intelligence here to keep the album from cloying.

As gentle, elegant end-of-the-summer albums go, Frozen Orange scores top marks. As a David Kilgour record, it's more subjective; some listeners will love the polish, while others will consider it surplus to requirements.

There's an intermittent psychedelia here that lifts even the most deadpan tracks into sunny pop territory, as sweeping, swooning So-Cal melodies erupt from its cavernous grooves.

Gimmie Trouble reminds us that Adult. don't sound like anyone else... Not even themselves.

Origin Vol. I rocks pretty hard without asking much of listeners; it's difficult to be disappointed in a record that's so clearly joyful and energetic.

Telepopmusik has all of the innovative approaches of their countrymen, and their attention to lyrics and prominent place for vocal styles means that their album is both accessible and deeply interesting.

The Teaches of Peaches is as tacky and low-budget as a '70s porno flick...and just as much fun.

It's complex, deeply melodic, carefully arranged and (for the most part) very satisfying.

It's all very sweeping, operatic and inviting.

The remaining songs are uniformly well crafted, but they aren't necessarily going to please the people who come looking for more of the old "Jerk It Out" magic.

On Virginia Creeper, he shows a sharpened sense of Midwestern melancholy that is really quite appealing, despite the sometimes hackneyed musical arrangements.

Let There Be Morning isn't designed to bowl you over with its size and scope; rather, it's a quietly compelling, lushly orchestrated affair that slowly but surely melts its way into your heart.

Shifting from light and airy to a sort of mild bossa-nova groove on a few tracks, Kings of Convenience throw in just enough variation to keep things interesting, without snapping the listener out of the dreamy daze they've induced.

It lacks the freewheeling, go-for-broke gusto of its predecessors.

It's a good-natured and engaging mix of subtle sample manipulation, music concrete, downtempo dance beats and pop experiments.

While the band has adeptly navigated the waters of change, a few moments on Night on Fire are simply too slick for their own good.

A safe, if frayed, rock album that bristles and pops with flashes of brilliance, yet never ignites into the full-blown firestorm they're quite obviously capable of creating.

Bell Orchestre don't always make good on their ambitions, but the results are often excellent, despite (and usually because of) their sloppiness.

It's comforting, for sure, and you could very well fall asleep listening, or use it as background music, but you'd be missing a lot.

Knitting Needles and Bicycle Bells is the sort of album you put on when you're in the mood for a particular sound -- and the sound in question is echoing and catchy, yet depressive.

This is powerful stuff, unrelenting and dark.

Half Smiles of the Decomposed isn't quite the guns-blazing finale I always imagined the last GBV album would be, but it never becomes a limp-wristed approximation of the band in any of its previous guises.

They've mostly dropped the songs that traded entirely on their sexuality, replacing them with tunes full of nuance and subtlety.

According to the liner notes, Dilate took more than two years to record, beating the twenty-month-plus gestation period for 1999's Set and Setting. Fortunately, it works in our favor; they've used the time to experiment a bit, perhaps in an effort to garner fans beyond the nascent (but artistically stagnant) stoner rock genre.

England's Saloon combine the post punk rhythms of Stereolab with the poppiness of The Sundays, creating a melodically soothing murmur that, while derivative, is very enticing.

A solid set of shadowy songs with driving melodies.

The album is solid, though hardly anything spectacular.

Oooh! takes everything The Mekons have achieved 'til now and makes it rock in truly celebratory style.

Let Them Drink may not be as accessible to the mainstream as the band might have hoped, but The Capitol Years' updated blend of classic sounds is an addictive and refreshing change.

Though it's not the emotionally draining follow-up many were expecting, Seven's Travels succeeds. Its saving grace is the fact that Slug and Ant remain ignorant of, or choose to completely ignore, the hip-hop conventions that have handcuffed similar artists for almost a decade.

It all adds up to a noble, well-produced and strongly-realized debut for a woman who obviously has more on her mind than becoming a pop star and cruising her neighborhood in a Bentley.

If you can imagine Gary Numan, Prince and William Orbit teaming up to write and produce a record for Donna Summer, little on Black Cherry will surprise you.

Young Prayer is a visceral religious experience, its lyrics forsaken in favor of mantras that are more chanted than sung.

Dignity and Shame is sparse and vulnerable, showcasing nothing but Bachmann's bittersweet musings and his deep growl of a voice. It is by no means a unique album, but it's an effective one.

Usually entertaining, often thought-provoking, and occasionally insightful.