Outside Closer is maddeningly indirect, and the diminishing returns of its final minutes might make you wonder why you invested the time in the first place. But honestly, how many albums can claim to have so palpable an effect?

Other than the last three songs, Everybody Wants to Know is an album you should know about.

Menomena is a wickedly creative band.

A pretty and meticulously-crafted collection of songs.

Remove "Girls" and "Wonder Woman" from Blowback and you'd have a solid album.

Though it might be a difficult listen in spots (especially for the rave-ier set), the disc definitely shows Jenkinson stretching his musical limbs, and it's a fascinating sight.

If you like it fast and rough and dirty, this one's for you

If Tall Dark and Handcuffed was Cex's Slim Shady LP then Being Ridden is most-assuredly his Marshall Mathers LP -- the point at which the protagonistic and absurd becomes personal and nihilistic.

American Idiot isn't so much meticulously crafted as it is unflinchingly audacious.

It shakes the foundations of our music-consuming habits and plays with our genre expectations; it fucks with our minds a bit, just for kicks, and, more importantly, liberates us from the pernicious tyranny of monotony.

Unlike many live albums, which edit out or otherwise correct artists' less than studio-perfect moments, this album offers Hayden at face value. It captures his faults, but it also captures his strengths.

This music sounds a lot like something Edward Scissorhands might compose if he could just play the damn piano.

Though A Colores is rather uneven, it's a compelling-- and more than competent-- effort.

Hefner are at their best when they stick to their primary theme, which is love that's been confused, bruised and downright disappointed.

Sure, Hersh could be your mom, but only if your mom routinely blows out big stacks of Marshall amps.

The album is gorgeous and richly textured, but it seems as if McKay can't decide whether he wants to focus on groovy, downtempo space-pop or more experimental, melodramatic soundscapes.

The music is fantastic, but the sinking suspicion that there's something else going on that you can't possibly fathom becomes pervasive by album's end.

A charming, if often bewildering, set of psychedelic junk-folk ditties.

Does little to sully their reputation as one of the "great white hopes" of the indie dance nation.

Perhaps their sloshing disintegration, whiplashing folk-crunch, honeyed melancholy and deliquescent time-lapse... never quite settle into a stable Gestalt, but the music hints at the presence of more looming somewhere behind it.

How Animals Move is a strange and uneven but ultimately captivating effort by a talented musician/composer.

Ultimately, the album's even-handed mix of [vocalists Helen] Marnie and [Mira] Aroyo makes Light & Magic a tasty cocktail of fiery sensuality and icy perfection.

There's probably nothing here you haven't heard before, but it's all wrapped up in a particularly appetizing package and garnished with lots of artful discord.

EMOH is a bit rambling, and could stand to lose a song or two so as to not detract from the its power, but considering Barlow's sometimes egregious prolificacy, these 14 songs are about as polished as he gets.

The Silent League weave lush musical tapestries with a real humility at heart, preventing themselves from ever taking this orchestral deal too seriously, while remaining focused just enough to produce an album of stunning sonic quality.

You will love some or all of these ten tracks, but for reasons you don't quite understand, you may never love the album as a whole.

A gleefully cohesive miasma of sound.

Surgery is quite an impressive effort, sporting just the right combination of nods to their influences and carefully balanced instrumental execution.

Sleeping on Roads is both more subdued and more universally poppy than anything Mojave 3 has released to date.

This is an album about technology, albeit not in the typical sense. While it wears the trappings of loungecore retro-futurism and new wave simplicity, The Geometrid has more to do with the "warmth" of technology and the increasingly essential comforts it provides.

It sticks with what Jimmy Eat World have always done, but it sounds better than anything that preceded it.

Where Stellastarr's debut hits the jackpot is in their gutsy decision to wipe the slate clean by declaring the years 1981 to 1996 a single era, synthesizing the sounds of that fifteen year stretch by playing every band on the soundtrack to a mid-eighties John Hughes gem with the knowledge of the nineties college rock boom.

They won't matter in a year, or even six-months...but for the time being, Ima Robot are an utterly entrancing and joyously frivolous antidote to those pre-winter blues.

The Coxon-less Blur is a less focused Blur, but Albarn, James and Rowntree can still pull moments of sterling derision from beneath the fog.

Hotel Morgen doesn't change a thing, and really, with results this consistent, it shouldn't have to.

The downside here will be fairly obvious to anyone familiar with Thirlwell's previous output. While Flow's integration of big band jazz and other "external" musical styles is some of Thirlwell's most accomplished work to date -- creditable not only to better technology, but to the growth of his already respectable skills as a conventional composer -- its thematic elements remain the same.

Margerine Eclipse isn't a revelation, but it offers a number of minor departures from the established Stereolab standard -- and given the weighty expectations that surround each new 'Lab album, that's probably the best we can hope for.

It's nowhere near as interesting as Ghost of Fashion or Your Favorite Music, but it has its own tranquil, slow-burning charm.

The music is comfortable, lacking the self-conscious over-rehearsed feeling of other new bands.

Despite some great moments... L'Avventura never quite comes into its own -- there just aren't enough perfect Phillips/Wareham moments here to cash in on Romantica's promise.

Attention is a bubbly, pleasurable confection of an album, with beats enough to move your ass and plenty of hooks to keep your, um, attention.

If there's anything wrong with Life On Other Planets, it's that the band really isn't branching out at all -- and when you get to your fourth album, it's hard to sound as fresh and vital as you once did if you aren't trying anything new.

Most of the excesses inherent to the subject matter and songwriting style are cumulative; if you take A Mark track by track, it's quite an accomplished set of (admittedly similar) songs.

Walking emphasizes songwriting over gimmickry; even divorced from the studio fireworks, the tunes are engaging, hummable, memorable, and will only grow more so with repeat spins.

The 90 degree turns between tracks are endearing, like a cool mix-tape -- not cause for head scratching and folded arms.

Although Sound-Dust's revisionist zeal is mostly exhausted by the thirty minute mark, its spirit is alive and well in the album's streamlined production aesthetic. Rarely, if ever, are these songs muddied by an obvious surplus of musical ideas.

The band's greatest success is their ability to craft unassuming, enjoyable revival rock numbers with clever lyrics, recalling their musical forebears without ever descending to cliché.

The impromptu feel is often charming and sometimes campy, but always sincere.

If you think too hard about a record like this, you'll probably be ashamed to own it. Let's be honest: despite its Eastern rhythms, intricate melodies and exotic instrumentation, it's basically a yuppie sex record.

It's definitely a departure from their earlier albums -- or, more precisely, an evolution -- but in no way did they drop the ball. Instead, they may now be playing a different game.

Although they don't quite hit the emotional peaks and valleys of some of the tracks on labelmates Mojave 3's last disc, they've got a similarly fetching combination of lush music, terrific voices and sad but hopeful songs.

The band refuses to stick to simple, repetitive rhythms; the guitars regularly squeal with feedback, humming with distortion as they lay down thick 'n' meaty power chords.

Russian Doll is defined by beautiful tones, imprecise boundaries, world-weary subject matter and a Phil Spectorian sheen that obscures as much as it illuminates.

The aggressive stance taken on some of the songs brings an unwelcome "Is this Orgy?" feel to the affair.... If Gwenmars can produce more show-stoppers, and perhaps tone-down some of the aggresive stylings that creep in, they might become more than just a throwback.

If you'd never heard Gotham!, you might very well find much to like about Stealing of a Nation.

The technical skill and creativity at work here are enough reason to give DJ Me DJ You more than a passing listen, even if the songs don't make your head bob up and down and your feet tap.

From a new band, Get Ready would seem like an accomplished if uneven effort.

There are some bands who were just meant to be great pop acts -- pop in the George Michael sense, pop in the Fleetwood Mac sense. Phoenix make music that your mom would like, and it's not a bad thing.

While Face The Truth rarely presents a side of its creator that has not already been seen, loved, and cried over, it's a passable, even better-than-average album.

Harmless and happy, with an underbelly of serious sadness, Keep it Together dares to be average, and comes out sounding and feeling pretty decent.

People who listened to Sahara Hotnights' albums in their proper sequence will appreciate their improvement, but those who heard Jennie Bomb first may well end up preferring it.

A watered-down mix of big-budget tricks and studio sheen.

It's good stuff, to be sure -- but if Hot Shots II excites you at all, it's probably time to lay off the pot.

Unless you're fifteen and were raised with a mouse constantly in hand, the Mae Shi can get overwhelming... but their saving graces (lots of genuine energy, naming their songs things like "Hieronymus Bosch is a Dead Man") charm you into liking them.

The brittle treble-heavy assault is replaced with clarity, greater exploration of texture and more "professional" recording.

Mercifully, Frusciante has toned down the screechy howl that made his earlier work almost unbearable, and while his songs aren't quite diamond-sharp, they have evolved into soft-focus pop tunes that display a keen melodic intuition and gift for beautiful torment.

The band sounds richer, fuller and more confident. Sometimes they also sound a little too slick for their own good -- a nagging concern with "Disappear", among others -- but the studio glitz is matched by artistic maturity.

The Ponys have achieved a certain level of competence, and if you're willing to accept that in place of originality or innovation, Celebration Castle is worth checking out.

While there's undoubtedly a wealth of ideas to be found here, listenability is the real wildcard.

There's enough strong material on The Story of My Life to score Carter time on CMT and get her in good with the Borders crowd, cementing her cross-genre appeal.

As a political album, Liberation may only be half-successful, but I'd still take angry Trans Am over the schlocky Trans Am of TA any day.

There's definitely nothing earth-shattering here... but there's nothing that's going to alienate the fanbase, either.

There are too many ambitious singer/songwriter albums out there to easily justify any water-treading.

It's not a bad album -- it's just not particularly notable.

Opener "Glisten" is anybody's masterpiece.... This instrumental brings so much anticipation to the rest of this record, it's no wonder I'm partly disappointed with The Listener: Gelb can't and doesn't deliver a dozen more songs like "Glisten".

There's far too much nondescript strumming and far too few meaningful hooks.

Less cohesively engaging than March on Electric Children, Burn, Piano Island, Burn is, by turns, spasmodically inviting and gratingly repulsive to all but the most patient of noisemongers.

A mostly "hit" but occasionally "miss" effort that showcases both the band's maturation and its residual shortcomings.

If "We Are A&C" was the album's low point, the album would be in great shape -- but there are a few half-hearted tracks that stake a more legitimate claim to that dubious honor.

Their rehashed rawk riffage is relentlessly enthralling, but their beat-you-over-the-head scream-tactics lend themselves to a sludgy sameness that, by album's end, has worn its welcome pencil-thin.

Gray is wise to continue experimenting and testing the boundaries of his art, but his changes don't need to be this bold. In this case, he comes up short: his minimalist mastery does not translate to resounding baroque success.

Murdoch, finally free to take charge of his band, has done so in spades, and the result is a confident, assured affair...that, to many listeners, will seem utterly out of character.

If you peel away the pretense, there's actually a fascinating album at work here.

If you're fifteen years old, female, and want to rebel, So Stylistic probably makes a lot more sense than a Bright Eyes record. If you're any older, it'll probably just make you feel dirty.

It's true that a lot of Musique Automatique can get old really fast.

Though Maximo Park has enough electricity to light Manhattan, there's a faint but inescapable whiff of calculation about them.

An expansive album that ultimately recycles itself.

Last Night is a perfectly serviceable mellow slow-jam R&B record -- and that's a damned shame.

Unwieldy psychedelic dinosaurs like "First Wave Intact" and the title track hint that they're looking to become the new gods of bong-powered thunder -- but then they drop a bomb like the sleek, urbanely scoffing "Road Leads Where It's Led" and instantly re-cast themselves as black-clad top forty gatecrashers looking for a fast ticket to fortune and fame.

Outstanding production, clever lyrics and catchy melodies should add up to the sort of record capable of making a serious splash. Unfortunately, Invisible Invasion demonstrates an unwavering adherence to established musical traditions.

Lovers' vast scope quickly becomes a daunting proposition for its listener.

Warren too often undercuts his successes by trying to impress us with his strangeness.

Finely crafted, if modestly affecting, froth-pop that bubbles over with dreary sexual overtones and loads of youthful paranoia.

The group creates an ornately atmospheric resonance throughout Ambulance Ltd., but their light-weight compositions place the album at serious risk of floating away.

However nice the guitar sounds, though, it's hard to ignore the fact that it's dressing up songs that would be a bit dull without it.

While there's nothing too stunning to be found on Three-Four, there's also nothing really sub-par.

Not all Kinski fans will need, or even want, this disc, and the group seems to understand that.

Six of the seven songs are understated, melodic mid-tempo pieces.... The song that breaks the mold is also the album's best moment[:]"Astronaut."