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.