As the obviousness of Write About Love's title implies (it could have been called Play and Sing!), Belle & Sebastian are looking to get back to basics with their first album since 2005's tremendous The Life Pursuit.

The spotlight stays fixed on his darkly soothing intonations throughout, keeping the smoky, low-key aesthetic unvarying despite some stylistic and instrumental adventurousness.

Phillips captures the imagery, as well as the heart, of an era’s underground.

This could prove strenuous, but the album is more contemplative than didactic--a (k)no(w)here that’s difficult to study but easy to inhabit.

His deadpan honk of a singing voice calls to mind a less caustic Mark E. Smith, and he arranges the 12 quick songs with a gift for effective repetitive hooks and reductive structures.

Levy's unorthodox and, in some cases, homemade instruments strum and stutter with calculated abandon; her heavy British accent slumps itself across this glitchy bubblegum arcade and blunts it.

Ambition might sound like an odd thing to chide a band for, but if Wolf Parade had figured out when to push the hooks and when to pull back the excess, Expo 86 would have shone.

You’re unlikely to encounter another pioneering techno-pop act entering its third decade with style and substance largely intact.

Everything That Happens is a brilliant addition to a creative partnership that has yielded so much and shouldn’t have taken 27 years to rekindle.

P.O.S. must have known he had a near-classic on his claws with Never Better.

Little Big Town make implicit the debt they owe to the California rock of Fleetwood Mac and the Eagles in a way that makes Little Big Town seem fresh and thrilling compared to most other Music Row acts.

The downside of this open-armed approach is a lack of sonic specificity; OnMyRadio occasionally blands out into a nondescript stew of melismatic vocals and slow-jam beats.

Although driven primarily by Meluch’s intrepid acoustic guitar, Temper is a many-layered affair, an engaging concoction of delicate electronics, birdsongs, and tape experiments that resonate with impossible harmony.

Thibodeau’s melodies, which have always been pretty, are now beautiful.

A showcase for some undervalued compositional chops.

Rot Gut, Domestic never sugarcoats its uglier tendencies, and yet the uncompromising--and uncomfortable--nature of the music is oddly compelling.

For the most part Life Death Love and Freedom makes good on--and somehow makes entertainment of--its sober sense of purpose.

The structural maturity, in this case, is merely a Trojan horse, meant to smuggle in the music's core brutality in a facade of lean indie mournfulness.

Kanye is after a very specific sound on this release, the dead-eyed, auto-tuned vocals and canned pianos contributing to a harrowing vision of emotional shellshock. The songs bleed into one another; only 'Love Lockdown,' with its magnificent drum breakdown, really grabs you by the throat.

Koushik finally attempts to transcend his impeccable record collection.

A brilliant shot of Veloso the pop composer.

If there's a knock to be had against the Harlem rapper, it's that he lacks an original presence. So it's curious that for his major-label debut he's opted to further venture down the rabbit hole of references, loading Long.Live.A$AP with a bevy of guests with personalities far more distinctive than his own.

Regardless of their ability to stand out in a crowd, they write tunes sharper than a thumbtack, with words that ramble around in fascinating stream-of-consciousness webs.

Telefon Tel Aviv have always been the product of two drives (both senses), but on Immolate Yourself, for the first time, the workflows of Cooper and Eustis merge a single, renewed vision. They go a bit poppier than they've ever gone, yet it's also their darkest work.

On Creatures, Clogs imagine a graceful space that's always worth revisiting.

The lyrics run, uh, let’s say straightforward, but Black Kids know as well as any good sentimentalists that delivery is everything; teenage yearning couldn’t hope for a much better vehicle than their pouting power pop.

Eclecticism like this can be a drag when it’s forced or disingenuous, but Friendly Fires’ enthusiasm is disarming.

Feel-good nostalgia meets the stoned Dazed and Confused-types and the glam-punks halfway. The album's fuzzed-out appeal ... makes it a summer go-to disc.

It’s better this way, all apologies to Meg White.

Romance Is Boring doesn't eschew the sugar-high, too-clever angst of its predecessors altogether, but the band have learned how to vary their song structures, often opting for a darker, more atmospheric aesthetic.

Cohesion’s where you find it, but headphone delights are everywhere.

A Wasteland Companion isn't a sonic tidal wave, per se - it's built on some of the folk troubadour's quietest, most intimate tunes in years. But where emotions are concerned, it pummels.

Several cuts on +/-’s third full-length... feature tunes sturdy (and dreamy) enough to satisfy a Death Cab for Cutie fan. But Let’s Build a Fire is also full of moments that suggest Baluyut has grown tired of the straightforward indie-rock approach.

When Fish Ride Bicycles doesn't have the same old-school shine to it. Instead it feels caught between a few different directions, as personified by its guest list: Travis Barker, Asher Roth, Bun B, and the irreducible Ghostface Killah. But even with the help, none of the tracks stretch particularly far from the Cool Kids' limited palette.

MTMTMK is infinitely more fascinating when it's pushing the envelope, mixing weirdness and darkness into the radiant multi-culti stew.

There's not much fault to find with the music here, however, particularly when she elects to dial down the raw-edged guitar fuzz the Bastards have become known for.

Although there's still a menacing pulse to be found, anything constituting traditional dubstep is largely forgone.

The only (and major) downside to the record is how it contains no standout tracks or surprising twists if you're already into Reagan-era hardcore.

For the jaded among us, this is regressive and full of genre-contrivance.

Minks floats along like a Sofia Coppola movie - delicate and listless, topped with a glossy and charming overcoat, but lacking in substance.

Unavoidable comparisons to the Icelandic princess and her early years aside, Both Ways Open Jaws sounds familiar while breaking new ground.

Throughout this emotional maelstrom of an R&B album, Rihanna keeps finding gripping new ways to transform regret into a kind of threat.

As in most of Metheny’s work, what could be mistaken for glib virtuosity--or, in this case, gadgetry-reveals new depths at every turn.

Crafted with worn elements of the electronic cannon, his third LP as Shed doesn't offer much that's fresh. Rather, it's nostalgia and recontextualization that drive this effort.... [Yet songs, I Come By Night, You Got the Look, and Follow the Leader] are all indicative of mastery.

The lack of innovation is frustrating, since these guys nailed this formula long ago, but they mostly make up for the lack of newness by expending insane amounts of energy.

For the most part the band play it straight, delivering a fresh fistful of metal.

Ancient Romans is not an easy listen, but for those with the attention span, it's a worthwhile trip.

Horehound isn't White Stripes tea-party cutesy, and it's not Raconteurs good-times eclectic--it's nothing but riffs and 'tude all the way through.

Onwards is, at its heart, just one big suicide tease, which is what makes it so fantastic.

This Seattle wunderkind trio's debut full-length arrives like a freaky reward from a cosmos that has watched us persevere through 15 years of tightening jeans, steadily ramping foppism, and the crushingly beige influence of adult-contempo alt-country.

BMSR have, however, gone for extra credit and studied up on their Free Design and David Axelrod; they may even have taken more quaaludes.

Mature Themes is paced with brilliance.

Dee Dee delivers an album that sounds like Chrissie Hynde backed by Hüsker Dü. Only in Dreams could make you wonder what other indie bands would jump up and thrive if only they had steamroller production.

These 11 tracks are mostly mellow and melodic, with some Otis Redding-style come-ons

Beware emulates and elaborates on the familiar, and Oldham's strengths as a songwriter and bandleader shape the album into something beautiful.

Perkins's simple, folk-hymn melodies are helped along by New Orleans brass, harmonica, B-3 organ, and harmonium, their trumpeting and wheezing sounds adding levity to blunt statements.

He’s brought together his best batch of melodies yet, along with lyrics that aim less to shock than to amuse.

The band do fluidly navigate between ideas and structural experiments here, only occasionally overdosing on their newfound taste for moping and melancholy. In short, Crush turns tropical punk into a simplistic and inaccurate characterization.

It's all a very pretty sequined package, but moving forward, the Hundred in the Hands might find their music as cornered as Captain Fetterman's troops were off the Bozeman Trail.

Pleasant enough, and skillful, but all too familiar.

You pretty much know what to expect from a new Sea and Cake disc: breezy lounge-pop tunes embroidered with sleek keyboard blips and gentle drum-machine pitter-patter.

Danceable escapism for Urban Outfitters shopping that won't make you question the prices, much less start a riot.

Given its origins, this could have been a morbid, self-indulgent exercise. Instead, it's a fine indie-pop album.

The meta quality of the immoral, libidinous singer refracted through unblinking irony feels too transparent for a songwriter of Cocker's depth.

Despite its disparate influences and multi-handed production approach, All in One never feels less than cohesive.

In and Out of Control is a reined-in Raveonettes album with more differentiation among songs.

One consistency across all of Jhelli Beam--and particularly on such select selections as the introductory 'Split Seconds'--is Busdriver's enduring verbal dexterity.

Peaches sharpens her synth hooks, varies the electrogrooves, and serves up 13 tracks that are just amusing enough in their risqué behavior to keep the smiles coming while also standing behind the political point of the title.

But the kicker, for both music and lyrics, is Xiu Xiu's version of a pep talk, "This Too Shall Pass Away," where Stewart shows that being the most tortured musician of all time makes his fleeting flecks of hope doubly heartfelt.

When Old 97's are on--which they are most of the time on their eighth studio album--they're very, very on. Rhett Miller's writing is the definition of neatly sculpted songcraft, with every piece firmly in place, and not a bit of fat.

Reliable cynicism, not artistic invention, is the band's forte (Moody blends into one big damaged canvas), but Froberg's vitriol is still intoxicating.

The production from Steve Albini ensures that it's not too slick or processed. These short, humble pop songs amble along like the Wedding Present if David Gedge had a wrist injury that cut his inhuman strumming speed in half.

Electric Arguments is a worthy addition to the canon of this eccentric gentleman trapped in the body of a pop star.

The History of Apple Pie aren't exactly breaking new ground in the world of indie rock, but they are the sort of band who win you over in seconds.

Minus the Bear seemed more serious about their music than about its presentation.

Throughout, Leo and his stalwart Pharmacists (who include James Canty of the Make-Up on guitar and keyboards) reflect the singer's unified worldview with hooky, sharp-angled guitar jams that somehow seem catchier the thrashier they get. Chalk up another win for one of the good guys.

Eschewing the live-in-the-studio roughness of 2004’s On My Way, he returns to the fuller production of his solo debut, 2002’s Sha Sha.

For evidence as to why labeling subgenres of electronic music is tedious, look no further than this debut LP from UK collective Darkstar.

Their tracks bounce lovelier than Joe Budden's girlfriend on that trampoline (consult YouTube), and they exhibit a flair that distinguishes their cross-continental steeze from that of any other beat team.

Aesop's preference for boring "live" beats tends to hit somewhere between the Roots ('Getaway Car') and Linkin Park ('None Shall Pass'), but that hardly matters: it's his delivery that commands the attention here.

Nothing about The Soft Pack makes you wanna know who these guys are or what they have to say about the world outside their practice space.

Of course, there are neat textures and chilled-out sounds. But by the end of the record, you have only a few tunes or hooks to serve as a souvenir of the 44-minute journey you've just taken.

The album's listlessness - when compared to the blisteringly restless heartbreak/firecracker of Dreams - is kind of a bummer.

In a genre dominated by sensitive boys in sneakers and second-hand cardigans, Rainer Maria have had an edge: ... There’s barely a male voice to be heard on Catastrophe Keeps Us Together.

The sonic touchstones are rediscovered gems of Latin American psychedelia mixed with the work of romantic cantautores (singer-songwriters) from the waning days of Franco in the '70s.

Factory doesn't entirely squander the goodwill built up by their recent excellent reunion tour, but it's not significantly better than the standard Pollard solo album of the last decade.

His dark visions are overpowered by his colorful writing and pure humanity.

Gutter Tactics recalls the anger of the recent past and memories we'd like to leave behind--perfect timing.

Rhys is the ex-Britpopper making music that doesn't sound like dreary London fog - and as any New Englander reeling from a long hard winter's ass kick will tell you, that's an advantageous distinction.

Beyond a scrappy/winsome take on the Beach Boys' "Shut Down," there's not much to distinguish one track from another. It's all shits-and-giggles, all the time.

Harding sounds invigorated and in great humor.

The details are stacked on in such neat pieces--background piano arpeggios here, a couple of skronking guitar notes there--that it's all reduced to very well executed window dressing.

It's all good fun, but (mostly) all been done before.

There's nothing all that intelligent about anything SSLYBY have said or played, and Let It Sway is no exception--but someone will always love pure, simple, feel-good pop rock.

There’s some exceptional songwriting here.

T Bone Burnett's trademark production has the rhythm section thumping as if you were listening to the whole thing from a booth at your favorite pub. Which suits Earle fine.

If he never takes another chance, this new R&B torch carrier will still have a pop career for another 20 years, but if he wants to make a real mark, he’ll have to toss that hat.

Ogerman charts emphasize minor keys, creating a moody emotional palette for the album. And, as usual, Krall's honeyed voice and carefully chiseled playing are as spare and perfect on every cut as her core quartet's accompaniment.