Pollard has long been in the business of writing songs, but here he seems invigorated; and for the first time in a long while, his business is mixed with pleasure.

No, Virginia ranks with Elvis Costello’s "Taking Liberties" as a B-sides/leftovers album that turns out to be more fun and more revealing than a thought-out official release.

Whereas some attempts to hybridize indie rock and electronic music are forced or awkward, Miike Snow gets its right by paying as much attention to their uncluttered celestial melodies as they do to their beats.

The results unfold like a well-plotted novel.

There is a place in this world (Pottery Barn maybe, or a future Eddie Murphy romantic comedy) for the R(ap)&B cocktail party that is Finding Forever.

Their new project has much of the same visceral energy of their old gig, but Mi Ami present it in a much more harmonious, affirming manner.

The thread that tethers I'm Gay to the rest of Lil B's immense, sprawling catalogue is his earnest loyalty to the central tenets of the "based" movement: love and positivity in the face of adversity.

Those vocal harmonies are used to good effect in the blue-eyed-soul tune 'Alaska.' But 'Die Die Die,' a slow and raggedy piece of psychedelia complete with funereal organ but thrown askew by out-of-place handclaps, is far too taken in by its own gloom.

The first comeback album in history by an iconic rock act that stands up against anything else on the shelves today.... This is the mighty Van Halen at their best.

I can feel my IQ slipping a few notches with the passage of each track on this disc, and gloriously so: it takes brains and balls to make pop this smart sound so dumb.

Urban has the market wisdom to balance his artistic efforts with assembly-line Nashville pop-chart fodder.

For a densely layered, expertly produced dance-rock album, this second full-length from British three-piece Friendly Fires is perplexingly bland.

Although they love drama, AFI never abandon believability here. Which means the arena-rock trappings don’t make the music feel fake -- they just make it feel more exciting than life.

Alpers has a knack like few others for spinning our over-interconnected loneliness into something more like a blissful collective daydream.

His simple songs come closer to eclipsing their cliches and becoming classics when they aren't buttered with dobro and pedal-steel arrangements that sound like afterthoughts. But when you're allowed to get close to the raw artist, you witness something truly special.

Having graduated from knuckleheaded threats to a more hardened ghetto perspective that sometimes blossoms into tender complexity, Freeway sounds at home, particularly over the sweetly weeping keyboard loop that grounds 'Reppin’ the Streets,' the album’s best track.

It’s brimming with curious melodies (like the darkly cute skews of the title track), rich poetic detail (as lush as the orange carpet in '16A'), and a truly generous spirit (you can listen to the whole damn thing over and over).

Hamilton attempts to resuscitate it with his warm voice, but the record plods on with one mid-tempo nodder after another.

While mostly a California creation, Still Living echoes the sounds reverberating across the Pacific from New Zealand - think '80s/'90s bands like the Chills and the 3Ds, whose splashy reverb tanks were almost louder than their amps ("Call Me"). Or even Galaxie 500, whose Dean Wareham is a native Zealander ("Bradley").

The songs on this debut album are lethargic, syrupy, and sinister, with the rough-edged peaks of a maxed-out mix.

Not everything is new on Everything Is New, this young London singer's sophomore set, but enough is to make you wonder what on earth persuaded Jack Penate to ditch the ample charms of his terrific debut.

It may be just another platter of product from this Richmond, Virginia, crew, fit for mosh pit incitements, but it's also a harrowing and hypnotic package of wound-up, meticulously arranged aggro-bombs by a veteran team of low-end hatemongers.

The indie-leaning direction of the album suggests that the Canadian singer-songwriter is coming into her own.

Old-school fans may roll their eyes at this forward throwback, yet whatever conspicuous mode he chooses to work in, Merritt's songwriting remains conspicuously remarkable.

His music always offers an emotional complexity to mirror its melodic sophistication.

Listening to the new MGMT album requires similar preparations to those for a prolonged psychedelic experience: you may want to leave some time in your daybook for unexpected detours, and it'd be wise to erase previous experiences from your mind for fear that heightened expectations may not be met and mass bummerage will ensue.

These 11 tunes deliver both the thematic and the sonic hugeness we expect from U2; you only have to proceed about 80 seconds into the opening title track before the Edge is spraying his trademark guitar sparks everywhere and Bono is observing that infinity is a great place to start.

Ferry is as cool and debonair as ever on his first collection of new material in eight years.