Although Scattered Trees get emotionally expansive throughout this full-length debut, there's a distinct lack of production (and even playing) here, and that colors the proceedings with an anonymous hue.

Some things, like this album, are best left unanalyzed and simply enjoyed for their own bone-headed dedication to rockin’ out like a motherfucking banshee. Which Going Way Out does in spades and diamonds.

Her magnetic debut album doesn't aim to break new ground, but her rustic, Stevie Nicks–ish voice unifies the myriad sounds that position her as both a radio-ready alt-country chick and a young, hip folkstress who pulls off online covers of Lady Gaga and Kid Cudi.

Hush quells qualms with the relaxed assurance every third album should carry.

The Tigers have no trouble doing vivacious and catchy without being cloying, so it's a shame they've shelved that skill.

High Places v. Mankind, took just criticism for being a run-of-the-mill indie record with no charisma, Original Colors is a more than respectable rebound.

Hysterical is built for the long haul, and it appears, after a patch of rocky terrain, that Clap Your Hands are too.

Safari Disco Club is unlikely to find itself in the speakers of many dance parties on this side of the Atlantic in coming weeks.

Enlisting uber-producer Jacknife Lee (Bloc Party, Kasabian, R.E.M.) has brought some magic that keeps the mid-'90s flame--if not eternal--then at least at a reliable glow.

These tunes shred as po’-facedly as any the Champs have recorded.

Confident non-jumpers shouldn't be concerned that this disc weeps with you're-always-dying-inside woe-is-my-love-life misery.

Even with a dozen records behind him, Smith, when he puts his mind to it, remains a master at crafting concise masterpieces of bouncy pop majesty.

Rapprocher does what last year's (s)excellent debut EP Journal of Ardency did so well, letting Harper be the pretty face of electronic compositions that, with her aid, become liberating, confident, oozing with inviting overtones.

Hard Bargain is a gorgeous album.

Sleep Forever is about accepting mortality, and if its skill represents the possibilities of their earthly journey, long live Crocodiles.

The General Strike sticks to the same supposedly state-smashing standards that drove the previous six or so albums from these Pittsburgh-bred punks into redundancy.

The majority of the songs aren't much more than bare bones, with sparse piano and spacious, airy guitars, but it's the way the women work together so naturally that promises more than a one-off experiment.

Brushes with the law and a cocaine habit sent his personal life on a turn to the dark side, something that's soon evident over the course of Mr. Rager's 17 remorseful tracks.

The track's sonic cousin, "Burn Bridges," still stands tall on sparkly synth loops and bumper-sticker lyrics ("Burn bridges/Make yourself an island"), but the rest of the EP soars mostly on lo-fi surf pop made by landlocked youth using Casios and Fruity Loops in bored bedrooms.

Even when Banhart seems more in a predicament than in the zone, he’s hopelessly inventive. Several songs experience complete transformations over their modest three-minute spans, succeeding like little daybreaks.

Nothing's as timeless as "Blue" or "Waiting for the Sun," but the thrill here is all about those two lonely voices that find each other, in this future of theirs, caught up in that rush of harmony.

If there was ever a worry of the Hives maturing- or simply becoming less like the Hives - there isn't anymore.

So far--on two full-lengths and a pair of EPs--the results have been underwhelming. That trend continues on this homonymous disc.

Give Pink three spins and half a chance and by track five's killer New Order riff, you'll be singing 'Please, Don't Leave Me' back at her.

A lovely, thoughtful album.

While lukewarm as a whole, The Messenger doesn't suck nearly enough to bruise Marr's status as a guitar deity on wheels.

'New Dark Ages,' with its layered background harmonies, wall-of-sound instrumentation, and quietly propulsive drumming, is a 27-year career in a nutshell.

NY’s Finest finds the legendary producer consistent, if not innovative.