Closer to Closed is a testament to the decline of Braid's teen angst, but those who grew up with the band may not recognize this aging friend.

Even though the album's zany unpredictability can be thrilling, it often feels like Banks is adorning vacant tunes ("Arise Awake," the plodding instrumental "Another Chance") with bells and whistles.

Bridges has talented friends and mentors who help bring out the best in him, which is surprisingly good.

Gemini's theater-rock is no pain to listen to, but true drama queens will want to get their fix elsewhere.

It’s a mere change of scenery, then, that separates this from much of the Wedding Present’s canonical work; the scabrous schoolboy humor of their 1987 debut, "George Best," has become the scabrous, middle-aged cynicism of El Rey.

Beady Eye's eagerly awaited debut represents Liam Gallagher's uninspiring foray into the spotlight without Noel, his battle-weary brother and Oasis's chief songwriter.

Unless you’re a diehard fan, wait for their new album in the spring.

Like any great jingle, it leaves you with nothing but a vague craving for the product, without quite knowing why you need it.

The music is what matters, and Prince Rama, with this highfalutin' silliness, have delivered big.

In all, Ninth is a striking return to form.

He avoids being too folksy or slipping into an acoustic coma by layering percussion, electric guitars, and strings when needed. By the end, you’ll feel you’ve been through the same wringer.

It’s a sonic adventure thanks to Burnett’s current signatures: booming drum kits sans cymbals, knotty guitars, lyrics sung through amplifiers, and an open, airy quality that’s the antithesis of modern rock production.

The effect is as scattershot as the guest list.

Dr Dee's well-defined boundaries mean it lacks the sense of adventure found in previous efforts, but Albarn deserves kudos for such artistic fearlessness.

Davis-Jeffers sounds bored throughout The Flexible Entertainer, and her languid, half-rapped vocals are entirely affectless.

Gordon isn’t much of a tune man; his melodies rarely take a memorable shape here, and his adenoidal singing turns what he does have into open-mic mush. The lyrics, too, are on a pretty low burn.

Diver is depressingly one-note, trimming back the band's scope and muscle. For some reason, Callan Clendenin sings every line in the same tiring, vacant croon, and its charm fades with each track, as does the Garageband-style production.

If Esben and the Witch don't quell their sonic histrionics, they may not get a second curtain call.

They seem hell-bent on pleasing everyone, and at times they succeed.

Luckily for fans of music and controversy alike, Madonna's compulsions reap musical dividends as she continues to bang into a dance-tastic G-spot, and the results are part sour, part sweet.

On its own, Pierce's clever lyrical ache resonates; but in extended play, his yearning and preening against twee surf-pop and minimal electro-pop can grow tiresome.

This may work as a singles record, but it lacks the depth to hold much interest.

WYWH is a darker, thinner, more digitized affair whose only compelling moments come courtesy of a new-found sex appeal of the disco variety.

The beats are eminently funky, the rhymes tight, and the topics decidedly old-school: plain-spoken boasts, the rejection of greed, and an acknowledgment of our communal evolution indicate the overall tone.

Her fourth album brims with sunny hooks on its best tracks, and the alluring opener, 'Little Black Sandals,' affords her a rich, layered backdrop.

Though Eno is adequate, moments where he takes over the collaboration (such as on "West Bay" and "Watch a Single Swallow . . . ") are too under-nourished and ponderous to suggest that he's giving us something new.

Motorizer, much of which the band recorded at Dave Grohl’s Studio 606 outside LA, is Motorhead’s first studio album since... well, actually, only since 2006, when they released "Kiss of Death," which sounded pretty much exactly like this one (not to mention the 22 before it).

The songs start running together till they’re not distinct tracks so much as guitars and bass and drums and yelpy indie vocals that happen to have been recorded at the same time.