Polished, tuneful, and utterly unmemorable.

Despite the raucous vibe, Diamond Rugs is flawed - scattered, unfocused, and rather long, at 14 tracks.

This is a subdued, atmospheric affair, rooted in bangs-in-the-face, black-polish-on-the-fingernails '80s rock.

Like the Go-Betweens or the Field Mice, Europe is top-notch indie-pop, with upbeat music and literate lyrics coated in a wistfulness that can be debilitating if you indulge in it too often.

On "Cynic's New Year," Portland, Ore., indie-folk duo Horse Feathers stick so firmly to their sonic guns that it becomes tightly constricting.

It's like a late-aughts hipster cocktail.

In a sense, the veil is lifted ever-so-slightly with this new [album]: although they still wump you with weird on sonic gauntlets like "Molochwalker" and the title track, they also hit on some great choruses and comprehensible songcraft that, unlike most of their earlier work, is commendable for something other than the effort it took to create it.

If world domination is in question, hooks could be more defined, production could be less flat, and Paternoster's yodel most resembles the forgotten Lunachicks. But she and this Brunswick, New Jersey–born trio have staked an impressive claim.

His most compelling collection of songs in years.

Beware and Be Grateful's main flaw: an occasional quirk overload.

The great news is that even the bad news is good news: Alabama Shakes have a hell of a lot of growing to do, but even their slightest tunes pack a punch.

Spine Hits as a whole is a tighter operation, less intended to soundtrack your mushroom trip, but a worthy attempt to bridge the gap to the mainstream.

As dense and diggable as it may be, however, its sheer quantity of intel and change-ups can be euphorically overwhelming.

Anyone's pop cynicism should have a hard time getting out of bed on this one.

Their most subdued effort yet.

One of his best, no doubt, and arguably one of the best-sounding records so far this year.

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.

Great Lake Swimmers' sugar-sweet ditties easily drift in one ear and, unfortunately, out the other.

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.

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.

There's some obligatory Velvet Underground deference, like the jumpy "Hey Jane," but for the most part the new disc is more in line with the soaring sing-a-long brilliance of "So Long You Pretty Things" and the simplistic "Too Late."

Initially, the album seems to lack focus, save a steady burn of fury. But the anarchy's in the lack of cohesion, opening with the hand-clapping force of "Burn a Miracle" and progressing manically toward the melodic woe of "Peace Out".

Pleasant enough, and skillful, but all too familiar.

The tracks are re-released here, along with some extras, and mostly betray a songwriter still finding his own voice.

The sound is as swoon-inducing as it is complex. A brilliant debut full-length.

One of the more interesting rock albums in recent memory.

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.

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.