Like all works of elusive beauty, Lookaftering is something that is so immediate and accessible it will take time to realize just how enriched with subtle evocation it is.

The Fiery Furnaces have delivered another great American novel via guitars, drums, bells, and whistles.

Feels is a psychedelic wonderland filled with life-affirming warmth.

Overall, it's Boards of Canada trying new things and experimenting outside of the box that they built for themselves; commendable and quite addictive.

This is a great record, if it is a record.

Ultimately, Tanglewood Numbers is a pretty good record for the Silver Jews and a very good record if you like chimey, talky, uncool indie rock.

A collection of overzealous pop songs consisting largely of recycled ideas.

The greatest aspect of Tournament of Hearts is Bry Webb's singing. His voice convinces you of the truth of the emotion and power of his songs.

The Mouse and the Mask's downfall, though, is its excruciatingly narrow scope.

This is nothing short of a monumental piece of work.

It's Dirty Three as they've always been, testing their limits, but still producing some of the prettiest and most artful music around.

I'm sure purists would prefer to snag the recently remastered originals as opposed to this Gift, even though those older fans would be able to appreciate this album most.

Sam capably fills the role of providing a shamanic base for the couple's creepy pounding rage, as well as a human touch to play along with the steady pump of the traveling drum machine.

There's nothing inherently wrong about writing songs about enjoying booze and drugs, but this isn't something I'd put on under the influence of either. Just imagine what it sounds like sober.

Although by the record's second half the brassy, treble-kicked sound wears a little thin, there are enough gems to keep the release fresh through the end of its 35 minutes.

But no matter how much I sit here listening to Broken Social Scene, and no matter how special most of these tracks are, they lack the cohesiveness that made You Forgot it in People, and even Feel Good Lost, something to get ecstatic about.

The standouts are too numerous to mention, and all in all, Ladytron have set a new peak, getting to the heart of their best previous moments and expanding on them.

What you can expect is what makes My Morning Jacket tried and true: bigger-than-life lyrics, classic rock swagger, and the need to move forward.

Overall, a handful of great songs, no clunkers, and one absolute classic is more than should be expected of any album.

Unfortunately, the focal point of the album is not on the music, but instead on Slug's lyrics, which have matured at a much slower pace than Ant's slick production.

Like all Nickelback releases before it, All The Right Reasons was made for all the wrong ones and follows all the formulas and clichés you should be bored to death of by now.

It's a mix that works just as well on the dance floor as the bedroom.

As with most Adams records, the fact that some of the songs made the cut is perplexing.

Is it possible that Gab and Xcel could have improved and surpassed Blazing Arrow's success? The Craft simply says yes.

Road to Rouen isn't going to blow away any fan new to Supergrass, nor is any old fan going to go ga-ga over what they're hearing, but it's good to know the band isn't sitting on their laurels fantasizing about killing their commercial appeal.

Wolf Parade do what they do better than anyone in recent memory.

They still get a thumbs up in the sonic department, and their songwriting is certainly to my liking; but that quality of elusiveness that made their prior albums a journey of discovery seems to be missing.

I simply cannot imagine what it would be like to see these guys live, but follow up that New Order at your next dance party with some Congotronics and people will be bouncing off the walls.

Never ratcheted up over a pleasantly throbbing pulse, this is music as anti-depressant, mood enhancer, and muscle relaxant.

Many tracks sound like they're simply missing a piece.

Even if it is a bit less adventurous, many of the tunes are right up there with anything the band has done.

Clue to Kalo may give acts like Postal Service and Her Space Holiday a run for their money.

Cripple Crow finds Banhart doing what many didn't want him to do or thought he couldn't do: make a pretty lackluster album.

An über-catchy collection of short, diverse songs laden with a playfully channeled anger and wit that are hard to forget.

The best parts of Iron & Wine songs are almost always the bridges between chorus and verse or the outros, the spaces void of singing where Beam adds subtle riffs on top of the normal progression... They are the sharpest hooks, and, unfortunately, Calexico pretty much cuts out the effect of these bridges on In the Reins, replacing them with dull saxophones, harmonicas, trumpets, and ill-defined electric guitar parts.

Parish is good at what he does, but I suspect he'll have a hard time finding an audience with patience to watch him do it.

Sigur Rós are still significant, but Takk sounds safe.

It's just another above average release from another indie band.

With twice as much content as usual and Numbers working out their heaviest dose of lo-fi drone rock, this is their best release to date.

Rosie Thomas is just a little too ordinary.

The goal here is a noise-dance album, and they succeed admirably.

There is nothing like Transatlaticism's "Sound of Settling" here to offset the never-ending stream of ballads and down-tempo songs.

The biggest problem with Late Registration though is Kanye's verses; he's not a great MC, but he doesn't know it.

Menos el Oso takes the act of melodizing the banal to dizzyingly silly new heights.

The songs on Twin Cinema are simply of a higher caliber than anything the Pornos' individual members can create by themselves or had created together before.

Portastatic is exactly as advertised: catchy, sometimes dumb, occasionally rockin', but always at least competent pop.

Poppy and breezy to the point of being nauseating.

Maybe it's the squeaky-cleanness of the sound and singing both that keeps me at a distance; a band like Okkervil River, both sonically and thematically similar to Vanderslice, succeed partially because they don't mind screaming and getting clumsy.

With 16 thoroughly-developed tracks, clocking in at a little under an hour, Infiniheart is a tedious listen. Though its moments of faltering are few, it's a lot to digest.

Deep meaning and well-crafted pop.

Many of the tracks are begging to be played live in full force, as most of them, to be sure, sound unfulfilled here on CD.

An album that's inspiring in its ambition.

No Flashlight is the most sincere album I've heard in so long that it fills me with a joy that couldn't possibly only come through the music.

The blandest rock n' roll record possible.

Orth would do well to pay more attention to whipping his songs into shape next time around.

Less Than Human is the sound of James Murphy transforming the songs of a guy who has spent a nauseating amount of time fiddling about with Kraftwerk-y synths into an album as enjoyable at home as it is on the dancefloor.

I would stress that this conglomerate of half-baked songs should in no way reflect on the rest of Cursive's canon -- there is a reason most of these songs have gone largely unnoticed and unappreciated.

Mr. Hollywood Jr., 1947 won't win any awards for innovation and probably won't yield any radio hits, but that's perfect. This album isn't about creating the perfect pop song, but about creating a story that bridges generations.

Secret House Against The World is a fun-filled affair that only reinforces Buck 65's stature as one of "hip-hop's" more versatile "emcees."

If you're willing to forgive a little lack of innovation and the subtle feeling that Spelled In Bones might be a little more mellow than it ought to be, there's one hell of a nice listen in this record.

Regardless of what you think of his previous and complicated output, he's proven here that he can just as easily make sick chill as maniacal IDM or ambient glitch; and he's just as strong as anyone else going.

Self Help Serenade is not an unpleasant listen; it has simply and unfortunately been played out over the years by scores of other bands.

While they haven't completely redrawn themselves, Alpine Static does signify a step forward for Kinski with its unashamed embrace of guitar rock.

Takes the listener on an unmitigated aural journey through the outer reaches of electronic music.

It's business as usual, but there is not a damn thing wrong with that when it comes to this group.

This is a rare combination of talent, vision and sound.

Illinois certainly isn't perfect, but it does do a couple important things: it proves that Sufjan has the skill and the talent to prove flexible and long-lasting, and that it's not much of a stretch to expect even better albums from him in the future.

In lieu of messing around in the dark fringes of slightly bizarre café music, Free The Bees is a straight up rock album more in line with Iron Butterfly and the Small Faces than Morcheeba or Quantic.

This is a major step forward in pushing the IDM aesthetic into the bigger territory of soul and R&B music.

An album which will force even the most hardened listeners to throw in the towel.

This album's exceptional, for as familiar and generic as it sounds, there is an autumnal sort of charm.

It hits very close to musical documentary with very few of the abstraction perils that usually haunt artists in converting ideas to their medium.

It is, like so many other pop albums, the kind of thing that grows on you and ferments into an incredible entity.

As a collection of stunning, yet unassuming, pop songs it fits in nicely with the Pernice oeuvre.

The Oranges Band are good at what they do, but The World & Everything in It seems destined to function as background music rather than as a focus for rapt listening.

Perfect pop bliss.

Not great, a few catchy moments, certainly not god-awful, but just bland enough that after three listens, all life is drained from it.

They are to hip-hop what No Doubt was to ska.

The songs on Get Behind Me Satan are sturdy.

Berlinette seemed more pointed, pulled with precision and grace into the pop idiom. When you think you've got this one nailed down to a black and white electro-aesthetic, the splayed strands of its hair start pollocking acidic paint all over the place.

For the most part, there is little here to take offense to.

The minimalist arrangements are still here. The bored baritone voice hasn't changed any. The personal-yet-guarded lyrics can be found throughout.

For a few glorious moments, our beloved Mancs have that swagger back.

This is an awesome, magnificent, incandescent, trailblazing record.

The high points are so fantastic that their missteps are easily forgiven.

The vicious licks laid down by Carrie Brownstein and Corin Tucker on "The Fox" are as punchy as anything I've heard them come up with, approaching something like Jack White if Jack White fell in love with The Experience instead of his Johnson. Amazingly, The Woods just picks up from there.

Face the Truth won me over by showing all the sides of Steve that drew me to him in the first place, along with a few new surprises.

Regardless of the modernist leanings of Kanye's techniques, the album retains an organic feel that rivals Com's hemp beanie and Erykah Badu's incense.

The music won't knock you on your ass, but the overall delivery is a real treat, if you go in for this sort of thing.

Those who like Mercury Rev like them a lot; so while The Secret Migration doesn't happen to migrate into new territory, they are the type of band that could go on making the same album forever and we wouldn't care.

Atmospheric, provocative, and uplifting.

Taking a step back and struggling with that always-expected "hot band" dilemma, Why? is coming to terms with his career as a musician. Judging from the quality of these eight songs, he appears to be handling it well.

Every track on Axes offers something exciting for those who care to listen.

It is phenomenal.

Weezer's once unique aesthetic has been replaced by something formulaic and ultimately too safe.

They accomplish what most rock bands only dream of: the subtle transcendence of genre, form, and the music itself.

This is not an album bent on changing the way one listens to music, but the way one listens to their self.

It's unfortunate that 13 & God neither succeeds nor fails.