The hazy nostalgia of ’80s pop music sent through a psychedelic filter — synonymous with the subgenre chillwave and Toro Y Moi’s previous albums — is anything but recognizable in Chaz Bundick’s, the man behind the stage name, latest full-length. Instead, the LP is composed of remarkably rich and catchy numbers that tickle meriting a spot on the Top 40.

The album is a mixture of busier, more charismatic and lyrically unmemorable songs that combat Toro Y Moi’s association with chillwave and bond more closely to pop music.

“Anything In Return” signifies more than just a third full-length release; it marks a change in Bundick’s aesthetic. Recognized for his creation of music that sounds like a daydream, this album strays from that classification and introduces something new. It’s a sincere attempt at exposing his versatility as an artist.

The album’s first single, “So Many Details,” sets the mood to any make-out sesh, working in the art of seduction through direct come-ons delivered through silky vocals amidst a rich sonic landscape. “I just want to tease your eyes, maybe we can check these locks, I just want to go inside.”

Tracks like “Touch” and “Rose Quartz“ are perhaps the finest two resembling the artist’s new pop-sounding intentions, though the two do so in still-alternative ways.

“Touch” communicates the widely identifiable feelings of being hurt romantically, a trait common in many radio-friendly songs, but does so by transporting listeners into a sonic lounge of emotions instead of a brief encounter.

Between layers of percussive bases, manipulated vocals and synth waves, “Rose Quartz” similarly exemplifies the pop brand through relatable lyrics of unconditional love. However, it communicates this idea by way of its blending structure of vocals and instrumentals in lieu of a catchy chorus.

The album lacks in overtly sugary tracks such as “Cake” and “Day One” which veer too far from Bundick’s vibe insomuch as they’re unbelievable. The line “I look at her and she’s all I want” doesn’t feel remotely legitimate to a Toro Y Moi album. The two tracks feel forced in the pop stream and make evident the newness of Bundick in the genre.

If you jump on the Toro Y Moi wave with “Anything In Return” as your first album, you’ll be pleased by the pop influence with a mild bubblegum taste. If you’re part of Bundick’s existing fan base, however, it may be best if listened to on a candy high with the intent to engage in tomfoolery with the comrades. Not suitable for solo trips on the crest.

Rating: 7.0/10

Fade is a Yo La Tengo lover’s Yo La album. The tracks run together like satisfied breaths that sound at once muddy and precise. It is shoegazing but accessible, rejecting the cliches that dominate so much of indie-rock today.

The record feels slow and lazy like a perfect Sunday afternoon, when the sun is dancing in and out of the clouds and there’s nothing to do but stave off Monday. At times it almost becomes boring, but the deliberate choice of instruments, lyrics and effects makes the motivation of the album clear.

The strings on “Is That Enough” make that track feel like a pop song. The horns on “Before We Run” lend gravitas to the album’s closer. And the lyrics, oh goodness the lyrics — about aging, hope, romantic love and deep friendship. Yo La Tengo has never shied away from getting personal, and these songs elevate the honesty that fans expect to a new level.

And rightly so. Ira Kaplan and wife Georgia Hubley formed the band in 1984, and bassist James McNew joined them in 1992. During more than two decades of playing together, they have seen the world as well as their own relationships change around them in profound ways. With this latest effort, Yo La Tengo takes the time to reflect on its experiences and the future.

Kaplan and Hubley remain a beacon of indie-rock love after the heartbreaking split of Sonic Youth’s Kim Gordon and Thurston Moore. In album highlight “I’ll Be Around,” Kaplan sings the slow steady promise to stay even as the world changes.

Fade feels like a promise to fans, too, that Yo La isn’t going anywhere even as the rest of the bands we grew up on break up in a heaving morass of half-hearted side projects and acoustic covers of top 40 songs.

Fade veers from 2009’s infectiously poppy Popular Songs, echoing instead the sounds that make And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside-Out a perennial favorite. The album lacks the long rambling jams that stood out on previous records (for example Painful’s “I Heard You Looking”). Instead, opener “Ohm” clocks in at 6:50. It’s the longest song on the record and worth every second with its rich use of percussion and perfect opening lines — “Sometimes the bad guys go out on top, sometimes the good guys lose. We try not to lose our hearts, not to lose our minds.”

Fans of Hubley’s vocals will find a treat in “Cornelia and Jane,” one of the few songs in the band’s catalog that she sings alone (although she shares the track with perfectly subtle distortion and a great horn line).

Fade fits perfectly into Yo La Tengo’s catalog. In iTunes, when “Before We Run” slips to a close, the first track on Fakebook effortlessly follows. It looks like 2013 will be a great year for music (did someone say Destiny’s Child?) and it feels comforting to start things off with a great record from a band that has been playing exactly the music it’s wanted to since before most of us were born.

The release of the single coincided with Timberlake’s announcement via an open letter to his fans that he will release a new album, “The 20/20 Experience,” later this year.

Although Timberlake has enjoyed success in his acting and producing career, it is nice to see him back to doing what he does best –– singing.

While not as catchy as past Timberlake songs, “Suit & Tie” has a very smooth, almost hypnotic sound that works well with Timberlake’s smooth falsetto. The up-tempo track heavily features horns and harps in the background, which provides a refreshing twist on the typical R&B style.

The lyrics, in typical Timberlake fashion, are not exactly philosophical. As the title would suggest, the song is quite literally about putting on a suit and a tie and showing off on the dance floor.

The song starts off slowly, but after a mysterious voice asks, “Are you ready JT?”, Timberlake kicks it into high gear.

With lines such as “I can’t wait to get you on the floor, good-looking” and

“As long as I got my suit and tie, imma leave it all on the floor tonight”, this song is perfect to listen to while getting ready to go out for the night.

The song abruptly transitions from Timberlake’s vocals into an unexpected verse from Jay-Z near the end of the song. The rap seems a little bit out of place, but it is hard to complain when two powerhouse artists such as Jay-Z and Justin Timberlake come together for something like this.

If this single is any indication of what the rest of Timberlake’s album will be like, fans are in for a long-awaited treat.

This is the all-too-familiar problem Pittsburgh rapper Wiz Khalifa finds himself battling on his sophomore major label release O.N.I.F.C. [Only Nigga in First Class], out Tuesday from Atlantic Records. After generating local interest — which eventually became national — with a series of mixtapes and independent releases, Khalifa rocketed to superstardom with the chart-topping Steelers anthem “Black and Yellow,” followed closely by his critically and commercially successful debut album Rolling Papers.

A motion picture role alongside Snoop Dogg followed, and now the 25-year-old MC must produce another hit on par with “Black and Yellow” in order to maintain his newfound popularity and relevance.

His first attempt is with O.N.I.F.C.’s lead single “Work Hard, Play Hard,” another Pittsburgh-centric anthem that does much to mimic his breakthrough hit. The production is massive and grandiose, with a steel mill drum pattern pounding over an ominous single-note bass line. The verse mostly consists of Khalifa bragging about how rich he is, while the chorus strives for something a little more profound: “The quicker you here, the faster you go / That’s why where I come from the only thing we know is / Work hard, play hard.”

The song works well enough, but ultimately lacks the intangible energy captured in “Black and Yellow” and the rest of Rolling Papers. The same can be said for O.N.I.F.C. as a whole; the production and guest appearances are on the money, but Khalifa lacks anything new to say as well as a new way to say it.

About 90 percent of the lyrics concern either the rapper’s love of smoking weed or his love of his own money. At 17 tracks and more than 73 minutes long, the album quickly begins to drag, with tracks like “It’s Nothin” and “Initiation” adding nothing new or interesting to the sonic portraiture.

A notable exception is “The Bluff,” featuring a guest appearance by NYC rapper Cam’ron. The song features a delicate, ethereal production that glides hazily over a slow jam drum pattern as the MC’s trade off verses. It’s about as close to “sensitive” as a song that revolves entirely around marijuana and hundred-dollar bills can get.

Two of the album’s best tracks are reserved for the very end. “Remember You” features a haunting chorus sung by alternative neo-soul singer the Weeknd, while “Medicated” closes the album out with introspective, reminiscing lyrics that finally reach beyond the shallowness that pervades the rest of the disc.

The delivery and production on O.N.I.F.C. reveal an artist who has just hit the big time and is trying to make it last. In order to do so, Khalifa would be wise to find more substantive subject matter to rap about the next time around.

Though Warrior has a different sound than 2010’s electro-pop hit Animal, Ke$ha’s effective genre-mixing is unlikely to alienate her fans. Infectious lead single “Die Young” — which incorporates a catchy mix of pop, acoustic guitar and rap elements — well represents the mix of musical styles on the rest of the album.

The opening title track is a solid power ballad with a dubstep sound, and “Dirty Love,” which features Iggy Pop, has enough guitar to pass as pop-rock.

Fans of Animal will be pleased by the subject matter of Warrior — plenty of material is devoted to sex and partying, and Ke$ha’s signature lyrics continue to toe the line between crass and hilarious. However, she also left room to expand her repertoire with “Thinking of You” and “Wherever You Are,” which are more personal than any of her previous releases.

The album’s weakness is in its second half, which is dominated by a string of danceable but unoriginal pop tunes that simply blend together. Warrior might not be a great or even memorable album, but Ke$ha’s appealing new direction and irresistible beats make it a perfect guilty pleasure.

With an eclectic mix of radio-ready pop songs, twangy country tunes and heartbreaking ballads, Swift proves her range both lyrically and musically.

Although she teamed up with several co-writers for this album, the lyrics are still signature Swift.

The ballad, “All Too Well,” begins as a flashback to happier times in a relationship and then builds until she is nearly screaming about what went wrong. The words thread a beautiful narrative as she uses images like a forgotten scarf that reminds her lover of their past.

In other songs such as “I Almost Do,” she brings depth to her words by repeating the first few lines again at the end, now holding a deeper meaning after Swift crooned about her desire to contact an ex-lover.

Once again, she covers the entire spectrum of love and relationships from pure bliss in “Stay Stay Stay” to the final stand in a dysfunctional union in “The Last Time.”

But it is in the duet “The Last Time,” with Snow Patrol lead vocalist Gary Lightbody where Swift falters, pairing her thin falsetto with his deep, complex tone. Her voice, along with the truly powerful lyrics, are drowned out in the process.

But, the other duet, “Everything Has Changed,” featuring Ed Sheeran may be the standout of the album. Swift and Sheeran’s tender voices mold into one another, and the lyrics are propelled into the spotlight. As they sing about an instant connection with a new lover, a listener can’t help but think this one is about her current beau, Connor Kennedy.

Another ballad about the start of a relationship, “Begin Again,” also seems to be about her famous, albeit young boyfriend as she speaks about a relationship blossoming eight months after a breakup (Swift presumably dated Jake Gyllenhaal eight months ago).

Although many of these songs are emotional ballads with mature lyrics reminiscent of many tracks off her somber second album, “Fearless,” Swift has not forgotten her younger fan base.

Following up on her first foray into the pop genre, 2010’s “Speak Now,” Swift includes punchy pop songs such as hit singles “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together,” and “Red,” along with lesser known tracks “Holy Ground” and “Starlight.”

But she also captures her former curly-haired teen with songs like “Stay Stay Stay,” which has the same country sound and upbeat lyrical riffs as songs off her self-titled debut album, which was released when she was just 16 years old.

While Swift pulls inspiration and musical styling from each of her past albums, she still pushes her own limitations and dabbles in a genre no one ever thought she could: dubstep.

In her hit single, “I Knew You Were Trouble,” Swift melds her high pitched lines with a beat produced by Max Martin and Shellback and created a dance-club worthy hit.

Many people might ask why she is straying away from what she knows and what she does well, but the answer is quite simple: Because she can.

Swift’s likeability as a celebrity allows her to experiment. Her fan base is so loyal that they will follow her into any genre she explores. With “I Knew You Were Trouble,” Swift is able to pull off a massive departure from her country roots.

And her loyal fans will thank her.

With catchy hits like this and the titular “Red” juxtaposed against deeper, tear-inducing tracks like “Sad Beautiful Tragic,” it is safe to say Swift has perfected the ability to produce a hit album with substance.

Grade: A

With an eclectic mix of radio-ready pop songs, twangy country tunes and heartbreaking ballads, Swift proves her range both lyrically and musically.

Although she teamed up with several co-writers for this album, the lyrics are still signature Swift.

The ballad, “All Too Well,” begins as a flashback to happier times in a relationship and then builds until she is nearly screaming about what went wrong. The words thread a beautiful narrative as she uses images like a forgotten scarf that reminds her lover of their past.

In other songs such as “I Almost Do,” she brings depth to her words by repeating the first few lines again at the end, now holding a deeper meaning after Swift crooned about her desire to contact an ex-lover.

Once again, she covers the entire spectrum of love and relationships from pure bliss in “Stay Stay Stay” to the final stand in a dysfunctional union in “The Last Time.”

But it is in the duet “The Last Time,” with Snow Patrol lead vocalist Gary Lightbody where Swift falters, pairing her thin falsetto with his deep, complex tone. Her voice, along with the truly powerful lyrics, are drowned out in the process.

But, the other duet, “Everything Has Changed,” featuring Ed Sheeran may be the standout of the album. Swift and Sheeran’s tender voices mold into one another, and the lyrics are propelled into the spotlight. As they sing about an instant connection with a new lover, a listener can’t help but think this one is about her current beau, Connor Kennedy.

Another ballad about the start of a relationship, “Begin Again,” also seems to be about her famous, albeit young boyfriend as she speaks about a relationship blossoming eight months after a breakup (Swift presumably dated Jake Gyllenhaal eight months ago).

Although many of these songs are emotional ballads with mature lyrics reminiscent of many tracks off her somber second album, “Fearless,” Swift has not forgotten her younger fan base.

Following up on her first foray into the pop genre, 2010’s “Speak Now,” Swift includes punchy pop songs such as hit singles “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together,” and “Red,” along with lesser known tracks “Holy Ground” and “Starlight.”

But she also captures her former curly-haired teen with songs like “Stay Stay Stay,” which has the same country sound and upbeat lyrical riffs as songs off her self-titled debut album, which was released when she was just 16 years old.

While Swift pulls inspiration and musical styling from each of her past albums, she still pushes her own limitations and dabbles in a genre no one ever thought she could: dubstep.

In her hit single, “I Knew You Were Trouble,” Swift melds her high pitched lines with a beat produced by Max Martin and Shellback and created a dance-club worthy hit.

Many people might ask why she is straying away from what she knows and what she does well, but the answer is quite simple: Because she can.

Swift’s likeability as a celebrity allows her to experiment. Her fan base is so loyal that they will follow her into any genre she explores. With “I Knew You Were Trouble,” Swift is able to pull off a massive departure from her country roots.

And her loyal fans will thank her.

With catchy hits like this and the titular “Red” juxtaposed against deeper, tear-inducing tracks like “Sad Beautiful Tragic,” it is safe to say Swift has perfected the ability to produce a hit album with substance.

Grade: A

Swift has released four promotional singles on iTunes from her newest album in which fans see her taking her music in different directions when compared to older records. The list of released singles, all of which have hit the number one spot on iTunes Top 10, each have a different flavor of the Taylor Swift fans may or may not know.

The first single, “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together,” shows Swift teaming up with hit making producer Max Martin, who has worked with artists like Britney Spears and Katy Perry. Together they have created a song that is less Nashville and more “Top 40” worthy. With a catchy hook and up-tempo pace, this “all-girl’s anthem” will be a sing-along favorite.

“Begin Again” is a self-written and composed piece showcasing Swift’s falsetto in the chorus against a simple music composition that brings back a classic country version the Swift fans have come to love. “Begin Again” is a love story that is told in a mature and romantic manner that classic country fans will be able to appreciate.

One of the most cross-marketable songs released in the promotional period is the song that shares the album title of “Red.” Another song written and composed alone, Swift paints a vibrant picture of a failed relationship that still has a hold on her emotions. The song has a musical composition that can be appreciated by pop and country fans alike. Swift seamlessly intertwines the genres and provides strong vocals on a catchy chorus.

The fourth single is one with the most risk and change for Swift’s musical sound known and loved by fans. “I Knew You Were Trouble” showcases Swift taking her pop-rock sound to a new level by inserting “dubstep” breakdowns to appeal to the masses. The song describes an on-coming relationship that ends badly even though there were signs of trouble from the start.

The promotional singles clearly would lead fans to believe that Swift and her management have decided to experiment heavily, trying to appeal to a new audience while keeping the current fans intact. Only Oct. 22 will reveal what the complete album “Red” has in store for fans.

It’s strange that a band with such inoffensive music can be so divisive, but most of the disagreements are based on Green Day’s history. The group began as a punk band that played music hard enough to piss off your parents, but cheeky and endearing enough to win over the younger demographic. Green Day became kings of the alt-rock airwaves, and built a sizable following of disgruntled youths. However, Green Day leapt from the alternative stations to the mainstream with their monstrously successful album American Idiot in 2004. No longer were they a group for people “in the know,” but rather for drivers stuck in traffic coming home from work.

The phrase “selling out” has such a negative perception, but really, it should be seen as savvy business. While the old music may have been more creative, energetic and authentic, Green Day has struck gold with the blend of pop-punk that they’re now (in)famous for, and they’re having a good time headlining corporate concerts and international tours.

¡Uno!, the new album, is exactly what you’d expect: a little bit of Springsteen, a little bit of Sex Pistols, a lot bit of watering down. In short, the perfect recipe for a mediocre top-seller. You could read a rundown of some of the songs, but it’s really not worth your time. They made one song and changed a few chords here and there. The music isn’t as insidious as the utter lack of creativity. For 41 minutes and 42 seconds, you will be subjected to pop-punk that makes Fallout Boy sound intricate. Truthfully, you’d be better off listening to Kenny G hold an e-flat for 45 minutes than listening to ¡Uno!

The songs aren’t terrible on their own. “Let Yourself Go” and “Oh Love,” stand out as energy-pumped singles. However, listening to the entire album will make your ears bleed. Every song has the exact same recycled pseudo-punk riffs. In case you didn’t believe he was punk, Billie Joe Armstrong swears a lot on some songs too.

This album will be a hit, though. It’s hard not to lose faith when the Billboard 200 crowd spends their money on garbage like this. ¡Uno! is less exciting than white bread. More people fall asleep listening to ¡Uno! than in Stats 250. And rumor has it that Rip Van Winkle had ¡Uno! playing on his iPod right before he took his marathon nap for two decades.

¡Uno! is one of those rare moments where something inoffensive makes you furious. The music may not be horrifying, but the complacency is. To quote Green Day’s own music “it’s something unpredictable, that in the end is right, I hope you had the time of your life” making the shittiest album of the year.

Always trying to set the bar higher, West pumps out the first music compilation under his record label G.O.O.D. Music, featuring a total of 22 artists including names like Jay-Z, Common, Big Sean, CyHi Da Prynce and John Legend.

West has largely kept to the standards set by “My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy” and “Watch the Throne.” Even so, his 12-track LP is surprisingly average with no bangs and little fanfare unlike his previous works.

Make no mistake, the album is still a collaboration and not a solo work, although West’s signature lyricism is distinct throughout.

The first track titled “To The World” couldn’t be more appropriate for the album as it clearly echoes West’s mantra of doing it big and with middle fingers high up in the air. R. Kelly also lends his vocals in the three-and-a-half-minute song, which is paced by distant drums and muted synths.

In “New God Flow,” Pusha T humbly (but not really) declares that “I believe there’s a god above me/ I’m just the god of everything else” while West drops rhymes like “Way too cold, I promise you’ll need some Theraflu” in “Cold.” In many ways, the self-crafted lyrics highlight an amusing overconfidence with blatant lyrics that dare the non-believers to test true talent.

Each song that follows on the album carries a distinctive sound and brings in various instruments in addition to wide-ranging vocal talents. “Clique” follows a faster rhythm paced by droning background synths in contrast with “The One,” which opens with former Floetry member, Marsha Ambrosius, delivering the opening hook with her resonating alto soul accompanied by the familiar drumming of distant percussions and piano interludes.

Above all, the album demonstrates how a compilation should sound like, with all of the artists cohesively blending their musical styles in a seamless manner without overpowering one another. John Legend keeps his brassy jazz voice in the “Sin City” collaboration with CyHi Da Prynce, Travis Scott, Teyana Taylor and Malik Yusef, just as Kid Cudi maintains his lyrical rap while working with Pusha T and Common, among other artists, in “The Morning.”

Judgement of his character aside, West produces a successful-enough first compilation “Cruel Summer” under his label G.O.O.D. Music, not amazing but not terrible.

The album is like a kaleidoscope of influences from their previous albums, such as “Kerplunk!,”  “Warning” and “Dookie,” but still manages to sound like something new.

Green Day’s album kicks off with “Nuclear Family,” a song that sounds like a throwback to their 1997 record “Nimrod.” The track is a head-banging electric guitar track with catchy solos and riffs, almost similar to something the Ramones’ would have created.

Their track “Carpe Diem” has a simple but enthralling melody, and it moves the album along nicely.  Despite the music sounding upbeat and positive, the song’s lyrics criticize the cliché ways that the Latin phrase “carpe diem” is used in our culture.

Before the band released their full album for streaming, three singles had been released: “Oh Love,” “Kill The DJ” and “Let Yourself Go.” These songs gave the world a glimpse at the throwback sound that Green Day will deliver us with this album.

“Let Yourself Go” is a signature Green Day track with a raw and in-your-face attitude that would have felt at home on their classic 1994 release “Dookie.” The anthem has a simple chorus that’s easy enough for anyone to sing along to but creates a surprising passion and anger at just over three minutes. The track will certainly be a real treat to experience live.

“Kill The DJ” is one of the most diverse tracks on the album. Instead of a typical bass line blended in the background of a snazzy guitar solo, the track relies heavily on a funky bass lick. The slow and whimsical sound is paired with lyrics that ridicule traditional top 40 tracks, which is ironic due to the fact that Green Day has been played heavily on the radio in the past decade.

By the last few songs, the album starts to waver in energy. The songs aren’t necessarily disappointing, but it feels like the album came to a halt too soon.

“¡Uno!” is much like a mix of Green Day’s discography. Influences from past records are easily intertwined within their new songs. Green Day managed to craft a new album that steers clear of creating another political concept album and instead creates a collection of songs with just enough spark to bring back old fans and gain a generation of new ones.

“¡Uno!” will be released on Sept. 25 and is the first of a trilogy of albums, with the next two albums, “¡Dos!” and “¡Tré!,” being released Nov. 13 and Jan. 15, 2013 respectively. These albums will be available for purchase on Greenday.com or iTunes.

I would first like to say that my experience with country music is very limited. Beyond some guilty-pleasure Taylor Swift or the occasional country song that finds itself toward the top of a music chart, I am generally not a country fan.

Therefore, it definitely means something for me to say that this was actually a pretty good album.

That said, there were definitely moments that weren’t for me, but I don’t think I’ve ever loved every song on any album.
I was ready to dislike it from the start, based on the album’s genre. Indeed, the album’s first single “The Wind ,” definitely fit my stereotype of twang-ridden, fiddle-infested country music.

The song’s cartoon-animated music video features lots of beer, swamps, tractors, guns, power-tools and other redneck paraphernalia.

At this point, I was definitely not impressed. Once I got past this song and a little deeper into the album, however, I was pleasantly surprised.

The Zac Brown Band incorporated elements and styles from a wide range of musical genres that gave many of the songs a fresh, unique sound.

There were times I forgot I was listening to a country album, particularly on the album’s title track, which had a driving bass line that I can’t get out of my head, in a good way. As an alternative rock fan, this song really had some appeal to me.

Another song on the album “Island Song ,” was almost pure reggae, with only a slight country twist in the chords and vocal style.

The strength of this band comes from their ability to create country fusion with other styles of music. I found these blended songs to be the most compelling, and found excited to see what style the next song would explore.
That said, several songs were entirely “too country” for me.

Though many of the album’s songs departed musically from a typical “country” sound, the lyrics definitely did not.

Even on tracks that didn’t sound country, such as “Uncaged ,” the lyrics are pretty classic country: “Gonna swim in the coldest river / Gonna drink from a mountain spring” … “Freedom is a gift worth living / Go chase that sunset highway down .”

While it certainly had songs and moments that were not for me, it had just as many that I enjoyed. There’s definitely something for everyone on this album, even if the whole thing isn’t your cup of tea.

If you’re looking to branch out musically, this is definitely an album to take a look at. It certainly has potential to be a gateway album to explore more country.

Grade: B+
Download: “Island Song,” “The Wind”

This ain’t rock. This ain’t country. This is John Mayer. And, yes, he did it again.

John Mayer, notorious for his egotistical brashness and profoundly crude words and acknowledgements, is seen through a different scope. He seems to have transformed while writing this album, which some critics are calling his best album to date. This new, mature John has an appreciative and reflective outlook on life.

After expressing controversial remarks in interviews with “Playboy” and “Rolling Stone” magazines, Mayer took a two-year hiatus from the “neon” lights and buildings with scaffolding to experience a nature-filled paradise where “Born and Raised” was, well, born and raised.

Mayer incorporates new elements of ’70s folk and Americana into his classic blues, rock and soul sound while still keeping his identifiable sound.

Big John Mayer fans know he likes to integrate his world-famous guitar-shredding skills into melodic, hypnotic solos some could even find annoying. This album is different — no two-minute guitar solos can be found in “Where’s Waldo.”

This album begins with the song “The Queen of California,” in which he expresses his happiness to have a certain lady out of his life who was bringing him down and his return to a cheerful, positive way of life. “Age of Worry” says life is too short to worry, and you should live your life because you’ve only got one to live — basically, YOLO.

Some say “Walt Grace’s Submarine Test, January 1967″ is John’s best song to date. It tells a folklore tale about a man named Walt Grace who rode in a homemade submarine. His family never had faith in him to build a boat and sail it, but one day, his wife gets a call about his death at sea.

“Born and Raised” was released at the perfect time, amid all of the new party songs being released this summer. This album will take listeners on a trip into Mayer’s heart and allow them to reflect on life’s ups and downs, just as John did while composing this exceptional and unique work.

Love, of course, is the primary focus of the album. Though her lyrics can be mysterious, Apple is very personal and at times confessional, which provides authenticity to her work. Her songwriting rejuvenates well-worn subjects, like budding romance, with vibrant images (“neon zebra shaking rain off of her stripes”) and creative rhyme schemes that break the toilsome routine of predictable love songs.

Her voice propels her poetry to its fullest potential; it carries an authority from experience. She explores the depths of her voice as an instrument, and from the highest pitch to the lowest whisper, she delivers. Her passions even push her to a broken scream on “Regret” in which she howls, “I ran out of white dove feathers.” Her inability to cleanly hit these notes only add to the performance, and her splintered cry embodies the pain of regret.

Musically, most of her songs consist of piano and percussion. She has shed nearly all extravagances, and what’s left is just a woman and a piano communicating with her audience. Her compositions are beyond merely drums and piano, however; she constructs a variety of percussive sounds ranging from what appears to be a sound loop of footsteps trudging through gravel on “Periphery” to knives and forks banging on jelly jars on “Hot Knife.” The rhythms are often fast-paced and chaotic, matching well with her bare piano.

Apple elegantly combines this minimalist style with many genres including pop, jazz and even classical. Her more traditional pop songs are simple, melodic compositions that still manage to be unpredictable and exciting. Just when you think it’s a basic love song on piano, Apple throws in an instrumental jazz break in “Valentine” and an eerie back track of child voices on “Werewolf.” “Daredevil” and “Jonathan” are impressive in their structure. They supersede classical approaches to songwriting and manage to create a touching and overarching sonic impression of her emotions. “Jonathan,” for example, has a see-saw effect, mimicking the back and forth nature of Apple’s affections.

In “The Idler Wheel…,” Fiona Apple manages the ever elusive feat of revamping her sound while staying true to her roots. Fans will find what they have always loved about her, plus something new and refreshing.

However, Mayer’s latest studio album, Born and Raised, is a redemption album — an apology for all of his past mistakes. It’s an album that literally says “Hard times helped me see / I’m a good man with a good heart.” Battle Studies, his last album, sort of represents the dark days, while on B&R, it’s as if he’s found the light. An uplifting vibe flows through the entire track list and the lyrics indicate Mayer’s desire for atonement.

The opening track, “Queen of California,” begins with the words “Goodbye cold, good bye rain / Goodbye sorrow and goodbye shame.” The song is an embodiment of blissful, up-beat chords and finger-picking on the guitar. “Shadow Days,” the third track and first single off the album, really stands out. It has a melody that immediately draws the listener in, and the guitar and piano
complement each other well.

“Born and Raised,” the title track, is another great one that slows it all down and serenades you with crisp harmonies and harmonica playing. Even slower is, “A Face to Call Home,” a calm
song that picks up around 2:42 with a great guitar riff and the repeating words, “Baby I could stay awhile.”

While the album primarily features crafty guitar pieces, it blends instruments like the piano, harmonica and organ as well. There is a soulful simplicity to the album that was well thought-out. Nothing sounds overdone and there’s no overkill.

Born and Raised is Mayer’s fifth studio album and was released in stores on May 22. It certainly has Grammy potential, so go check it out.

The album, produced by Brian “Danger Mouse” Burton, who has worked with U2 and Gnarls Barkley, begins with a whimsical tune called “Good Morning.”

The song is slow and melodic, but the lyrics reveal that the album was going to take me through all of the stages of her breakup. Lyrics such as, “Good morning / Why did you do it? / I couldn’t sleep / I knew you were gone,” let me know this was the introduction to her journey of a heartache.

“Say Goodbye,” the second song on the album, is surprisingly upbeat considering the context. The song begins with, “Bring me back the good old days / When you left and misbehaved,” which implies there were issues of fidelity in her past relationship.

With a slow but catchy tempo, “Little Broken Hearts” has a haunting feel to it.

“Travelin’ On” is a song about moving on, which made it one of my favorites on the album. The combination of her velvet voice, the simple guitar and the sad violin was fantastic.

Lyrics such as “Hey I’m too weak / It’s too much to fight off / A past so strong,” makes me think she will always be drawn to this heartbreaker.

“Happy Pills” is a pleading song asking her former lover to let her go.

“Miriam” packs a strong punch. I pay a lot of attention to the lyrics, and this song names the enemy quite obviously. Lyrics such as, “Miriam / When you were having fun / In my big pretty house / Did you think twice?” stab at her enemy.

The darkest songs of the album stood out to me, because the listener feels her pain exuding from her lyrics. This album takes the listener on a journey of heartbreak, but her pain makes for some really powerful music.

Grade: A-

Similar to his previous album, “The Adventures of Bobby Ray,” B.o.B features artists on the majority of his tracks. This time around, he shares his spotlight with those such as Taylor Swift, Ryan Tedder and even Morgan Freeman.

Though his previous album has much more of a pop-ish feel, “Strange Clouds” takes on more of a hip-hop sound. The beats are stronger and the bass is louder, showcasing B.o.B’s rapping abilities but leaving no room for a couple of the more upbeat tracks that were present on “The Adventures of Bobby Ray.”

Overall, the sound of the new album is much more consistent, with a definite flow from track to track rather than being all over the place like his last CD was. At times, the songs can seem a bit too similar, but there is some variety throughout the album to break the monotony.

His sound is more developed and, as a result, much better. All the kinks from his previous tracks have been worked out, just as they should be in a second studio album.

Although there isn’t a dance track similar to that of “Magic,” which peaked at No. 10 on the Billboard Top 100 chart, listeners might be inspired to dance in some capacity to the tracks that B.o.B presents this time around, such as “So Good” and “Arena,” the latter featuring Chris Brown and T.I.

“Out of My Mind,” featuring Nicki Minaj, quotes the hit “Airplanes,” but bears no similarity to the track. Nor does any other song on the album, unfortunately for those who were hoping for such.

“Castles,” featuring Trey Songz, is reminiscent of “Nothin’ On You,” and proves to be a strong track on the album. It wouldn’t be surprising if this track were released as a single in the future.

B.o.B’s second album will likely be a best-seller in the weeks to come, with its infectious beats and new sound that pulls listeners in and keeps them on cloud nine.

Grade: B

For many of us, our introduction to Jack White’s raw and ferocious guitar playing was the White Stripes’ 2001 hit single, “Fell in Love with a Girl.” Now, White has moved on from his two-piece days, creating other blues-rock groups The Dead Weather and The Raconteurs, while making time for himself on this solo debut.

Single “Sixteen Saltines” could be the ballsier older brother to the White Stripes’ “Hardest Button to Button.” Staccato-heavy riffs clash between talk-box guitar melodies, an incredible sound that grows with intensity until the very end. “Who’s jealous?” repeats White frantically, the words searching for an answer within an arsenal of roaring cymbals and guitars. There’s a reason why “Sixteen Saltines” was one of the album’s singles. It’s an indicator of White’s never-ending creativity, providing listeners with screeching riffs that are sure to be imitated by blues-rock wannabes.

White can shift from in-your-face guitar madman to relaxed and composed crooner. Take “Love Interruption” for example: driven by a sinister acoustic guitar riff and vocal harmonies between White and his female accomplice Ruby Amanfu, the song is an ode to blues-folk love songs. “I won’t let love disrupt, corrupt or interrupt me, anymore.” It starts off as dispirited; lone lover White searching for happiness externally and realizing that the answer to his problems has been with him all along. Listeners will empathize with White because he’s showing so many sides. Anger, sadness and fear — you’re getting all of the White you can handle.

The songs are refreshing and reassuring, reminding listeners of why they fell in love with White in the first place. He’s still got a bag of lyrical and guitar tricks for even the most devoted White fan, keeping listeners in a comfort zone until the end of the album. This is where the artist shows that he’s comfortable in more genres than just blues. Jazz-tinged country songs “I Guess I Should Go to Sleep,” and “On and On and On” move with a fluid spaciness, the absolute opposite of what listeners were introduced to at the beginning of the album. But it works well, and White is fearless in unfamiliar territory. He allows the songs to just ride and crescendo before bringing in an assortment of explosive guitar licks.

Blunderbuss is a culmination of all White has done. It has traces from all of White’s musical efforts, which is why it could not easily be dubbed merely a Dead Weather album or a White Stripes album. White is confident in his experimentation, and although it may not be completely cohesive from beginning to end, it shows that the guitarist still has plenty of musical ideas to share.

The most disappointing part of “Love” is that Mraz seems to have lost his desire to experiment, sonically or conceptually. On 2005’s “Mr. A-Z,” he dabbled in opera, psychedelic rock, and rap, and wrote songs about airplanes and the moon. Even when Mraz missed the mark, it was refreshing to hear a singer-songwriter exploring in a genre that too often gets caught up in treacly affectations and innocuous platitudes. With “Love,” however, he has abandoned his sense of adventure.

Previously, Mraz’s words and affect were sometimes so silly they bordered on the ridiculous. However, he allowed his lyrics to go down easily by throwing in a healthy spoonful of self-awareness—even his biggest eye-rollers, like “Geek in the Pink,” were accompanied with an obvious enough wink that the listener knew he was having fun in spite of himself. On “Love,” Mraz scarcely bats an eyelash as he tosses out lines like, “With my hand behind you, I will catch you if you fall / I’m just gonna love you like the woman I love.” The groaners on the album—and they are everywhere—are accompanied by none of the irony that made his previous indulgences tolerable.

It also does Mraz no favors that he says absolutely nothing unique about love. The target of his affections is bland and faceless. We are told on “I Won’t Give Up” that looking into his lover’s eyes is like “Watching the night sky / Or a beautiful sunrise,” and on “The Woman I Love,” he alludes to her maybe having some problems. But this is the extent of the complexity he gives to her: the songs on the album could be written about any girl.

Though normally this would simply broaden the songs’ appeal, given Mraz’s new stylistic sterilization it feels more like a cheap marketing ploy. His songwriting, which used to be on the whole frank and straightforward, now feels pedestrian, underwhelming, and contrived. “Ticket lines and places to dine / Taking baths and drinking wine,” he sings on “In Your Hands.” Or, alternatively, on “Living in the Moment,” he sings with a grinning earnestness that is so forced that it almost feels ironic: “I’m living in the moment / Living my life / Easy and breezy / With peace in my mind.”

However, the album is not a complete wash. For one, Mraz’s voice, his best asset, is in top form. On “Frank D. Fixer,” for instance, his voice goes from mellow and soothing to exciting and energetic as he belts out pitch-perfect notes and glissandos that span his register.

And “5/6,” the album’s best track, sees Mraz playing with a compound time signature with satisfying results. His most compelling lines also appear in this song: “Don’t dress up your children like dolls from your past / or they’ll run from you madly, they’ll never look back.” The old Jason Mraz, with his thoughtful songwriting and proclivity for musical experimentation, is in here somewhere.

However, these moderate successes only highlight the glaring failures of the album. There is no shortage of interesting ways to write music about well trodden topics, but Mraz appears largely uninterested in exploring any of them. Despite its subject matter, “Love is a Four Letter Word” is surprisingly hard to love.

It’s true — the singer’s asexuality and innocence have greatly contributed to his appeal and success. Although Bieber is now experiencing the pains of growing up (the recently-turned 18-year-old started out at the young age of 15), he’s maturing more slowly than his contemporaries, allowing his progression to be digested a lot easier by his fans.

Inevitably, Bieber, like those who have come before him, made the long and perilous journey through adolescence, acquiring a deep voice and newly-cropped haircut along the way. Now the question seems to be, will Bieber successfully make the transition from preteen lover-boy to that of R&B singer and mentor Usher, or forever be remembered as the former? The singer’s latest single, “Boyfriend,” seems to show Bieber caught in between.

“I got money in my hands that I’d really like to blow (Swag, swag, swag), on you,” raps Bieber on his latest single. Yes, he raps; it almost comes off as laughably forced, but the compressed guitars and lay-you-down-gently synths indicate that the singer means business. The hip-hop inspired boasts production by fellow R&B artist Mike Posner provide a taste of Bieber’s maturity as an artist and person.

The steps to Bieber’s adulthood have been gradual and cautious: a public kiss with girlfriend Selena Gomez here, a punk-rock-inspired Rolling Stone cover there (did anyone else think Sid Vicious upon seeing that photo?) and a battered and bruised Bieber on the cover of this month’s Complex to top it all off. Of course there have been a few minor stumbles (Bieber flipping off reporters last March), but for the most part, Bieber seems ready for his growth.

The young artist’s perseverance and growing maturity is reminiscent of another Justin: Timberlake. Timberlake and Bieber may not have identical career trajectories, but there are some parallels. For example, Timberlake’s rise to fame also began in innocence as a cast member of The Mickey Mouse Club and a member of the boy-pop group, ‘N Sync.

Fast forward to 2006, and Timberlake released his sophomore album, FutureSex/LoveSounds. The album showed Timberlake’s racier side — I don’t think we’ll ever forget the singer’s video for “What Goes Around…/…Comes Around,” a nine-minute epic that featured lust, love and lies.

Obviously, Bieber’s “Boyfriend” has nothing on FutureSex/LoveSounds in quality, but it is an indicator that Bieber knows that with age comes more sexually suggestive ways of expression. “Spend a week wit your boy/I’ll be calling you my girlfriend,” he raps. It’s not surprising lyrically, but the deep-voiced rhymes, and an atmosphere that channels the sounds of Usher and The-Dream are head-turning, because Bieber has never been known to be a rapper.

The song is not completely bad, but there’s a level of awkwardness in Bieber’s forced delivery and lyrical content that indicate the singer is not fully prepared for the shift. His rapping delivery attempts to show signs of maturity, but the awkwardness and childish flirting stop it from being taken too seriously.

For example, towards the end of “Boyfriend,” Bieber relies on Disney pick-up lines to get his interest’s attention: “I could be your Buzz Lightyear/fly across the globe.”

Fans will still like “Boyfriend” because, although the rapping may come off as unfamiliar, the singing won’t. Even though the lyrical content doesn’t indicate a significant shift in maturity, fans will appreciate that Bieber has not completely abandoned his childish appeal. It’s smart that Bieber is moving slow. As we’ve seen with Miley Cyrus, rushing to appease an adult audience sometimes isn’t the best method.

“I’m constantly thinking about my future,” Bieber said in an interview with Barshad in 2010. “I always listen to what Michael Jackson has to say, and Usher and Justin Timberlake, and how they came out in interviews, and how they were able to transition from teen stars into adult stars.”

Bieber seems to know what he’s doing — as long as he continues to grow naturally with his fans, rather than try to appease one specific age group, the Bieber fever will continue to spread.

The beats underlying Madonna’s voice are sparse and uninteresting productions. They seem to combine hangovers from the ’80s and ’90s with bass tactics more characteristic of popular music today. “Turn Up the Radio” is a pop song that begins with an evenly spaced synthesizer reminiscent of techno hits from the ’80s and eventually transitions into the chorus, “Turn up the radio,” with a wash of bass much like you would hear from a dubstep song today.

It’s not the combination of musical genres that makes it bad — obviously, great musicians do this all the time with success. Likewise, picking and choosing from the past can be a source of innovation for the future. But it would be laughable to suggest this album breeds invention. It seems as if the tinny-sounding beats were made in two minutes from contemporary producers who listened to some of Madonna’s old hits and mixed them with a bit of what we’re used to listening to today.

“Gang Bang,” the album’s second song, is a miserable effort that truly epitomizes the lack of musicality in this work. Madonna is trying to sound like a badass over a pumping beat resembling the soundtrack of a Nintendo Game Boy game. For a song to prompt video game nostalgia rather than appreciation for the actual production is certainly bad news, and unfortunately, Madonna does little in the rest of the album to grab our attention.

Her voice is an instrument of annoyance throughout the album, airily floating around the corny beats. It fails to exhibit any significant contrasts, and she sounds like she’s singing a bad lullaby instead of a pop song most of the time. The offensive simplicity of the background music demands Madonna to infuse some energy, but she doesn’t. Her voice seems detached and childish. Are we watching the intermediate rounds of “American Idol,” or listening to one of the biggest pop artists of all time? Where’s the energy? Not in MDNA.

The lone highlights of the album come not from anything Madonna offers, but rather from Nicki Minaj — whose characteristic pizzazz generates some welcomed energy in “Give Me All Your Luvin’ ”— but the positive experience is over too soon, and we are left with the bare, bare bones of Madonna and silly techno beats.

Considering Madonna’s larger-than-life celebrity status, it would’ve been nice to justify it with an engaging album. Instead, we’re left scratching our heads, asking depressing questions such as “why is this person so famous?” and “why does our society put her on a pedestal?” Sadly, MDNA gives us no answers.

Welcome to the Dr. Dog show. Enter the quintet from Pennsylvania that has made its mark through energetic live shows and quirky lyrics. Hipster hip-shaking and rhythmic beats shall ensue.

Dr. Dog released its sixth studio album, “Be the Void,” Feb. 3 of this year with the intent to professionalize and prune its raw sound that has been stacked together in its quaint Pennsylvania studio since 1999.

“Be the Void” illustrates the emptiness created by the monotonous routine of releasing an album, then touring and putting that playlist on repeat.

”It’s hard, when you spend half your time away from your friends and family, to feel like you’re as connected as you could be to the people around you,” vocalist and bassist Toby Leaman said on their website.

“I think that’s a lot of what this album is about. ‘I’m alone of my own making’ — that attitude. You see that all these people have lives and things go on and on, and if you’re in a band, it’s pretty much static.”

Band members Toby Leaman, Scott McMicken, Frank McElroy, Zach Miller and Eric Slick, otherwise known by their band nicknames Tables, Taxi, Thanks, Text and Teach, respectively, paired up with Rob Schnapf, who has produced tracks for Beck and Elliott Smith, to clean up their sound.

With the first shake of the tambourine on “These Days,” the album places you alongside a beach, driving with the top down and wind in your hair. Leaman sings, “Why you wanna go now?/I don’t wanna go now/Even though my friends are on/And the music’s on.”

Dr. Dog candidly admits its sound is heavily inspired by music from the ’50s and ’60s and their inclination to styles from those decades shines throughout the album.

“Turning the Century” compiles simple harmonies and clever lyrics, which consummate a unique, modern-day Bob Dylan vibe like the lyrics, “Mouth of the river/Spit out the sea/Shake the hands of time/Turning the century.”

“Over Here, Over There” also embodies Bob Dylan influences with peace-induced lyrics, such as “I tip my cap to the heavy, heavy rain/I wave hello when I see a snake go by/I ain’t a fighter, never been in a fight/Can’t get no answers from the other guy.” Other tracks, such as “Heavy Light,” “Warrior Man” and “Do the Trick” all lend themselves to influences from Dylan and The Beatles.

“Be the Void” flows from each song to the next, maintaining one story line in effortless continuity. Each track’s successor makes sense in its place to carry on the sequence. Dr. Dog maintains a light-hearted contentment with the unhappiness it experiences in this void, with the exception of “Vampire,” which unleashes built-up anger it holds for the person it describes as a vampire that does “no reflecting at all/You never think what you do really hurts/You’re always giving me maybe, If I get something at all.”

Loyal to Dr. Dog’s style, “Be the Void” brings back its ’50s- and ’60s-inspired taste and deliciously hip melodies for its fans that experienced almost a two-year void from the release of its last album in 2010, “Shame, Shame.” Well, shame on Dr. Dog for not filling this void sooner.

While many of their early albums have different storylines running through them, from the life of a relationship to a Sergeant Pepper’s-like parade, one can easily appreciate their music thanks to their accessible 60s-pop sound reminiscent of the Beatles and the Kinks.

Albums in 2004 and 2005 showed signs of a transition to a more electronic style, although the elements from their previous five albums still remained in one form or another.

While 2007 marked the release of their landmark achievement, “Hissing Fauna,” and ushered in a new era of funk-inspired music, the biggest change it brought was singer Kevin Barnes’ decision to record albums himself, as well as write lyrics from his own perspective instead of letting a cast of fantastical talking animals and fairies take center stage.

In recent years, Of Montreal’s concerts have not featured any songs from before 2004. While it could be argued that the switch would merely be too jarring, the more likely reason is that Of Montreal has become a therapeutic vehicle for Barnes.

“Paralytic Stalks” has been advertised as the band’s most personal recording yet, which is cause for either concern or excitement depending on which flavor Of Montreal prefers. Among the themes touched on in “Hissing Fauna” are Barnes’ marital strife, his problems with antidepressants and thoughts of suicide, which is about as personal as subjects can get, especially when conveyed in such a naked,  first-person account.

On “Paralytic Stalks,” the track list has been trimmed down to nine songs, and no prior album has had any less than 12.

To compensate, each song now averages over six minutes in length, with one stretching out to 13 minutes long. Opener “Gelid Ascent” fittingly begins with silence before Barnes’ highly-manipulated vocals emerge and gradually become clearer as the song progresses, angrily denouncing someone as “what parasites evolved from.” Gelid, by the way, means extremely icy and cold.

This flows directly into the next song (one trick that has survived over the years is the segueing of multiple songs, as the Beatles often did) called “Spiteful Intervention,” another exceedingly bitter song which, along with titles like “We Will Commit Wolf Murder” and”Exorcismic Breeding Knife,” provide fair warning of the mood that Of Montreal aims to create on this album. However, this is by no means a death metal record.

As demonstrated on Of Montreal’s past few albums, the darkest themes are dressed up in the brightest trappings.  Perhaps the best example is on “Dour Percentage,” where Barnes harmonizes with himself and is accompanied by flutes and keyboards that replicate a brass section.

On previous songs such as “Black Lion Massacre,” Barnes has made the mistake of letting the dark atmosphere choke out anylistenability it might offer. Instead, on “Paralytic Stalks,” he has remembered to employ arresting yet dense production techniques, evoking past masters like Brian Wilson or Phil Spector. On some tracks such as “Wolf Murder,” he may go a bit overboard and near cacophony, but this is always in service of the message of the song.

On “Hissing Fauna,” the mental state of the singer is not only portrayed by the heart-on-sleeve lyrics, but also in the soft or harsh nature of Barnes’ singing and the arrangement of the songs’ moving parts.

Another pitfall of which Of Montreal has been accused is recycling the same tricks over and over again. 2008′s “Skeletal Lamping” represented the peak of what Barnes wanted to accomplish sonically, with tonal shifts occurring at the most unpredictable points in the song—the effect being that if you weren’t keeping an eye on your iPod or computer there would be no telling when one song began and the other ended.

This wasn’t due to any segueing, but rather to the left-field changes in lyrics and instrumentation that would sometimes occur three-quarters of the way into a song. 2010′s ”False Priest” was a disappointing follow-up because it offered nothing new and merely scaled back the ambition, with the only bright spot arriving on “Sex Karma”—a duet between Barnes and Beyonce Knowles’ sisterSolange that actually aimed for pop-crossover appeal and succeeded.

No one can accuse Of Montreal of sounding the same on “Paralytic Stalks.” The spirit of albums past can still be heard, but new styles are introduced on tracks such as “Malefic Dowery,” where an acoustic country sound and tropical getaway mood fight for control of the song as Barnes sings that he “turns to his crotch for counsel.” A line like that would be right at home on the funk sounds of ”False Priest” but seems totally out of place on “Paralytic Stalks.”

The four longest songs on the album are saved for last, where progressive-rock epics like “Ye, Renew the Plaintiff” deliver the best thrills on the album. The newer incarnation of the band is the most effective when it allows room to deliver massive tales of revenge.  Science fiction battles shift to gently strummed confessionals and string sections.

Of Montreal post-transformation remain a love-them-or-hate-them act, but for fans of albums like “Hissing Fauna,” an exciting new direction is promised, proving that the headphones-on, immersive, cohesive rock album is not dead yet.

This standard caused a slew of sound-alike bands. However there were a number of bands that sonically set themselves apart from the glam logjam. None did this better than Van Halen, who released their new album “A Different Kind of Truth” today.

The record is the first full album the band has recorded with original singer David Lee Roth in more than 25 years.

The opening track “Tattoo” is also the lead single for the release. It opens with vocal harmonies and then breaks into a riff that is undeniably Eddie Van Halen. This infectiously catchy, but ultimately forgettable track, is an assurance to fans that the album isn’t going to stray too far from the band they’ve grown to love.

With the next track “She’s the Woman” the bar is raised. This song sounds like it could have been released during the hay-day of Van Halen and been a hit.

Roth’s famous bluesy vocal styling takes center stage on “You and Your Blues.” However Roth is supported by a mammoth staccato riff from Eddie that will conjure up memories of jamming “Panama.”

“China Town” is the Eddie Van Halen throw down I was anticipating. An opening progressive mini-solo transitions crisply into an up-tempo, galloping, guitar assault. This track could’ve been much longer, and could’ve been much more had Roth’s vocals matched the intensity of his rhythm section.

The tempo is pulled back a bit on “Blood and Fire,” which despite the name, sounds like a song one would play while kicking back at an outdoor barbecue. That is the case, until the solo screeches in, which feels like the most emotive solo on the album.

I could be way off here, but in my opinion, “Bullethead” starts off sounding way more like a Gun’s N Roses B-side than a Van Halen song. This song definitely has an edge to it that the previous tracks have lacked, although at the expense of some catchiness.

“As Is” is a drunken screaming roller-coaster ride through the Sunset Strip on a hot summer night. This is highlighted by an epic sweeping solo that will leave the listener wanting more. The song manages to squeeze together the band’s trademark progressive flair, up-tempo franticness and Roth’s attitude in just the right amounts.

The riff at the beginning of “Honeybabysweetiedoll” is absolutely unstoppable, and Roth really gets his crooning going on this track. When the song goes half-time, you will be compelled to bang your head.

Speaking of groove, “The Trouble with Never,” is a masterfully executed wah-wah-powered high-flying adventure. You can tell the band made a conscious effort to not let convention get in the way of writing great music, as they have for the length of their careers.

“Outta Space” is an admirable effort, but for the first time on the album, Roth’s vocals feel strained. And, despite a unique chord progression and some interesting additional guitar work, it has the feel of a filler track.

I never thought anything on this album would remind me of School House Rock but the intro to “Stay Frosty” managed to do it. The acoustic passage is abruptly ended by blasting electric guitar hits. This track features the lyric “If you want to be a monk you gotta cook a lot of rice.”

Another song that sounds like it would’ve flown in the 1980s is “Big River.” If you liked any of Van Halen’s hits, you’ll like this song.

“A Different Kind of Truth” reaches its conclusion with “Beats Workin.’ ” Part slow metal jam, part mid-tempo dirty groove, topped off with Roth’s wails, it’s a fitting end to the album.

As a whole album, “A Different Kind of Truth” really exceeded my expectations and may even find Van Halen reaching a younger audience desperately in need of some radio rock heroes.

Formerly as the singer of plaintive, Fiona Apple-like songs under her given name, Lizzy Grant, she released an album in 2010 that didn’t gain any traction, and she quickly performed an about-face. Lizzy Grant failed, and Lana Del Rey emerged a polarizing Internet-buzz artist.

It’s curious, her decision to scrap her career plans for a redesign: Has she shrewdly taken hold of the media-management behemoth necessary to become a successful singer these days? Or is she just its latest, most tragic victim?

Del Rey is no Lady Gaga. Gaga craftily pulled pop’s greatest bait and switch by first serving up middling dance music so she could turn around and do what she really loved: pure ’80s bombast. But she’s no Rebecca Black either: In a post-“Friday” world, where little production companies churn out slapdash music videos for young girls, we, Del Rey included, are all a little too smart to play the helpless victim.

Lana Del Rey (artist, image, person) and Born to Die are a completely disinterested Lizzy Grant playing along just enough to meet the minimum requirements of a pop star. She’s reached the third wave of self-awareness in the pop canon, where meta becomes self-loathing, where Lizzy Grant knows she has to be Lana Del Rey to be a star and hates every second of it.

Occasionally, she makes the best of it, including on “Video Games” and “National Anthem,” a campy, summery burst that includes the bizarre interpolation of rap verses, a la “Friday.” However, on most of Born to Die, she goes for artificial sweetness; those budget-spy-movie echoes and trills in “Blue Jeans” underline the album’s trifling, forgettable production effects. Not that it’s not a blithely enjoyable song — everything about the Del Rey personage and Born to Die seem engineered to be just the right amount of stirring for everyone to pay attention but not quite enough to be convinced of its greatness.

Those purely synthetic qualities make the album nearly impervious to curdling. On “Diet Mountain Dew,” it’s like Del Rey is taunting us: “Baby you’re no good for me, but baby I want you, I want you.” And “Off to the Races,” in which she embodies kitsch in the form of a “barrio” sex kitten, is a meandering, off-the-wall blitzkrieg. It’s her “Friday”: abhorrent but tuneful; a parasite awaiting your aural host.

It’s her voice, both vaguely operatic and restrained, that draws you into Born to Die’s diminutive sonic and narrative breadth. There’s only one score: moody chamber room strings. All the lyrics tell of her longing, pining, needling for the guy (or is it us?) to come back and love her and that she’s barely dressed and a little drunk. The production and hand wringing is exhaustive, but her voice deserves its own character study; it seems to exist and operate from a completely different place than the person it pours out of.

Born to Die is an album of probing fascination that’s hard to love. But when examined purely as an exercise in the production of a pop artist in 2012 — or what Lizzy Grant and her producers and agent think constitutes a modern pop act — it becomes an intriguing process album. The artist behind the music in this album, this experimentation, this construction, ultimately comes across as removed; but her voice comes through. Perhaps at some point, Lana Del Rey‘s levels of managerial- and self-negotiation will reach a mutual agreement.

Michaelson released her fifth studio album, “Human Again,” Jan. 24 with Cabin 24 Records. The album includes the single “Ghost,” released Nov. 15. In this album, Michaelson has veered away from her coffee-shop lullabies, substituting cute, upbeat love songs with heavier themes such as betrayal, heartbreak and the brotherhood of mankind. “Human Again” reflects Michaelson’s unique musical style with a few drops of Tegan and Sara.

The indie-folk singer released her first studio album, “Slow the Rain,” in 2005, followed by “Girls and Boys” in 2007, “Be OK” in 2008 and “Everybody” in 2009.

Anybody who says they have not heard Michaelson’s music is most likely mistaken. In 2007 the single “The Way I Am” from “Girls and Boys,” which makes anyone want to snuggle in a big, old sweater, was featured in an Old Navy TV commercial. Michaelson’s songs have been featured on the hit TV series “One Tree Hill” and “Grey’s Anatomy,” granting her further recognition and popularity.

The New Yorker has matured significantly in this album, trading in her ukulele for heavy orchestral strings, pianos and thrumming drums.

“Human Again” begins with “Fire,” an upbeat orchestral song that seems rather masochistic as Michaelson sings, “Open heart surgery, that is what you do to me. Cut me up, set me free, that is what you do to me.” Talk about a love-hate relationship.

Next, Michaelson puts her armor on in “This is War” as she battles a one-sided love. This inspirational song has a more intense sound then Michaelson fans are used to, but the sporadic ukulele is recognizable. “This is war, this is war. I will run until I can’t run anymore. Someone’s got to lose. It’s not gonna be this girl this time.” You tell him, girlfriend.

While the main focus in this album is love and heartbreak, Michaelson sings of the bonds of humanity in “Blood Brothers,” emphasizing the importance of mankind sticking together. She sings, “What you need, I need too. What you are, what you are, I am too. ‘Cause we’re all the same under a different name.” We all need to share the wealth and spread the love.

“Black and Blue” is a bit more electronic then most of Michaelson’s songs, but she twists in folk sounds with the occasional whistling tune. Again, Michaelson seems to be mistreated by her lover but continues to love him. “I’m black and blue and in love with you. You said you never would let me fall, you never would let me fall, but I’m falling.”

At this point in the album, I’m getting pretty depressed, although it is a fantastic album. In “Ribbons,” Michaelson got her hopes up with a guy, only to be disappointed. “You put your Sunday best on for us all, painting up a promise that you know will fall. Wrap me up in ribbons, tie me to the wall.”

Michaelson brings back her original sound in this beautiful acoustic ballad “How We Love,” the perfect song for winding down after a stressful day. The song reflects people’s need for love and how easily they can turn on it. “We hate the rain when it fills up our shoes, but how we love when it washes our cars. We love to love when it fills up the room, but when it leaves, oh we’re cursing the stars.”

A song that deserves infinite praise is the single “Ghost.” This goose bump-inducing song, accompanied by tambourines and haunting strings, will leave listeners breathless and heartbroken. You can hear the pain in Michaelson’s voice as she sings, “Do you know that I went down to the ground, landed on both my broken-hearted knees. I didn’t even cry because pieces of me had already died.”

To say that “Human Again” is a good album would be an understatement. Words like “moving” and “stirring” better fit the effects this album will have on its listeners. Michaelson has truly transformed since 2005, and I say it is all for the better.

The band consists of only two members: Dan Auerbach on the guitar and lead vocals and Patrick Carney on drums and production.

The group has made a career of soulfully mixing blues and rock music together to form a heavily stylized and genuine sound. The duo’s latest album, “El Camino” is a perfect showcase of that sound. “El Camino” features the group’s standard of guitar, percussion and bluesy vocals.

However, it also employs an array of backing instruments to complement their individual skills. The album includes tambourines, organs and quite a bit of female soul vocals to back up the singing of Auerbach.

An interesting facet of the group is the chemistry and continuity that can be sensed in their songs. While listening to this album I could hear on different tracks more of a focus on one of either Auerbach’s guitar or Carney’s drums. The sharing of the spotlight shows unselfishness from which both members benefit.

The song “Dead and Gone” begins with drums and those drums, along with other percussion instruments, produce a very unique beat to the song.

In this particular song, Auerbach is still his usual great self, but it feels as if he is simply laying on complimentary vocals and guitar licks over the beat of his partner’s drums.

In the very next track, “Little Black Submarines,” the listener is treated to a display of Auerbach’s wide range of immense talents as a guitarist and a singer. The first two minutes of the song are just vocals and a rare appearance of a beautifully slow acoustic guitar.

The drums then kick in, the guitar switches to electric, the duo rocks extremely hard for two and half more minutes, and Auerbach lays down some of his best work of the album with an electric guitar.

These two tracks are some of the first a listener hears and sets the tone for the rest of the album. This back and forth that the group features, in which both members get opportunities to showcase their individual skills and then come together as a perfect match, creates great chemistry throughout the album.

The group only has two members but has developed many different techniques to create a complex texture on “El Camino”.

The use of layering of multiple guitar tracks with varying degrees of distortion is one of these techniques. Also the mixing in of organs to match and compliment the guitar creates a very hypnotic groove.

That groove is further complimented by the bluesy, soulful voice of Auerbach. The distortion of his voice through the use of different microphones also creates a great deal of texture to the lyrics.

While their music is catchy and very enjoyable to listen to, it’s also very home-grown and true to their blues and southern rock style and influence.

The group has sold over 2 million albums in the U.S., not including sales from “El Camino.” They have performed on the Late Show with David Letterman as well as at the biggest music festivals in the world, including Coachella and Lollapalooza. Just this year the band sold out Madison Square Garden within 15 minutes of tickets going on sale.

I have only one criticism of the band. The lyrical content is on occasion repetitive. The main example of this is in the song “Gold on the Ceiling;” the chorus goes, “They want to get my.” This lyric is almost identical to the chorus of the band’s 2008 hit, “I Got Mine.”

Nevertheless, for the most part, the lyrics are genuine and filled with a great deal of emotion. Virtually every track on “El Camino” is completely new and fresh but still works perfectly with the tracks around it.

The Black Keys have created heavy blues-rock music that can hold its own with any of the classics of past decades and have done it while withstanding pressure to be more pop orientated.

The thing that sets “El Camino” and the Black Keys apart from the crowd and makes them exceptional is the emotion and substance that can be found in their music. When you listen to “El Camino,” you are getting the genuine article, nothing fake or watered down.

Coldplay, whose sound many say was created when they tried to sound like U2 but didn’t quite get it done, is big but tame, instantly palatable and, at times, very good.

This makes it seem that sounding like Coldplay would be a good thing for Snow Patrol, but the problem is the music can end up being predictable and boring, even if it’s not that bad.

A lot of albums are fine for playing in the background to create an atmosphere for a room but are actually fascinating works when listened to closely. “Fallen Empires” has the latter quality nailed down, but nothing about it sets it apart from the crowd.

“Fallen Empires” clocks in at about an hour long, which would be fine if the album were filled with diverse ideas and sounds that absolutely needed to be heard in one sitting, but that’s not the case at all. If the record was a song or two shorter, it would be a much better product, since the songs run into each other and drag on after a half hour or so.

After only a listen or two, album opener “I’ll Never Let Go” seems to lack excitement and at best is akin to a tame “In This Light and on This Evening” era Editors, similar to the other attempts at intense, rocking songs on this album. After a few listens, however, some nice electro elements become more noticeable and you realize the backing vocals are vaguely reminiscent of the vocal solo in Pink Floyd’s “The Great Gig in the Sky.”

Either there’s so much going on in this album that it gets muddled together and gives the impression that nothing is going on — and repeated listens would uncover all of the beautiful intricacies that are actually there — or it is merely a boring record.

Lead single “Called Out In the Dark” will fit right in on the radio, as it is a piece of standard post-Britpop with pop elements everybody seems to love. The track is actually fairly danceable and seemingly tailored for the airwaves. It’s initially catchy but not enduring, so basically, it’s a pop song.

The title track is nestled comfortably in the middle of the track list, which is the perfect place for it because it serves as a pick-me-up from the trench of mediocrity the first few songs have dug. The fast paced guitar, drums and other instruments are grounded by the slowly throbbing keyboard, creating a sense of anticipation that makes listening increasingly interesting as layers of sound are piled onto each other to build into a climax that never really happens. A big, climactic chorus is often predictable, so perhaps this move saved the song from disappointment. Without the lame chorus, the excitement the build-up created lingers in memory instead of the flat apex.

Fans will probably like the album and people who enjoyed “Chasing Cars” will probably like “Called Out In the Dark,” but beyond the title track, there isn’t much of anything a serious listener can invest themselves into.

Like I said, the opening track’s status as a “grower” hints that may be the deal with the rest of the disc as well, but trying to convince yourself that you like an iffy album with a track list as copious as this is not an easy task.

Grade: C+

After Winehouse’s death in July, producers Salaam Remi and Mark Ronson opened the vaults to Winehouse’s unreleased material as far back as 2002 to compile this album. Album sales go toward The Amy Winehouse Foundation, which raises funds to support vulnerable youth.

For those eager to hear what some of the songs on Winehouse’s 2006 release, Back to Black, could’ve sounded like, the album features stripped-down versions of “Tears Dry On Their Own” and “Wake Up Alone.” Lioness’ version of “Tears Dry” is slower and sheds the originally released track’s heavy accompaniment, instead opting for a harmoniously blended choir. The track is less dynamic than the originally released version, making room for Winehouse to milk each note and, in turn, fully convey the heartbreak the song describes. “Wake Up Alone” is refreshed with sweetly simple strings but held back by a dilatory tempo.

When Winehouse echoes at the end of the track, each line resonates — a reminder that she’s no longer with us.

Fans can rest assured cult favorite cover “Valerie” is on this album. The song, originally performed by English rock band The Zutons, takes on a slightly more relaxed tempo as it boasts more soul and less pop.

Reggae infuses the jazz rhythms of “Our Day Will Come” and “Girl From Ipanema.” Both tracks bubble and brim with tropical beats and the brighter, sunnier side of Winehouse’s voice. On ’60s cover “Girl From Ipanema,” Winehouse nasally scats just before surfing into a rich and soulful riff. It’s songs like these that make it easy to forget that this album is a product of this decade and not of a dreamier, more glamorous time of record players and piano bars.

Winehouse’s last known recording, “Body and Soul,” is a duet with jazz singer Tony Bennett. The duet is a throwback that will excite true jazz fans but bore those who prefer Winehouse’s more upbeat and pop-infused songs. The stars show little traces of a generational gap as their voices compliment each other and cling to demure and understated jazz vocals.

A drumroll kicks off the sultriest cover, “A Song For You,” where Winehouse sensually croons with conviction. She sings to a secret lover, “I’ve acted all my life in stages with 10,000 people watching/But we’re alone now and I’m singing this song for you.” Sure to be the next fan favorite, this track proves that Winehouse’s voice can make you forget that a song was originally performed by someone else, in this case, rock ‘n’ roll hall of famer Leon Russell.

On Lioness, Winehouse purrs lyrics that may be difficult to make out but are beautifully stained with emotion that is equal parts heartwarming and heartbreaking. This album does more than pay homage to Winehouse — it serves as a stinging reminder that the world has lost a truly mesmerizing musician.

Even though this is Rihanna’s third album in as many years, it’s surprisingly competent, with a solid mix of leg-spreading beats and that signature Rihanna monotone singing. Despite the fact that dreaded music-recycler, Dr. Luke, produced the first two tracks, “You Da One” and “Where Have You Been,” the songs have an air of freshness to them that was absent on Rihanna’s last album, “Loud.”

She seems to have taken the electronic dance route, which has been the fad in the last two years, to another level. “We Found Love” is mainly a frenzied beat with minimal vocal accompaniment, similar to traditional electronica music. But after that, the album swings in a different direction. The title song is nothing special, with a feature from Jay-Z that’s not very exciting.

Rihanna sometimes gets lost in her own production and that may be because her voice hardly ever reveals any emotion whatsoever. However, she does excel with sex appeal. “Cockiness (I Love It)” and “Birthday Cake” basically yells at everyone listening, “Come and get it, boys (or girls).” There’s something amusing about her blatant abuse of her own sexuality — she’s not taking it too seriously.

An attitude clashes with songs such as “We All Want Love” and “Farewell.” There are two Rihannas going back and forth on this album. The maturing Rihanna wants to be taken more seriously by her peers and showcase her voice and her creativity. The sexual, bubbly Rihanna just wants to dance and sleep around. The latter seems to have won.

This record is pretty good when you look at the fact that this is her third in as many years. It doesn’t feel rushed, but it doesn’t feel completed either. Every artist struggles to find themselves and it’s up to Rihanna to figure if she wants to continue being just a number one single-snatching pop star or a true creative force in pop music.

Grade: B+

“Martyrial Girl$” is particularly reflective of McCoy’s new-found aggression, but it is still rather artificial and frankly, kind of lame. In fact, he even raps “too cool for school” in the chorus. Then again, it was these shallow lines that filled the Schottenstein Center when they opened for Fall Out Boy a few years back, going back to the teenybopper quality.

The split sound of Gym Class Heroes, between attempted “badassery” and wincing optimism, is an ever-present motif of pop music. It is by no means absent on “Papercut II.”

“Life Goes On” and “The Fighter” project this optimism. “Life Goes On” is about exactly what the song title dictates. The other track is a bit more brave. They’re cute songs for bad days that weren’t actually that bad.

Then, predictably, there are the love songs that are churned into singles. On “Papercut II,” this song is “Stereo Hearts,” featuring pop’s all-star, Maroon 5′s Adam Levine. It’s made for the radio, as its refrain elaborates strongly upon. It’s kind of bad.

“Lazarus, Ze Gitan” is a song about being lost in love, with the hook exclaiming, “Oh, I’ve been looking for love in all the wrong places.”

“Holy Horses–t, Batman” and “Ass Back Home” sound like reflections of a 13-year-old finally using the naughty language he learned at school in his diary. Lyrically, these songs are hollow, attempting to discuss some sort of personal conflict about being where “one belongs.” But I am not convinced that these people are having real problems.

“Nil-Nil-Draw” is mostly the same deal with a more fast-paced, percussive McCoy.

The album closes with an angry, screamo-crossover tune with a meaning that is hard to define. I can only hear a series of stereotypically sad statements. If the last track is not indicative of the aggressive songwriting Gym Class Heroes have shown in this record, then I don’t know what is.

Even though they still hold true to an accessible style of music, it’s to a much lesser degree. This is probably because they’re too busy screaming at their parents.

Grade: C

This is exactly what Coldplay has done with the prior records, from “Parachutes” to “Viva la Vida,” and they do this again with “Mylo Xyloto.”

The album has its fair share of built-up chants, littered with plenty of “ohs” and “las.” The second single from the album, “Paradise,” is full of them.

“Mylo” thus proves itself to be sonically captivating in much the same manner of its predecessors. “Charlie Brown,” “Every Teardrop Is a Waterfall,” and “Don’t Let it Break Your Heart” have the same power (or intended power) of “Fix You” or “Viva la Vida.” They’re strong, musically busy tracks with happily memorable melodies and empathetic lyrics.

There is a great deal of synthpop and electronic influence in this year of music, and “Mylo” is no exception. The Rihanna-featured “Princess of China” has those poppy sensibilities as well as much of the instrumentation of the album’s first single, “Every Teardrop.”

“Us Against the World” is a “cute” song. It primarily features lead singer Chris Martin and an acoustic guitar, with some very ‘90s alternative rock backing. It takes a break from much of the album’s fast-paced quality but definitely still supplies that same impassioned lyricism, much to the same manner as “X&Y’s” final track, “Til Kingdom Come.” The track “U.F.O.” provides a more minimal version of this same type of song.

The album’s sole dreary track is “Major Minus,” combining a rigid two-chord pattern with a dissonant electric guitar line. The lyrics are winding and synthesize a sort of confusion within the voices of the song. Nonetheless, outside of the album’s minor key disorientation, the chorus is flooded with “ohs” galore.

Creating something completely “new” is not a strong point for Coldplay. Its lyrics cover much the same feeling and concepts (if they really are present).

Alongside lyricism, they still are musically “big” as they are on every one of their previous records.

Regardless, Coldplay knows what it is doing with its songwriting and it know how to connect. I sincerely doubt that the band’s talent will ever deter.

Grade: B

“Soul Punk” is exactly what I would’ve expected from a solo Patrick Stump: a slew of pop and R&B-esque tracks. This is particularly evident in the hyper-pop beginnings of the record with the tracks “Explode” and “This City.” Stump croons in his pseudo-squeal of a voice, but instead of music sounding like “Dance, Dance” it’s the sound of “Got Money.”

Once again, I cannot say I’m surprised about the turnout.

However, one ought to give credit where it is due. Stump is a gifted producer, and for that I’ll salute him. The record definitely has a crisp sound and professional quality to it. Stump also messes around with different instrumentation, save the hard rocking guitar moment on “Run Dry (X Heart X Fingers).”

Even though it’s nice to see a musician grow and experiment, it would be a lie to say that Stump has done anything particularly original here. “Soul Punk” will go up with the likes of Maroon 5′s “Songs About Jane” for predictable songwriting backed with high vocal pitch.

The album’s opening tracks serve as a template for the significantly less catchy songs that follow. Case-in-point: On the song “Everybody Wants Somebody,” Stump sings, “Everybody wants somebody who doesn’t want them” then goes on to shout about “not getting hurt, baby.” Boring.

The album continues as such in its hardly surprising manner, finally concluding with a cute remix of “This City” with Lupe Fiasco. It sounds like T-Pain met up with Panic! At The Disco.

Stump’s solo release is painfully radio friendly, which is unfortunate. Stump is extremely talented as a producer and a musician (he played all of the instruments on Soul Punk by himself). Stump is mainly misguided with his talents, producing superficial tunes instead of something much greater.

Grade: C

The strangest thing about this record is its superficial similarities to Wilco’s third album, the brilliantly twisted “Summerteeth.” This album took classic ‘60s pop forms and incongruously adorned them with psychotic themes, impressionistic lyrics, and a crushing sense of depression. Where this reimagining of classic pop music made the old seem new, Wilco dabbles in the same forms on “The Whole Love,” only this time their aim is rote emulation rather than innovation. “Dawned On Me” continues pop music’s love affair with meaningless poetic contradictions—”Heart of coal / Heart of gold”—and the instrumentals consist of a basic chord structure played by mumbling, distorted guitars over an unimaginative drum beat. Songs like this, “Sunloathe,” and “Standing O” seem like pointless rehashings of old cultural forms.

Occasionally, though, Wilco strikes A.M. gold, as on “Born Alone.” Here the sanguine bass and small, tight drums lightly push Tweedy’s more imaginative lyrical performance. His first verse is provocative, if elliptical: “I have heard the wall and worry of the gospel / Ferry Faust it crossed a void / I have married broken spoke charging smoke wheels / Spit and swallowed opioid.” The quirky sunny quality of the verse shifts eloquently into the taut, climactic chorus guitar line. The title track’s rollicking organ arpeggios, acoustic guitar octaves, and light-footed guitar lines also make for a glorious, eminently listenable, carefree pop song. “Capitol City,” with its goofy Randy Newman jaunt and self-conscious winks of atmospheric noise, is a joy, but it’s little more than a small pop song, cautiously assembled as if the group were following instructions. A bit more than a minute into the song, a rustling of noise similar to the opening of “Wishful Thinking” floods the background before rapidly fading, only serving as a brusque reminder that Wilco’s artistic mission has shifted from innovative sonic craftsmanship and soulful emotional excavation to faithful, contented emulation.

Wilco’s best songs have always been deconstructed or blown-up folk songs—see “Poor Places” or “I Am Trying to Break Your Heart”—and their new sonic identity allows them room for gracefully unadorned folk songs. While this freedom also permits irritating, corny filler like “Open Mind,” the album’s delicate 12-minute closer, “One Sunday Morning (Song for Jane Smiley’s Boyfriend),” is one of their finest recordings to date. Tweedy introduces each of his perfect couplets with a devastatingly penetrating line that he follows with equally poetic exposition—“I fell in love with the burden / Holding me down”— and the band punctuates each verse with the melodic refrain, a piano and guitar riff that nears the elegant simplicity of “Ashes of American Flags.” As Tweedy sings, the instrumentals that often sound unfocused throughout the album meander in and out of musical representations of the lyrics—a piano trill evoking “I feel relief / I feel well,” for instance, and a set of ghostly parallel fifths cascading down like bells on Sunday morning.

The most concerning song on the album is “Art of Almost,” a seven-minute opener similar to the Krautrock “Spiders (Kidsmoke)” off “A Ghost is Born.” The occasional bursts of noise, constant pulse of synthesizer, and skittish drums seem like clear attempts at a Radiohead-esque tightly constructed freak-out. However, its experimental bursts, fuzzed out guitars and bass, and meticulous production are so excessively tasteful as to neuter the song. “Almost” replicates in miniature the entire album’s unspoken aesthetic of calculated risk—of artful almosts. Despite this, the record’s best tracks are so stellar as to maintain what might seem an otherwise unjustified faith in the group that gave us some of the best music of the new millennium.

Guetta’s new album, “Nothing But the Beat,” is nothing out of the ordinary and is chalk full of potential singles and dance club anthems, as if Guetta would provide anything less.

The guest list possibly has more A-listers than any previous Guetta album has had before. The Black Eyed Peas’ will.i.am , Akon and Flo Rida are returning collaborators, while Jessie J , Usher and Sia lend their vocals for some near perfect ready-for-club songs.

But Nicki Minaj steals the spotlight on “Nothing But the Beat” with two killer tracks, “Where Them Girls At” and “Turn Me On.” These are the best tracks on the album by far and may be Guetta’s greatest creations — aside from “Who’s That Chick” with Rihanna and his award-winning remix of Madonna’s “Revolver.”

Aside from the Nicki Minaj tracks, “Little Bad Girl,” featuring Taio Cruz and Ludacris , is one of the coolest tracks. “Little Bad Girl” was leaked earlier this year and was added into my top ten favorite David Guetta songs with the contagious dance fever it emits.

“Night of Your Life” is another highlight on the album because Jennifer Hudson’s sultry vocals blend in perfectly with Guetta’s synths and piano chords. Though I don’t see this becoming a single for radio stations, it is a breath of fresh air in the world of techno music with Hudson’s added R&B diva flair.

Guetta’s execution of “I’m A Machine” was flawless, but one could easily mistake Crystal Nicole’s featured vocals for Kelly Rowland . “I’m A Machine” sounds like it could have been a perfect follow-up to the success of “When Love Takes Over,” but maybe Rowland was too busy recording her current album to squeeze in studio time with Guetta.

And this review would not be complete without the recognition of the Timbaland collaboration on “I Just Wanna F.” with Dev . It seems Timbaland has been hiding under a rock since Guetta has taken his place as “Master of Producing Collaborations,” and it’s nice to finally see him back on the music scene.

The deluxe version includes bonus instrumental-only tracks, something clubs would have a field day with. Two collaborations with fellow producer Afrojack are the standouts of these pounding bass and synth-heavy records.

Grade: A-

Download This: “Little Bad Girl,” “Turn Me On” and “Night of Your Life”

Their 10th studio album, “I’m With You,” serves as a perfect recap of the band’s storied career, as it uses different elements of their various styles to create a cohesive and entertaining listening experience.

New to this album is guitarist Josh Klinghoffer, who replaces virtuoso and longtime RHCP John Frusciante.

Frusciante served as a staple to their sound on five of their most successful studio releases such as 1989′s “Mother’s Milk” and 1999′s “Californication.”

Vocalist Anthony Kiedis, drummer Chad Smith and bassist Flea remained at their respective positions for this album.

The RHCP also stayed constant with longtime producer Rick Rubin for “I’m With You.”

The band requested that Rubin master the album specifically for iTunes customers, clearly realizing the importance of a strong online marketing strategy in today’s world. This, I think, serves as a testament to their knowledge not just of music, but of the music business as a whole.

“I’m With You” is another strong outing for one of the most famous acts of our generation. Like always with the Red Hot Chili Peppers, the sound is largely focused on funky bass lines, unique vocal melodies and chorus hooks for listeners worldwide to sink their teeth into.

I feel, however, that some songs stand out more than others. So, below I have compiled a sampling of those tracks worth checking out.

Track One, “Monarchy of Roses”

The opening track to “I’m With You” immediately grabs the listener’s attention with Anthony Kiedis’ trademark vocal style layered with effects as a slow build up to the main riff.

The song is carried home from there with Flea’s bass line driving the rhythm section and Keidis finding a catchy chorus melody worthy of replay.

Overall this track serves as a reminder that, despite a five-year hiatus, the Red Hot Chili Peppers have not forgotten the sounds that made them a household name in the early ‘90s.

Track Four, “Ethiopia”

This song showcases the Chili Peppers’ African influences in full bore.

The song begins with a bass line and drumbeat played in an odd time signature that exhibits their talents as musicians a bit more than previous tracks. The song develops into a traditional Chili Peppers song from here with Kiedis rapping and singing his way through a track that is vintage Chili Peppers funk rock.

I feel this song captures their unique sound better than any other track on the album, and it is definitely a track worth checking out if you are new to the band.

Track Twelve, “Even You, Brutus?”

Track 12 is one of the Chili Peppers’ grooviest tunes to date. Driven by jazz piano courtesy of bassist Flea and rhyme-laden rapping by Kiedis, “Even You, Brutus?” is a track that will make heads across the globe bob in unison.

It also marks the evolution of the band’s members, with Flea stepping off the bass and behind the piano to put on display his well-rounded musical talents.

“I’m With You” is a perfect reminder of why the world fell in love with the Red Hot Chili Peppers and is certainly an album worth checking out if you’re a fan of their previous work.

It seems the new guitarist is a bit lackluster, a void left by Frusciante when he left the group.

Despite this minor failing, the album is solid and will stand as another shiny feather in the band’s already filled cap.

The new album incorporates some of the softer side of RHCP while keeping a grasp on the catchy tunes that made them who they are today. This album is worth the purchase.

It could be argued that Jay-Z has the darker sound of the two, with heavier beats than one would expect to find on an album from Kanye West, but “Watch the Throne” wisely uses beats that sound much more like the background on Jay-Z’s song “Renegade” than what was present in Kanye West’s “All of the Lights”.

“808s and Heartbreak” was, in many ways, a forerunner to “Watch the Throne”. While many saw that album as a disappointment, I think that the inclusion of Jay-Z in the verses makes everything seem a little better on “Watch the Throne”.

I may be a little biased because I enjoyed “808s and Heartbreak” in a way that many listeners did not, but that’s partially because “808s and Heartbreak” was a departure from the usual Kanye West sound. In the same way, “Watch the Throne” is also a departure from that sound, although elements of “My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy” are clearly present here.

One of the strongest aspects of this album are the additional collaborators who are brought in for the album. I personally enjoyed Beyonce’s contribution to the song “Lift Off”, which brought more of an up tempo flair to the album than can also be found in other songs.

Otis Redding, however, is the one who really shines in the album with the song “Otis”, which was performed at this year’s VMA ceremony. There’s a reason it was performed at the VMAs: other than “No Church in the Wild”, it is probably the strongest song on the album. Vaguely reminiscent of “Heart of the City (Ain’t No Love)” off of Jay-Z’s “The Blueprint”, the song simply works and has a surprisingly catchy tune.

The other song I mentioned as being one of the best on the album, “No Church in the Wild”, features Frank Ocean and has more of a Kanye-centered feel in contrast to the Jay-Z centered “Otis.” “No Church in the Wild” sounds much like “Lost in America” from Kanye West’s “My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy” album and is a terrific beginning to the album.

When it comes down to it, there’s just very little to complain about with “Watch the Throne.” I was initially a little skeptical of the two rappers collaborating on album. The two have very distinct sounds and I was curious if the two could mesh well enough to produce an entire album.

I’m happy to report that they did so successfully. “Watch the Throne” is awarded five stars out of five and I would highly recommend that rap and hip-hop fans pick up the album.

Lil Wayne is almost 30 years old and if “Tha Carter IV” gives us any indication of his mental state, he’s a grown man and he’s got a lot on his mind.

Two years ago Lil Wayne was coming off the multi-platinum smash hit album “Tha Carter III,” and it seemed like you couldn’t turn on a radio without hearing his trademark lighter flick followed by his bullfrog voice croaking out classic lines. He was riding a tidal wave of success, and it seemed like he could do no wrong.

A year later, Lil Wayne’s stranglehold on hip-hop culture was slipping through his fingers. A year-long prison sentence was looming, and his rock-rap album “Rebirth” was hitting the shelves and underwhelming critics and fans alike.

Upon his release from prison he quit his longtime codeine syrup habit and stopped trying to be a rock star, and his newfound creative energy brought innovative focus to “Tha Carter IV”.

“Tha Carter IV” (which hits shelves Tuesday) explores Lil Wayne’s newfound maturity and his growth as an artist. There are still remnants of the goofy swagger and playful lyricism that made him famous, but for the most part the album feels like the first album from a new chapter in Lil Wayne’s career.

There are themes of regret on “Nightmares at the Bottom,” lost loves on “How to Hate (feat. T-Pain),” and his recipe for brushing off the haters on “Abortion.” Plainly stated, this isn’t the same Lil Wayne CD that you jammed out to in high school. It’s Lil Wayne for adults.

“Devil on my shoulder/The lord is my witness/So on my Libra scale I’m weighing sins and forgiveness,” Lil Wayne proclaims on “She Will (feat. Drake).”

These kinds of self-defeating contradictory lyrics define what separates this album from the previous three installments of “Tha Carter.” There are fewer party songs than the Carter’s past, and I’m sure that will divide some of his fans, but the raw and ferocious lyricism is still present, and in hip-hop, that’s all that matters.

With that said, the hit single “How to Love” feels out of place on the record. Had it been left off the final track list I would have proclaimed “Tha Carter IV” the best rap album of the year.

Two of the stronger tracks on the album don’t feature Lil Wayne. The interlude and outro carry one continuous beat and features blistering verses from Tech N9ne, Andre 3000, Nas, Bun B and Busta Rhymes. It’s not very often that you find a rapper willing to give up six minutes of his album to other rappers, but he did it for the greater good of the music. Weezy is a different breed of rapper, and even more so than before, he’s confident and willing to take risks.

“Tha Carter IV” reveals Lil Wayne’s ability to rise above the youngsters of the rap world. His lyricism and originality proves that even though hip-hop is a young man’s game, Lil Wayne is a grown ass man.

Months of hype built as Jay-Z and Kanye West (henceforth known collectively as “The Throne,” the moniker the duo has adopted for their upcoming tour) labored on their all-star collaboration, but the album seemed to be stuck in development hell. Eight months after it was announced, “Watch the Throne” has finally landed, and to say it lives up to the hype is, well, an understatement.

The album’s first track features the smooth hooks of silky Frank Ocean. “No Church in the Wild” gets serious, and Ocean’s other appearance, “Made in America,” a sublime and powerful track, is quite possibly the best piece on the album.

The album’s next single, “Lift Off,” is reminiscent of “All of the Lights” from West’s last album, “My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy.” Beyoncé delivers the chorus over rousing horns, though her verses get repetitive and laborious and the track ultimately falls somewhat short of the mark.

With “Otis,” the second single off the album, The Throne stripped down to basics and produced a wonderful track, balancing boastful verses against samples of Otis Redding’s easy voice. West delivers one of his best verses ever, rapping, “I made ‘Jesus Walks,’ I’m never going to hell / Couture level flow, it’s never going on sale / Luxury rap, the Hermes of verses / Sophisticated ignorance, write my curses in cursive.”

The Throne seems to have taken a liking to the dubstep movement as two tracks, “Who Gon Stop Me” and a little more vaguely in the catchy ballad “Why I Love You,” have noticeable dupstep influences.

“Watch the Throne” strikes a nice chord between serious and fun. Tracks like “New Day” are reminiscent of West’s early albums, where he raps, “And I’ll never let my son have an ego / He’ll be nice to everyone, wherever we go / I mean, I might even make ‘em be Republican / So everybody know he love white people.”

Lighter, somewhat disappointing tracks include “Ni**as in Paris,” which features some of Jay-Z’s best verses on the album, the bland “Gotta Have It,” and “Welcome to the Jungle,” which doesn’t, in fact, reference the song of the same name by Guns N’ Roses at all. The catchy “That’s My Bitch,” however, has plenty of replay value, despite its silly title.

Tracks like “Murder to Excellence,” though, are anthems that complement the more fluffy fare, faintly channeling the Jay-Z of “99 Problems.”

“H•A•M,” the album’s first single, was released in January to lukewearm reception, and is ultimately dropped from the album’s final set of 12 tracks. Relegated to the deluxe edition’s set of four bonus tracks instead, “H•A•M,” like the three other bonus tracks, is not a particularly compelling or worthwhile listen.

If “Watch the Throne” can be faulted for anything, it’s a mild lack of imagination. Traces of dubstep were a nice breath of fresh air, but apart from the concept of the album, the rest of it lacked any real innovation of consequence. Given The Throne’s status as being among the most elite and cutting-edge producers in popular music, that’s quite a disappointment.

Still, “Watch the Throne” has the thumbprints of Jay-Z and Kanye West all over it, which on their own would ordinarily account for a successful album, but combined makes this grandiose clash of titans an instant classic.

Striking a pleasing balance between pop fun and, at times, melancholy seriousness, “Watch the Throne” – a game-changer almost assured to inspire more big-name collaboration albums – is the product we came to expect of the duo who sits comfortably on the throne of the rap kingdom.

Verdict: 4 stars (out of 5)

Beyoncé’s fiery return to mainstream pop music this year has been hard to ignore. From her performance during Oprah’s farewell blowout to her American Idol finale showstoppers, the Houston native seems quite opposed to the art of subtlety. Instead, she’s everywhere, speaking and singing yet again for all the single ladies, girls, Sasha Fierces and what-have-yous who are crazy in love, dangerously in love or still trying to get over a man who did them wrong.

Her fourth solo album, 4 (very clever, Mrs. Jay-Z), does little to back up her run-the-world mentality though. None of the songs seem capable of taking off as well as her 2008 track “Single Ladies (Put A Ring On It),” a song that arguably defines Beyoncé’s career.

In discussing what went into the making of this album, the superstar has repeatedly said she took a break from the spotlight and made herself an audience member, attending numerous concerts and performances, all the while discovering new sounds and elements to add to her own music. In a way, this is Beyoncé trying to redefine her sound.

But the result is a mix of too many sounds that seem to boil down to a mellow type of R&B album that sounds like a product of the 1990s scene, when groups like En Vogue and Boys II Men were at their peak. On tracks like “I Miss You” and “Love On Top,” Beyoncé is singing to high-’90s heaven, with smooth, seductive jazz beats to back her up.

To accompany her R&B devotion, she rasps, screeches and screams through a handful of ballads, especially “1+1” — one of the two songs she performed on Idol. The song was set to be released as the second single off the album, but “Best Thing I Never Had” was chosen instead, and reasonably so.

Beyoncé treads the line between “good” and “bad” singing with songs like “1+1.” She sings, If I ain’t got something I don’t give a damn / ’Cause I’ve got it with you. The line starts out beautifully melodic, but when she gets to you, someone is apparently pulling her hair to get her to sing at an awkwardly high pitch. The song is difficult to sit through, and its lack of a chorus will not make it work if she releases it as a single. The screeches also provoke the question, “Why is Beyoncé so angry?”

But among these mediocre recordings lies the track “Party,” featuring the elusive André 3000 of Outkast, and a short talk-rap intro and outro from Kanye West. The track was leaked early (along with the entire album), and “Party” was a highly anticipated ordeal.

Too bad the party is lame.

The tempo is too slow for the names behind the song, and what could have been the summer song to end all songs turns into another forgettable ode to how much Beyoncé loves some guy. Yes, Jay-Z, she’s looking at you.

The best attempt to convey the supposed array of influences she used to make the album comes with the songs “Countdown” and “Run the World (Girls).” On “Countdown” she uses jazz sounds reminiscent of the 1950s and 1960s, infused with reggae, hip-hop and soul. It’s something uplifting and fun, but buried way too late in the tracklisting.

“Run the World (Girls)” makes sense as the first song off the album. The African drum beats and haughty attitude are familiarly Beyoncé-esque.

The best song on the album, and the second single, is “Best Thing I Never Had.” She sings that she’s through with you and it sucks to be you right now, refreshing and real words from a lady who dresses up many of her song lyrics far too often. When she’s at this type of genuine point in her art, Beyoncé is most vulnerable and enjoyable.

In total, Beyoncé offers 12 new tracks, but the singer reportedly recorded 72 songs between 2008 and 2011 and submitted them all to her record company, Columbia Records. To think that these were the best bunch out of 72 is quite a letdown. Still, she’ll be running the world for years to come, even with subpar music to back her up.

Many have already dubbed it the worst pop song of all time and for good reason. Black’s voice sounds like a demon straight out of auto-tune hell. The lyrics include such poetic gems as, “Yesterday was Thursday, Thursday. Today is Friday, Friday,” and the video seems like a cheesy parody of itself.

Black’s breakout success represents everything that is wrong with the modern recording industry.

Oh, and don’t forget the awkwardly placed rap portion in the middle with a guy talking about swerving around school buses. Who is this guy, and isn’t he a bit old to be going to parties with 13-year-olds? He has a moustache.

The song’s become a viral car crash – awful to listen to but impossible to turn away from. It’s garnered 61 million views (and counting) on YouTube, 37,000 downloads on iTunes and has already been covered by the Jonas Brothers.

It’s also baffled the music media, leaving some to wonder if it was all actually some kind of Borat-esque joke criticizing the recording industry itself. Rolling Stone called it “an unintentional parody of modern pop,” while Time magazine deemed it “a whole new level of bad.” Other criticisms weren’t so polite – one YouTube comment urged Black to “go cut yourself and die.”

Ouch, that’s painful to hear. Then again, though, so is the song.

Black has taken a lot of criticism from, well, practically everybody over the song, and while some of it might be deserved, a lot of it seems misdirected.

For instance, she didn’t write the song. In fact, she had very little to do with its final outcome at all. Most of that is the result of Ark Music Factory, a record label of sorts, which Black’s mother paid $2,000 in exchange for the recording and video of one of two songs.

Black chose “Friday” because, as she told The Daily Beast, “The other song was about adult love – I haven’t experienced that yet.”

She talked about the background of the song on “Good Morning America,” where, far from the anti-Christ of music some have pinned her as, she actually comes off as a sweet kid only in a little over her head.

When one critic complained, “I hate her voice. It’s going to be stuck in my head forever,” Black responded with a childish grin. “Well, I think that’s an accomplishment, you know?” she said.

“Even if someone doesn’t like it, it’s still stuck in their head. That’s the point of it, a catchy song.”

If anyone deserves criticism for this whole debacle, it’s Black’s mother and the producers. Anyone who would pay $2,000 for her daughter to have a record deal should have her head checked.

And any songwriter who would write a song about whether to sit in the front or backseat should have his or her fingers chopped off to protect the world from anymore aural assaults.

Black has learned a few important lessons from her 15 minutes of fame – lessons all of us in our look-at-me culture would be wise to heed.

For one, when out for the public to see, expect some amount of criticism in return. This is especially true in the world of music, in which people’s tastes and views are as personal as religion.

That’s part of the reason for the ferociousness of the backlash. Music is an intimate thing for many people. Right or wrong, they take music this bad as a personal insult.

For them, “Friday” sums up everything wrong with today’s music industry in a single, four-minute sample.

An even broader lesson, though, is this – when we seek out fame, sometimes we find it, but not for the reasons we want. It’s a lesson many reality TV stars have learned the hard way: It’s easier to become famous for something bad than something good. In the quest for stardom, overnight popularity is more often found with infamy than dignity.

Luckily for Black, the Internet has the attention span of a hyperactive 12-year-old on a sugar high. Things are forgotten as quickly as they blow up, so Black will fade away pretty soon, which is probably best if she ever wants to be a serious singer.

Maybe she can try again in a few years, this time with decent producers and a song that doesn’t involve singing the days of the week.

Until then, she should probably just laugh along with the crowd.

After all, there’s a certain amount of pride in having sung one of the worst pop songs ever.

“Femme Fatale” opens with its second single, “Till the World Ends,” which previews an explosive dance theme prevalent throughout the entire album. It sounds more like the usual Spears than the first single, “Hold It Against Me,” which was criticized for its weak lyrical content by Billboard Magazine.

Although most of the lyrics sound like they could’ve been co-written by Rebecca Black, they’re still catchy.

This effort is, without a doubt, a dance record with no ballads or slowing down of any kind, save for “Inside Out,” a sultry, R&B-flavored song, and “Trip To Your Heart,” a breathy, fairytale-esque number.

The more powerful songs include, “Criminal” and “(Drop Dead) Beautiful” featuring unknown artist, Sabi. “Seal It With a Kiss” has an irresistible beat with overall better lyrics.

However, an album is only as strong as its weakest song and they are numerous. “How I Roll” and “I Wanna Go” blend together in an electronic haze that’s hard to shake.

Will.i.am‘s efforts on “Big Fat Bass” sound exactly what the title of the song promised: a whole lot of bass and very little musical prowess.

The deluxe version contains four more songs. Combined, these deluxe songs are better than the overall album.

This latest record points to a singer who has completely given up her spark and is only doing this to please her fans.

The Spears of the “Blackout” era, the one that buzzed her head and beat up cars with umbrellas, is gone and has been replaced by Jive’s new and auto-tuned version.

One of the early tracks, “No Bulls—,” features Brown taking a more “romantic” approach to telling his girl about the sweet love they’ll be making. When the track first appeared on a Valentine’s Day mixtape, he introduced it by saying, “It’s Valentine’s Day so make sure y’all do that special thing for the ladies.” His tone made it sound like, well, bulls—.

I certainly can’t accuse Brown of being unrepentant; “All Back,” the best song on the album, features the star apologizing for unnamed past sins and wishing he could take it all back. Although Rihanna is not mentioned by name, Brown’s sincerity is unquestionable.

One line in the opening track, “Deuces,” raises eyebrows, however. Kevin McCall, a guest rapper, references Ike Turner and Tina Turner in his verse, probably the most notorious case of spousal abuse in music. It should have been a no-brainer for removal, but whoops, there it is.

“Look At Me Now” is a blast, but only thanks to the verbal acrobatics of Busta Rhymes and Lil Wayne, who put Brown to shame. Brown’s sexual suggestions also get out of hand on “Wet The Bed.” I might not be the biggest Casanova on campus, but I was honestly a tad grossed out.

Obviously, Brown had some issues to address on this album and you can’t ask an R&B star to stop doing what he does best. But he is set to release a second album, “Fortune,” later this year. He could have dedicated one album to both topics, as opposed to sending mixed messages in both.

The 26-year-old singer has grown up since she released “The Best Damn Thing” in 2007. In 2009, she and Deryck Whibley of punk band Sum 41 ended their three-year marriage. Interestingly, Whibley produced Lavigne’s new album and inspired a couple of breakup ballads.

Though heartfelt, Lavigne’s attempts at slow numbers are boring. Tracks such as “I Love You,” “Everybody Hurts” and “4 Real” have lyrics and melodies that are just as simplistic as their titles. Unfortunately, these seemingly interchangeable ballads make up most of the album.

Where Lavigne succeeds is in the up-tempo tracks where she asserts her independence. Much like her 2007 hit “Girlfriend,” “What the Hell” is the best song on the album, and it’s no wonder it became her first single. But any song where Lavigne relies on swear words seems to do the trick. “Smile,” another danceable track, opens with the line, “You know that I’m a crazy b—-/ I do what I want when I feel like it.” That attitude is more suited to the pink-streaked haired Canadian than her more subdued tracks, at least until she steps up her song-writing.

“Stop Standing There” is also a high point on the album. Claps and snaps add some body and playfulness to the song, elements that are lacking in tracks such as “I Love You,” which has a thin melody and uninspired lyrics.

Lavigne has a handful of songs on the album with enough pep to make it big on the radio, but the majority of tracks on “Goodbye Lullaby” will put listeners to sleep.

Both the content and release of “The King of Limbs” thoroughly eradicate any notion that Radiohead plans to continue in the crowd-pleasing, accessible vain of 2007’s “In Rainbows.” “The King of Limbs” contains nothing remotely similar to that album’s “Bodysnatchers”; in fact, its unrelentingly sparse production makes it difficult to imagine that Radiohead ever put out the modern rock of “OK Computer” and “The Bends.” The release of “The King of Limbs” was just as subtle — a simple announcement appeared on Radiohead’s website on Monday, Feb. 14. Four days later, the album was out with no significant promotional effort and no repeat of the “pay-what-you-want” gimmick of “In Rainbows” — just a few options for purchase of a digital download or a deluxe edition with “newspaper format” artwork.

Sonically, “The King of Limbs” bears a lot of resemblance to Thom Yorke’s recent sparse, electronic-based solo work and also resurrects and enlivens the weaker material from “Amnesia” (2001) and “Hail to the Thief” (2003). “Codex,” for example, embellishes the somber beauty of “Sail to the Moon” with a more delicate piano line and crystalline lyrics like “The water’s clear and innocent.” “Give Up the Ghost,” perhaps the best track and certainly the most mournful, forms from a mesmerizing vocal loop what could be a dirge from another dimension. Perhaps most distinct difference between “The King of Limbs” and previous releases is a deemphasize of Jonny Greenwood’s guitar, which remains mostly in the backdrop until the closing track, “Separator,” where Yorke murmurs, “If you think this is over you are wrong,” in a line widely speculated to promise the imminent release of more music.

The grimness of “The King of Limbs” may result in a bitter first impression, but its rewards lie in getting lost in the music. “The King of Limbs” reinvents Radiohead’s sound and serves as a reminder that Radiohead can produce phenomenal music without catering to the expectations of fans. “The King of Limbs” is a masterpiece created on Radiohead’s own terms.

This year’s award show congregated a variety of artists from Muse to Justin Bieber and included strange sights including hip-hop gal Nicki Minaj in a completely leopard-print outfit and a Frankensteinian hairdo to Lady Gaga arriving in an egg carried by supermodels.

The real surprises came in a few important categories, namely the Best New Artist category.

The nominees included obvious favorites like Drake and Justin Bieber, but the award went to a figure many pop fans may not be familiar with: jazz bassist Esperanza Spalding. The 26-year-old from Oregon may not boast of Bieber’s fame, but the votes might prove she is making a name in the music world. She will be performing at Bovard on Feb. 26.

The pop and hip-hop genres received another blow in the Song of the Year category. Cee Lo Green’s highly infectious and playful track “F*** You,” along with Eminem and Rihannah’s raw and emotional collaboration in “Love the Way You Lie” missed snagging the honor.The award went to country bandLady Antebellum for “Need You Now,” which also took home Record of the Year. In the end “F*** You,” ended up snagging Best Urban Vocal Performance.

Arcade Fire’s success was officially cemented with their win for Album of the Year. The band’s The Suburbs beat out major contenders, including Eminem, Katy Perry and even Lady Gaga.

Not surprisingly, some of the most popular songs on the radio airwaves still took major awards. Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance” gave her Best Pop Female Performance and The Fame Monster snatched up Best Pop Vocal Album, leaving Bieber defeated once again.

Bruno Mars took away the Best Male Pop Vocal Performance and John Legend & the Roots went home with Best Traditional R&B Vocal Performnance.

Eminem’s “Not Afraid” received Best Rap Solo Performance, beating out fellow rappers Drake, T.I., Ludacris and the ever-controversial Kanye West in the only category West’s name was under.

Another year has come and gone for the GRAMMY awards and now that Lady Gaga has once again left her print on the music world and Kanye West most likely feels snubbed yet again, all a music fan can do is wait for next year’s award show and see what new Biebers crop in the meantime.

Yes, those treasured golden gramophones are getting doled out Sunday night, sure to return to the usual clutches of the undeserving and profit-minded: once-talented megastars (Eminem, Kings of Leon), teen sensations (Katy Perry, the cast of “Glee”, Justin Bieber), dinosaurs of rock (Robert Plant, Neil Young) and John Mayer (seriously, John Mayer is like the evil Lord Sauron of the Grammys— it’s like they’re trying to return to their master).

The academy is resistant to modernity, bent upon spectacle and a general menace to any “product” unlikely to rise above the bottom line. In a time when buzz bands are discovered, emerge and flare out online in mere months, the academy just sits back and judges “excellence” by the profits that roll in when they ought to be in search of an original band or sound.

Here are a few brief examples of their ineptitude before we dive into my predictions for this year’s winners.

Resistant to modernity

Had Kanye West chosen to unveil his “My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy” two months later, Big Boi’s progressive production “Sir Lucious Left Foot: The Son of Chico Dusty” would’ve claimed the honor of Best Rap Album of 2010 in my book. It would’ve achieved the same feat in any of the three years preceding 2010 as well, during which Jive Records (owned by Sony Music Entertainment) refused to promote the record on the grounds that it wasn’t radio-friendly.

The collaboration with OutKast band mate André 3000 and Raekwon, “Royal Flush,” was torpedoed as an ‘Internet single’ and the whole project was delayed for years, denying people the joy of listening to “Shutterbugg” (which charted at No. 20 in this country) and the smooth Gucci Mane collaboration’s “Shine Blockas.”

Bent upon spectacle

It only took eight years and a sold-out Madison Square Garden show before the academy invited Arcade Fire, who have been performing the hell out of “Wake Up” in tiny clubs since 2003, to play the Grammys this year alongside Katy Perry, Lady Gaga and others.

They’re the biggest spectacle in popular music right now, regardless of their relation to the mainstream. Their music is certainly substantive, though the same can’t be said for Katy Perry, whose catalogue of music glistens and shines like a lollipop wrapper that, when removed and tasted, proves to be a confection so rotten with clichés that you can’t help but reach for the nearest bristled object to scrape it off your tongue. Strip her of her makeup, elaborate stage setups and choreography and she’ll resemble any college girl who rolled out of bed, as comedian Russell Brand recently proved by tweeting an unflattering wake-up shot of her.

Menace to art

“I’ve got reservations about so many things, but not about you,” Jeff Tweedy sang on “Reservations,” from on Wilco’s 2002 aching opus “Yankee Hotel Foxtrot.” Other lyrical masterstrokes on “Foxtrot” are similes that belong with the best in modern American literature (“let’s undress just like cross-eyed strangers”) and wonderful wordplay (“I’m not gonna get caught callin’ the pot, kettle black”).

Tweedy struggled with depression and drugs recording “Foxtrot” but his greatest conflict was with Reprise Records (owned by Warner Music Group), which refused to release the record on grounds that it was just too bizarre, eventually signing the rights over to the band to ward off the enormous amount of negative press they received for it.

Tweedy signed with the smaller Nonesuch Records and subsequently achieved universal acclaim, as well as a Gold certification from the Recording Industry Association of America. What would’ve happened if Reprise had just sat on “Foxtrot?”

All right, so there’s my gripe about the recording industry. Now we may continue to their annual self-laudatory wank-fest, the Grammy Awards. Let it be known that our opinion on “Who Should Win” part is (obviously) limited to those nominated.

Record of the Year nominees
“Nothin’ On You” – B.o.B. featuring Bruno Marsthe
“Love The Way You Lie” – Eminem featuring Rihanna
“F*** You” – Cee Lo Green
“Empire State of Mind” – Jay-Z and Alicia Keys
“Need You Now” – Lady Antebellum

Going to win: Lady Antebellum

Should win: Jay-Z and Alicia Keys

Sorry Cee Lo, but your totally awesome kiss-off is too much of a novelty and too much fun to win. Nobody believes angry Eminem anymore and “Nothin’ On You” lacks Lady Antebellum’s mid-song confession to breakdown to triumphant end-of-song reunion structure. Jigga’s too-long ode to New York is powered by an original beat and Alicia Keys’ best chorus in years. It’s the best of a bad category.

Album of the Year nominees:
“The Suburbs” – Arcade Fire
“Recovery” – Eminem
“Need You Now” – Lady Antebellum
“The Fame Monster” – Lady Gaga
“Teenage Dream” – Katy Perry

Going to win: Arcade Fire

Should win: Arcade Fire

Nobody’s worked harder in the last couple of years than Arcade Fire, who will earn their meaningless trophy by the sweat of their formerly indie brows. Upstart Lady Gaga’s been huge, but her aesthetic’s best expressed through video, Katy Perry isn’t even the best album of that title this year (see Beach House’s “Teen Dream”), Lady Antebellum are super-repetitive and, like I said earlier, Eminem’s schtick is as worn out as Neil Young’s face.

Song of the Year nominees:
“Beg Steal Or Borrow” – Ray LaMontagne
“F*** You” – Cee Lo Green
“The House That Built Me” – Tom Douglas and Allen Shamblin (Miranda Lambert)
“Love the Way You Lie” – Alexander Grant, Skylar Grey and Eminem (with Rihanna)
“Need You Now” – Dave Haywood, Josh Kear, Charles Kelley and Hillary Scott

Going to win: Cee Lo

Should win: Cee Lo

The record and song of the year gets awarded to the same song about half the time, but “F*** You” is far too likeable to get snubbed by both honors. Sassy Oklahoma native Miranda Lambert is a clear-cut dark horse though, damaging her “Crazy Ex-Girlfriend” cred with a tender if boring country ballad.

Best New Artist nominees:
Justin Bieber
Drake
Florence + The Machine
Mumford & Sons
Esperanza Spalding

Going to win: Justin Bieber

Should win: Florence + The Machine

The best new artist category is a regular display of how the senile the music industry is. Usually the nominees have been around for close to half a decade and this year’s batch is no different. Nothing’s unexpectedly generated more money and attention in the last two years than Bieber Fever, so I guess that trumps the much older and more talented Esperanza Spalding and Florence Welch.

Best Pop Vocal Album nominees:
“My World 2.0” – Justin Bieber
“I Dreamed A Dream” – Susan Boyle
“The Fame Monster” – Lady Gaga
“Battle Studies” – John Mayer
“Teenage Dream” – Katy Perry

Going to win: John Mayer

Should win: No one.

This is a loathsome category. Somehow the award went to The Black Eyed Peas last year, so it’s literally impossible to pick or redeem. I give the advantage to the Dark Lord Sauron since he won the 2006 award for “Continuum”.

Best Dance Recording nominees:
“Rocket” – Goldfrapp
“In For The Kill” – La Roux
“Dance In The Dark” – Lady Gaga
“Only Girl (In The World)” – Rihanna
“Dancing On My Own” – Robyn

Going to win: Lady Gaga

Should win: Robyn

The 80s are back in fashion in modern dance music, so it only makes sense that the award goes to the most retro-sounding song. Unfortunately, “In For The Kill” is nearly two years old and “Rocket” literally sounds like it was recorded in 1986. In a perfect world, Robyn would be rewarded for crafting a terrific record (“Body Talk”) with a top-notch single in “Dancing On My Own”, the kind of thing that makes straight men say “I can’t help but dance, I just love this song.” I would know, because I am one.

Best Rock Performance By A Duo Or Group With Vocals nominees:
“Ready To Start” – Arcade Fire
“I Put A Spell On You” – Jeff Beck and Joss Stone
“Tighten Up” – The Black Keys
“Radioactive” – Kings of Leon
“Resistance” – Muse

Going to win: Arcade Fire

Should win: Arcade Fire

In case you missed me gushing about them earlier, Arcade Fire are the hardest-working band around these days. The only problem is that they were nominated for a song into which their secret weapon, Régine Chassagne, factors less prominently. I’d have gone with “Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains)” which beautifully stomps and circles “The Suburbs” to its wistful, nostalgic close.

Best Alternative Music Album nominees:
The Suburbs – Arcade Fire
Infinite Arms – Band of Horses
Brothers – The Black Keys
Broken Bells – Broken Bells
Contra – Vampire Weekend

Going to win: Arcade Fire

Should win: Vampire Weekend

Band of Horses’ third record was the year’s biggest disappointment, Broken Bells is a snooze and The Black Keys benefited from a blitz of promotion and praise from classic-adoring “Rolling Stone”. That leaves kalimba-plinking “Contra” against my album of the year pick; it’s a no-brainer. Short, catchy, original and lovely, “Contra” is the best in this category.

Best Rap Album nominees:
“The Adventures of Bobby Ray” – B.o.B.
“Thank Me Later” – Drake
“Recovery” – Eminem
“The Blueprint 3” – Jay-Z
“How I Got Over” – The Roots

Going to win: Drake

Should win: The Roots (but seriously, Big Boi)

The severe lack of Big Boi completely invalidates this category (“My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy” wasn’t released on time to be counted in this year’s race). Therefore, The Roots deserve it for allowing the awesome trio of lady singers from Norman Music Festival 3 headliners Dirty Projectors to open “How I Got Over” with their beautiful harmonic cooing. But seriously, it ought to be Big Boi.

Fans last heard from The Decemberists back in 2009 when the band took on a new approach releasing the electric and concept-driven “The Hazards of Love,” deterring away from its uniform indie folk-rock sound.

In reference to the making of “The Hazards of Love,” The Decemberists frontman and songwriter Colin Meloy said in the band’s press information, “Doing this album took a lot out of me, and I’m definitely curious what will come out now that I’ve gotten it out of my system.”

What came next was The Decemberists’ sixth studio album, “The King is Dead,” a beautifully simple yet musically rich compilation of folk, and at times, borderline country compositions, – capturing the true essence of the band’s musical abilities.

Since its 2001 self-released debut “Five Songs,” The Decemberists has released three studio albums under indie record labels and two on Capitol Records.

Although The Decemberists is now releasing “The King is Dead” as its third album under a major record label, this five-piece folk group has not lost its sense of true indie music.

Seven tracks on “The King is Dead,” including its first single “Down by the Water,” feature American folk favorite and Grammy Award winning singer-songwriter Gillian Welch.

Tracks such as “Rise to Me” and “Don’t Carry it All” feature Welch’s soothing vocals, accentuating those of Meloy to create a full and soulful sound.

Although its clever lyrics do speak to disastrous times, the music and vocals on “Calamity Song” with the help of R.E.M. guitarist Peter Buck are the furthest thing from a calamity, clearly drawing inspiration from Buck’s previous musical background with R.E.M.

Both drawing from nostalgia, “January Hymn” takes listeners back to heartbreaking winter days, while “June Hymn” warmly paints a vivid picture of a past summer.

The contrasting music and lyrics of these two hymns flawlessly capture the two seasons’ cold and warm environments.

“The King is Dead” closes with “Dear Avery,” a bitter-sweet number that focuses more on Meloy’s lyrics and the combination of his and Welch’s vocals than instrumentation.

Through its combinations of harmonicas, banjos, fiddles, accordions, poetic lyrics and blues-esque vocals, The Decemberists have captured nothing but raw emotion and true musicianship.

Despite slight repetition on some of the tracks’ lyrics and slow tempos, “The King is Dead” showcases this band’s ability to turn the basic fundamentals of music into graceful and moving pieces of work.

Rating: 4.5/5

The general formula is exactly the same, as fans will remember. Vocalist John McCrea’s performance can just barely be described as singing, as he is among the least inflective vocalists in music. Guitarist Xan McCurdy is the anti-rock star, keeping things simple, and trumpet player Vince DiFiore complements the music as usual.

McCrea’s lyrics are as droll as ever. His emotionless lyrics make bluntly titled tracks like “Teenage Pregnancy” and “Mustache Man (Wasted)” seem humorous, if not special.

“Federal Funding” features the same subconscious humor, but is musically the highlight of the album as well (unfortunately, it’s the first track). The bass line is simple, but it works with DiFiore’s trumpet to provide an healthy groove.

“Federal Funding,” although fun, is not the immediately catchy single that Cake thrives on. It seems that every album it releases has at least one single that catches on and stays relevant. Examples include “The Distance” from “Fashion Nugget,” “Never There” from “Prolonging the Magic” and “Short Skirt/Long Jacket” from “Comfort Eagle.” Instead, the band offers “Sick of You” as the first single, which is not as whiny as it sounds, but is much more boring than the title suggests.

As the band hadn’t actually taken a break from each other during the seven years between albums, one would think that a band so skilled at crafting catchy singles could come up with something better to uplift “Showroom of Compassion.” Fans of Cake’s older stuff won’t mind, but this album will be tougher for rookies to grasp.

Cage the Elephant manages to show a different side of the group, as well as keep its unique sound. In its new album, “Thank You Happy Birthday,” the group also shows off its over-zealous lead singer Matt Shultz.

Once “Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked” was overplayed on Cage the Elephant’s first album, I felt I had to be in a certain mood to listen to the alternative band from Kentucky.

But its sophomore album has songs for my mellow side, angry side and the side that wants to scare the driver next to me, by banging my head a lot and shouting nonsense words at the top of my lungs.

Consisting of 12 (and one-half) songs, “Thank You Happy Birthday” definitely surprised me.

The band’s first album featured a happy medium between in-your-face loud anthems and songs with actual messages in their lyrics.

In this album, there are only a few songs in that middle — the rest are polar opposites, in both sound and meaning.

With songs like “Indy Kidz,” “Sabertooth Tiger” and “Japanese Buffalo,” you’ve got fast-paced songs you sometimes can’t understand and metaphor-filled lyrics you may live your whole life without ever really grasping.

Also, along with the screaming, there is what I can only describe as panting, which is always an interesting touch.

Then there’s “Aberdeen,” “2024” and “Around My Head,” the CD’s affectionate songs. They’re still fast-paced and witty, but there’s a touch of sentiment not heard in the first album.

Even though the band is dramatic, Cage the Elephant shows its meaningful side a bit more in this album.

In “Right Before My Eyes,” the group talks about something stressful, taking it seriously with lyrics like, “Right before my eyes I saw the whole world lose control/The whole world lost control before my eyes/I fell through the floor I couldn’t take it anymore/I can’t take this anymore, it breaks my mind.”

Two songs that stuck out the most — not necessarily for good reasons — were “Sell Yourself” and “Rubber Ball.”

These songs I listened to back-to-back, and they are the complete opposite of each other.

Once I was done with “Sell Yourself” and contemplating taking an Advil before the headache kicked in, “Rubber Ball” started playing.

Because it was so calm, it sounded like it could have been on the “Juno” soundtrack.

As I was approaching the end of the album, I noticed that the last song was more than seven minutes long. I was curious to say the least, since most of the previous songs were less than three or four minutes.

I played “Flow” and unlike the other meaningful songs — which sounded defeated — this one sounded hopeful.

With “Flow” you feel you should push forward because of all the things you can discover in this world, even if things seem bad at one point.

“Flow,” though displayed as 7:43 long, ends at 3:23.

Then there’s silence for about 25 seconds and a familiar sound pops up with acoustics.

If you wait patiently, you find you’re listening to half of the 12th song, an acoustic version of “Right Before My Eyes.”

Clever, CTE.

I’m not sure what the band was trying to pull with having a surprise track within a track, but Cage the Elephant has always been good to its fans, so it doesn’t surprise me they would throw an extra song in there as a gift.

Grade: B

“Friends” veers from the theme of the album, building solidarity among descendants of Africa and drawing attention to issues on that continent, to that of what constitutes a good friend. Marley, who was responsible for most of the production work along with his brother Stephen, keeps the song within the premise of the rest of the album by sampling the song “Undenge Uami” by Angolan folk artist David Zé. Marley caps off the theme by using his reggae band as backing music on every track.

The lack of electronic beats, coupled with the mellow style of Marley’s band, makes this hip-hop that won’t work at the club. The music is fitting for the nature of the songs, however. With Marley and Nas both delivering manifestos on the mic, the subtle background track makes a nice accompaniment while keeping the message at the forefront.

Marley and Nas both tackle two verses on the track, but Marley dominates the track and sings its catchy hook. Nas drifts from the topic during his share of verses, but Marley nails his, filling his Jamaican voice with empathy.

Regardless of who delivers the best lyrics, the combination of the two stars flows together like an Arnold Palmer, unexpected but delicious. The two provide commentary on the same topic in two unique voices (literally and metaphorically) and keep the listener from getting bored.

“Friends” allows the listener to enjoy the skills of the two talented artists at play, without enduring any political preaching.

Time will only tell whether their newest album “All American Nightmare” will live up to its predecessors’ success.

“Nightmare” is clearly a homage to the Reagan years, when bands like Guns N’ Roses (who are even cited in one of the songs) and Warrant ruled the rock scene. It shares the same unapologetic “Sex, Drugs and Rock and Roll” tone that our parents loved, but updated for our generation.

Instead of ranting about Vietnam and “The Man” Hinder sets their sights on fame whores and Kanye West. Of course there are still plenty of songs about the ladies, like the completely un-subtle “Striptease” which will make you feel a bit dirty inside.

Of course there’s no way to pay homage to just the good parts of a genre, even one as simple as 80’s rock. Like Guns N’ Roses’ “Use Your Illusion,” “Nightmare” has a few power ballads that stick out completely and break up the flow of the album.

It also bears mentioning that “Sex, Drugs and Rock and Roll” makes for a pretty shallow message in the end. While the songwriting is surprisingly clever the songs are still mostly about getting drunk and doing something foolish. However, I think we’ve all been there and can appreciate a little of the sentiment.

My one real complaint about this whole homage of an album is that it doesn’t sound like a true homage. Instead of using “the good ole’ days” as an influence they flat out use the same riffs as countless rock bands before them.

Looking back on their catalog, “Nightmare” definitely represents a stand-alone project with a completely new sound. Which begs the question, “Why not pull a Spaghetti Incident?” For those of you not familiar with Guns N’ Roses, “The Spaghetti Incident” was a cover album they did of songs from bands that influenced them, mostly from the emerging LA punk scene.

I believe the best homage to their influences would be to have made “Nightmare” their own “The Spaghetti Incident” instead of a blatant rip-off with some more timely lyrics.

Still, every band can be accused of ripping off their influences. It’s almost inevitable. All in all Hinder has done a fine job on “All American Nightmare.” It’s no “Appetite for Destruction” but it’s good if you like a more traditional rock experience or if you want to get your dad to stop playing Van Halen all day.

Grade: B

Why did you bless us with not one, but two Ke$ha albums in one year? Was it that you love us so much? Did you care that much for us?

Did you decide that songs such as the title track, “Cannibal,” would be justification? With the lines “I want your liver on a platter,” and “now that I am famous/you’re up my anus?” We do applaud that she learned an actual word that is referring to a scientific body part, though.

The next track, “We R who We R” is probably the worst song ever recorded. Why? Because the phrase, “DJ turn it UP!” is repeated ad nauseum as the bridge. That’s not a bridge; it’s an annoying way to lengthen a song.

“Sleazy” states that Ke$ha does not need a guy with money and a brand new car. However, it is very obvious that she presents herself as trading STDs like Pokemon cards.

Sadly, the best part of the album is when it ends. Even though her self-exploratory track, “Crazy Beautiful Life,” is supposed to show her refined side, it doesn’t; it falls flat with no substance.

If it wasn’t abundantly clear that Ke$ha is a pop-“lady of the evening” before, it should be now. While she does have a song where she actually exhibits some talent (the best song on the album), it’s a remix of one of her older tracks. If there are any fans of mediocre pop, they should rejoice.

With all our love,

Earth

Lead single, “Power” has West rapping over a fantastic beat that samples King Crimson and a vocal chant from Continent No. 6′s “Afromerica.” The song is a standard rap song until a beautiful breakdown. “Fantasy” is filled with beautiful breakdowns on most of the songs, and features more guitar solos than some rock albums.

Kanye’s growth as a rapper and a lyricist is evident on stand out tracks like “Gorgeous” and the Bink! produced, “Devil in a New Dress.” The former West raps with a distorted vocal effect and a relentless flow, jam-packed with one-liners like: “What’s a black Beatle anyways, a f****** roach?”

The track also features a stellar verse from Wu Tang emcee, Raekwon, whose appearance on the track isn’t necessary but transcends a great track into an extraordinary one. Which is a common occurrence on this album.

“Fantasy” is an extraordinary effort mainly due to West’s thorough attention to detail as every track is multilayered with different sounds that give the listeners something new each time they listen to it.

The second single, “Runaway” serves as the album’s centerpiece. The nine-minute “ode to the douche bags” shows West at his most vulnerable, delivering autotuneless vocals that are more endearing than good. And the song is topped off by a phenomenal verse by Pusha T (of the Clipse), and a three minute long breakdown, which sets up the next track flawlessly.

“Hell of a Life,” which features an intense distorted bassline, is the turning point for West’s fantasy. On the track, he fantasizes about marrying a porn star, and eventually “divorced by the end of the night.”

The John Legend-assisted, “Blame Game” is probably the best track on the album. It features a beautiful piano sample from Aphex Twin, and West raps about a troubled relationship, “I’d rather argue with you than be with somebody else.” The almost-eight minute song features distorted vocals on some of West’s most emotional lyrics on the album, a spoken word poem, and lastly a hilarious skit featuring Chris Rock.

“My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy” may be a mouthful to say, but is one of the most appropriate titles for an album. With nearly every track reaching well over five minutes, West has abandoned the traditional 3 16-bar verses song arrangements often found on hip-hop albums.

In a great year for hip-hop and music in general, West’s release is in a league of its own. “Fantasy” is the culmination of all of West’s talents, and could potentially go down in history as a landmark album.

Grade: A+

Soulja Boy has polished his rhymes since “Tell ‘Em,” but nearly every track is a simple ode to either getting money or getting some; In other words, exactly what pop listeners want. It’s noteworthy that Soulja Boy’s music videos make great counterparts to the songs they advertise. Most rappers just pose in front of their expensive things while they sing about their expensive things, but music videos like that for “Speakers Going Hammer,” featuring Soulja Boy partying with his WASP neighbors, lend credibility to the track.

Soulja Boy’s approach to hip-hop is often oversimplified, however. His rhymes are often awkward and sometimes veer into unintelligible laziness (also from “Speakers Going Hammer:” “Speakers going hammer / bammer, bammer, bammer”). “30 Thousand 100 Million” (about money, believe it or not) follows the same trend.

The album’s closing track, “Grammy,” stands out, probably because it strays from the adolescent themes of every other song. It opens with the rapper talking about the troubles he’s overcome, and the song that follows is equally mature. It’s the standout track, but listeners can’t help but laugh when they hear “I deserve a Grammy” coming from the artist who sang the nine previous tracks.

Another unintentional moment of humor comes when Soulja Boy shares lines with 50 Cent. Our protagonist is trying to demonstrate how hardcore he can be on the track “Mean Mug,” but comparing his cotton-padded lines to 50′s quips about busting out the hollow tips is amusing.

Soulja Boy is doing well with the formula he began with. With a few more tracks like “Grammy,” he might become a Soulja Man yet.

This is the hook for Flo Rida’s song “21″ and the low point of his new album “Only One Flo (Part One).” No Doubt filled the music world’s capacity for the word “hella” in 2001. Unfortunately, the album’s high points don’t get much better.

In fact, the high point is the pair of guest verses by Ludacris and Gucci Mane in the track “Why You Up in Here.” Ludacris lights up the track, and Gucci has a so-so verse, but in comparison to the attempts of the album’s protagonist, he sounds golden.

Aside from the guest verses, the album is unremarkable. “Club Can’t Handle Me,” the album’s single, would be completely forgettable if it weren’t for Top-40 radio’s constantly repeating play list. The lyrics for all this album’s songs are dumb, and other club-oriented artists (like the Black Eyed Peas) put Flo Rida’s beats to shame.

Part of the problem is his inability to draw from his bag of ‘80s samples to create a hit. His hit from last year, “Right Round,” used the 1984 Dead Or Alive song “You Spin Me Round (Like a Record)” to be catchy. Flo Rida samples Yello’s “Oh Yeah” (recognizable from its use in “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off”) in “Turn Around (5,4,3,2,1)” but not for long enough to keep the listener hooked.

The good news is that there are only eight tracks on the album. The bad news is that he built “part one” into the album’s title. It would take a lot for a follow-up record to be worse than this offering, but the odds of it being good are low. There’s only a half hour of music on “Only One Flo,” but it’s a half hour you’ll want back.

Those who found “Boom Boom Pow” to be the most obnoxious single of 2009 will immediately be discouraged by the opening track, “The Time (Dirty Bit).” The first single pseudo-covers “(I’ve Had) The Time of My Life,” the ‘80s ditty made popular by “Dirty Dancing.” It’s not clear whether the “dirty bit” refers to the Peas’ attempt at a film tribute or at how unclean the listener feels after hearing the shameless single.

If you can get past the first track, things look up from there. The second track, “Light up the Night,” is a better example of what the Peas are good at: making songs that belong in and should stay at the club. A bumping beat and fewer lyrics for the listener (and the Peas) to think about is their best bet. “The Best One Yet (The Boy)” and “Just Can’t Get Enough” work for the same reasons.

No one expects the Black Eyed Peas to produce the most introspective lyrics, but it’s still tough to listen to the “Full Metal Jacket” inspired “Love You Long Time,” in which the song title is repeated inanely and endlessly. In “XOXOXO,” the words “hugs and kisses” are repeated in the same fashion. Therefore, it’s surprising when the Peas bust out “Someday,” a song about pursuing one’s dreams. It’s still worth dancing to yet doesn’t kill any brain cells.

The Black Eyed Peas can still keep a party going, but as with previous albums, they tend to be obnoxious while doing so. “The Beginning” is all right but probably best in small doses.

Fresh off of an episode dedicated to “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” and amid a handful of gleek-adored guest stints by John “Uncle Jesse” Stamos and Gwyneth “Married to Coldplay’s Main Singer” Paltrow, “Glee” has shown no signs of a sophomore slump. Although some critics claim that the hour-long musical satire has lost its sense of quirk and sold its soul in order to reap the benefits of topping The Beatles on Billboard’s Hot 100, it remains one of Fox’s most-watched shows and already has a contract for a third season.

“Glee” has already conquered covers spanning the pop culture realm – from Lady Gaga to Charlie Chaplin – in its mere 30 episodes, so it was only a matter of time before the juggernaut took a chance with holiday tunes.

A mixture of classic Christmas Eve church service melodies ( such as “O Christmas Tree” and “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen”), cheery non-denominational sing-a-longs (“Jingle Bells”) and woes-of-a-lonely-single-person tales (“Last Christmas”), each track brings the quintessential “Glee” charm – or urge to vomit, depending on who is being asked – although none stand out as particularly original.

That being said, originality is hard to come by with recycled holiday tunes, and those glee club kids do their darndest to at least make the album enjoyable.

Although Matthew Morrison’s – AKA adorable glee club advisor and sweater vest proponent Mr. Shuester – duet with K.D. Lang on “You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch” was probably poised to be the runaway hit, Chris Colfer and Darren Criss’s same-sex twist on “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” is undeniably smooth and charming. A couple listenings of that and there won’t be any more questioning as to how Criss managed to nab a series regular contract after just one episode.

The New Directions kids do their signature mash-up with “Deck the Rooftop,” which, unfortunately, comes off feeling overproduced and corny, even by “Glee” standards. The slower, softer Lea-Michele-led “Last Christmas” is much more their style.

Avid fans will contest that there seems to be some sort of girls-versus-boys competition every other day at McKinley High, and it’s no different here: the girls do a solemn but solid “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” yet the guys have more fun with a faster-paced stab at “Jingle Bells.”

Frontrunner Lea Michele tackles two solos on the disc – “Merry Christmas Darling” and the haunting “O Holy Night” – and continues to make people everywhere feel below-average with her goosebump-inducing, pitch-perfect notes.

The equally-talented Amber Riley holds her own on “Angels We Have Heard on High” and Morrison ditches his usual Justin-Timberlake-wannabe act – thankfully – for a pleasant rendition of “O Christmas Tree.”

The album is by no means a disappointment; it just fails to make its mark in “Glee” history. More contemporary songs would have been welcomed, although the cast deserves kudos for their cover of “The Most Wonderful Day of the Year,” a song not usually done by non-misfit toys.

Honestly, listeners may have expected a few more guest spots after the relentless guest star casting being done this season. Gleek wish lists include the always-wonderful Kristin Chenoweth  doing something such as “Santa Baby” or the surprisingly enjoyable Stamos tackling a feel-good tune such as “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” or “Jingle Bell Rock.” Also noticeably absent are Jane Lynch’s superb villain Sue Sylvester – who, although not possessive of any noteworthy vocal skills, could have done spoken-word wonders on anything tossed her way – and tiny powerhouse Charice, who hasn’t been seen since the season premiere.

The music is only half of the winning formula for “Glee,” though – the other half comes from the episode itself and the extravagant incorporations of the songs. Fans have already been promised a Christmas-centric episode after November sweeps, so there is a chance that some of the songs of lesser epic proportion have the potential to be better once played out on screen.

And, honestly, those kids could sing the instructions for an air conditioning installation and people would still flock by the thousands to buy it.

—

Speakeasy Rating: B-

Originally supposed to be an entirely collaborative album featuring multiple artists, Cudi opted out of this approach in an effort to make the album more personal and true to the original roots of his first installment ofMan On The Moon, and it shows.

Even his few collaborative efforts on the album featuring Kanye West, Chip Tha Ripper and Cage, Man On The Moon II gives a different insight into Kid Cudi’s head, providing a much more abstract perspective on Kid Cudi’s problems, utilizing poetics and metaphors to create dark images without directly spelling out his issues as in his previous work.

Despite the album’s dark atmospheric instrumental swells that emphasize a minimalist music background, the album’s most memorable tracks come in the form of the deviations from that nightmare theme but pop out with a little extra flair. The best examples of this come out in “Erase Me,” featuring Kanye West, which really highlights Kid Cudi’s love to make rock music.

The deep unique stylings of a piano in the back of the album’s second song “REVOFEV,” really stands out from the other tracks but never deviates from the dark motif the album takes on.

One of the album’s best songs, “Maniac,” however, operates within the ominous parameters with nothing setting it apart other than sheer quality. The track features indie rap star Cage, who fittingly was admitted into a mental hospital in his early years. As a result, “Maniac” ends up being one of the album’s darkest and highest quality songs with lyrics depicting a verbal horror story in the most metaphorical of manners. The song ends up being all the more terrifying when it becomes apparent that the horror story metaphor isn’t about some sensational fantasy but instead about life.

Ultimately Man On The Moon II: The Legend of Mr. Rager is a less radio-friendly album, to the extent that Kid Cudi sacrifices some listenability for his own creative ends. But strictly in terms of art and emotion, Man On The Moon II ends up going much deeper.

Aside from Green’s vocals, the album is about as musically Motown as any album out there. Green is backed by a near-orchestra, as was the case in much of ‘70s soul music. String arrangements, saxophones and accompanying vocals add to the mood. Again, it’s Green who separates the old from the new.

Green’s voice would have made him a soul star during its heyday, but his mind is rooted in the present. His mindset is obvious in the first single off the album, the hit “F— You!” The title explains the attitude aimed at a former crush. The hook, which features the title repeated several times, wouldn’t be a hit if it was postured as a hip-hop song. The background vocals, echoing humorous lines like “ain’t that some s—,” take the obscene lyrics and transplant them in the ‘70s.

Green is less obscene during the rest of the album, and his humor is less direct, but the musician still jests. The “Lady Killer” theme that opens and closes the record plays off a James Bond theme, featuring Green discussing his status as a “lady killer” followed by a dramatic movie-theme arrangement. Green adds subtle humor within the lyrics, such as his line, “I want you to generally and sincerely want me too” in the song “I Want You.”

Green rounds off the album with a fun cover of Band of Horse’s “No One’s Gonna Love You,” one of the few songs that rides off the album’s soul train tracks.

Green said that on his last album, he was “the soul machine,” but he is far from a robot. He’s a new breed.

Philadelphia band Sun Airway is the new kid on the indie block this year. The group has had a busy year after first showing up on the radar with a dreamy remix of Spanish dance masters Delorean’s “Stay Close,” followed by a recent October set at the Pitchfork music stage in New York City’s coveted CMJ Music Marathon Festival. And after spending the year building this buzz, Sun Airway has finally released its début LP, Nocturne of Exploded Crystal Chandelier.

The music on the album is just as ambitious as its album title. Each song floats gently one after the other like clouds on a sunny day, which is exactly the perfect setting for experiencing the album. The album begins with the breathtaking track “Infinity,” which sounds like Dorothy returning to the Emerald City in another dream at Oz.

Each song is structured with different layers of guitars and keyboards that build up as the listener moves further into each track until a new dream begins with the next piece.

I can’t help but think of Chris Martin every time the vocals come in, but the singing wasn’t what stood out. Sun Airway blends crafty pop melodies with dreamlike sound production, and that is successful for the most part. The influences of early ’90s shoe-gaze legends My Bloody Valentine and the Cocteau Twins are everywhere on Nocturne, yet the songs on the album seem fairly mainstream for the most part. Such songs as “American West” and “Your Moon” demonstrate the group’s ability to balance its identity with something that is catchy, yet still original.

The electronic drum samples on such tracks as “Waiting For You” and “Shared Piano” sound like beats taken from an Aphex Twin B-side, which strengthens the songs rather than using traditional tempos of normal dancehall drum beats. Though the recent trend of what can be labeled as the “Laptop Music Era” (in which bands such as Sun Airway perform live shows with nothing more than a few guitars, keyboards, and laptops to provide percussion) seems to be close to running its course, the band is still able to find a way to play in its own atmosphere of sound while not coming off as too experimental.

Nocturne features many standout tracks, but what makes the album better than just a few singles is the lack of any filler material. Each song has its own purpose and fits together like different chapters of a book. The album as a whole features many upbeat and optimistic songs, but never something you’d hear on a dance floor. The tracks sound almost as if fellow indie synth masters Passion Pit were prescribed Xanax. Sun Airway is music for your headphones as you lie out under the Sun with your eyes closed, which can serve as a mental vacation as we now find ourselves in full autumn mode.

It is definitely a small town song because it best applies to towns where everybody knows everyone else and the “newspaper clippings fill the coffee shops.” It is a good song to choose as the first single because anyone can relate to it and it’s got that small town American life aspect to it.

“Where I Grew Up” is probably my favorite track on the album. It’s a song that addresses the situations Chesney faced in life that contributed to him growing up and becoming the person he is, not just the places where he was as he got older: his grandfather dying, a car accident that he almost died in, his first big fight with the woman he loves. I really liked this song because there is actually a story behind it and it makes you remember what matters in life, which is what essentially makes country music what it is.

Another one of my favorite tracks off Hemmingway’s Whiskey was “You and Tequila” which features Grace Porter. I’ve never heard of Grace Porter but I thought that her vocals were really pretty and I liked her addition to the song. “You and Tequila” is a song about not being able to give somebody up, even though it would probably be best for you if you did. My favorite line from the song is,”You and tequila make me crazy…one is one too many, one more is never enough.”

“Coastal” is the third song off of the album. It is a song about letting loose and forgetting responsibilities in order to have a good time and relax. “Coastal” was a cute song and I could see myself listening to it when I need a break from everything that is going on in my life.

“Everybody needs to break free from reality” is the message Chesney is relaying in the song “Reality.” This song is essentially just another song about leaving worries behind and doing what makes us feel good. It has a lot of the same concepts as “Coastal,” the idea that sometimes it’s more important to take care of yourself and be happy.

“Small Y’all” is a song on the album featuring George Jones. I loved that Chesney did a song with George Jones. There’s just something so country about Jones which is perfect when you want a song with the right amount of twang to it. The song isn’t really that deep meaning-wise, as it’s basically about how a couple arguing gets nothing out of their fighting except feeling ashamed and “small y’all.”

Overall, Hemmingway’s Whiskey is a lot better than I anticipated. I am not the biggest Kenny Chesney fan. I like a lot of his music, but it would not be an album that I would be dying to go out and buy. I’m glad that I gave it a listen though, because the album seems to touch on the “do what makes you happy” vibe, as well as the more sentimental sound that I’ve always loved about Chesney.

The set consists of the original song list from the first album, but also comes with a special EP of eight additional tracks, including four live recordings.

The first song, “Hollywood,” was released with a comical music video of Bublé mimicking the looks of current musical personalities. It is an upbeat track with the underlying message to not feed on fame, but concentrate on the value of oneself. The song showcases Bublé’s smooth voice and youthful personality in a successful single that can stand on its own.

“Some Kind of Wonderful” is an up-tempo cover of Gerry Goffin’s and Carole King’s original. Bublé ventures out of his comfort zone and hits the mark, to re-creating the perfect background music for a confident walk around town.

The most beautiful and natural song on the EP, “End of May,” is sure to become a universal favorite. Bublé’s fluid voice is perfect for the romantic yet powerful song, which incorporated piano and strings so harmoniously that it can transport the listener into a state of complete relaxation. This is the perfect song to clear one’s mind of any stress and to simply enjoy the moment.

Bublé, who has been quoted as saying he likes to incorporate live songs to avoid sounding overproduced, includes new renditions of “At This Moment,” “Me & Mrs. Jones,” “Haven’t Met You Yet” and “Heartache Tonight.” Each sounds true to the original, with the added charisma that comes along with a live performance.

While the last track on the CD, “Best of Me,” is new to Bublé’s repertoire, it sounds remarkably similar to “At This Moment,” which was first heard on the original Crazy Love album. Both emphasize his unique crooning voice, but can feel slow at times.

Bublé will showcase hits and fan favorites from the “Crazy Love” and “Hollywood Edition” albums during his Crazy Love Tour this holiday season.

Well, we don’t need to wait for the future, because Sufjan Stevens has already made all of this possible on his new album, “The Age of Adz.” Like most long-time Stevens fanatics, I wasn’t too pleased when I heard the singer would explore new genres on this album. After all, if a leopard changes its spots, the pack is just going to reject and kill it, right?

Wrong. It seems we were all so taken with the simple genius of that angelic voice and banjo that we failed to realize that Stevens is a musician with a world of potential at his disposal. Not a single track on “Adz” has the shaky-legged feeling of an artist treading on unknown territory. Indeed, his exploration of electronic sounds is a powerful entry onto the scene.

Like a true showman, Stevens doesn’t let us know all this right away. The opening track, “Futile Devices,” has the finger-picked delicacy of his older songs. His voice is soft and floats with a faint echo effect over a single mandolin. But the song’s name takes on new meaning as we move into “Too Much,” and an explosion of electronic dissonance fills our ears. At this point, I became a bit concerned that the rest of the album might turn out to be a bad mimicry of Animal Collective — and indeed, the whirlwind of noise on this track and the next one, the title track, are probably the only moments on the album when the harsh electronics really are “too much.”

Thankfully, Stevens recovers by maintaining his focus on melody and harmony. The rest of the album proves that he can manipulate a diverse array of effects without sounding like a toddler’s temper tantrum.

From then on, the album features highlight after highlight. “Now That I’m Older” is a slow, haunting exploration of vocal interplays and harp. Coupled with somber lyrics about change, confusion and love, this song is likely to give you the chills.

The most traditionally Stevens-esque track is “I Want to Be Well.” It’s complete with flutes, female harmonies and drums, and is set apart by the addition of an electronic bass element. The beauty of this track is that it knows just when to take itself apart and isolate. Looping and repetition of lyrical lines in the center build up to a cathartic release at the end, resulting in a remarkable display of Stevens’ musical dexterity.

However, Stevens saves the best stuff for last. With its use of synths, 8-bit beats and repetitive computer tones in the background, the final track, “Impossible Soul,” is no less a part of this electronic experiment than the rest of the album — but its poignant melody brings to mind the Stevens that we all loved in “Illinois” and “Seven Swans.” This 25-minute song even manages to cast auto-tune as an expressive, avant-garde element, something I never thought possible after hearing T-Pain crooning about being on a boat. The album’s closing track alone should be enough to make naysayers reconsider. Like a 21st-century version of “Yellow Submarine,” “The Age of Adz” takes us on an adventure that is well worth the plunge.

4.5/5

Pros Stevens finds a way to still be himself, only with more tools at his disposal.

Cons A few songs near the beginning overdose on electronics.

Download this: “Now That I’m Older,”  “I Want to Be Well,” “Impossible Soul.”

Last year’s “She Wolf” was characterized by the music video for the title track, which featured Shakira writhing suggestively while caged. The video, although appealing to teenage males everywhere, lost the artist some credibility with tougher pop audiences.

The new album rights the train without sacrificing any of the hip-shaking anthems that Shakira has made her name on.

Among the few disappointing tracks on the album are the two singles. The first was released early in the summer as the official song of the World Cup in South Africa.

“Waka Waka (Esto es Africa)” is well-intentioned in its call to help Africa, but “Feed the World” it ain’t (plus it sounds like a Muppets reference).

The first official single is “Loca,” a homage to crazy love featuring a thick bass drum and Dominican rapper El Cata. It works as a dance floor single, but for a good time listeners should call on the track “Gordita,” a song that’s even catchier and features Puerto Rican rapper Calle 13.

The album’s strongest feature is that the majority of it is in Shakira’s native tongue. She simply sounds smoother (and from an American perspective, sexier) when she opts for Spanish.

The best tracks on the album are not the club-centered songs, however. “Lo Que Más” is a piano ballad that Shakira pours herself into, and the passion goes a long way. “Devoción” features the same zeal but blends it with Shakira’s pop sensibilities, making it the best track on the album.

Many apologies to anyone sitting on YouTube looking for a new Shakira video to spend the night with, but this time around, she’s serious.

Jail time doesn’t always equate reform. When T.I. was released from jail, his first album was one of repentance, meant to teach his audience that breaking the law is not the way. But take Lil Wayne, who pleaded guilty in October 2009 to weapon posession and has been in prison for seven months—he just released an album from his cell on his birthday, heralding everything he does that normal society doesn’t consider acceptable. Weezy’s new album, “I Am Not a Human Being,” proclaims “You can try to lock me up / You can try to break me down / But I stay strong / It’s my time / Can’t stop now cause that ain’t me.” It’s hard, in the best sense of the word, and Weezy uses his ever clever and current lyrics to bring extremely explicit rap to the mainstream.

It’s evident from the very beginning of the album that this is the true Lil Wayne and not the Lil Wayne you hear when he raps on pop songs. Unlike his appearances in songs like Jay Sean’s “Down,” in this album Weezy is back to rapping about his crazy life and his flow isn’t hindered by the tracks of others. The whole album has the quintessential Weezy lyrical form that builds up himself and his crew and makes references using similes. He sings “I’m just so ahead of my time like dog years,” and “I’m a young god, swagga un-flawed / Bitch I’m in the building, you in the front yard,” all in the first track “Gonorrhea.” It starts the album off with a bang and sets up the rest of the album—a joy ride of curse words, sex, and degradation of all other rappers.

The album features the real Lil Wayne to such an extent that even the effects of his famous cups of lean—cough syrup and vodka—can be heard throughout. “I’m Single” is dreamy and unaffected at the same time. He speaks almost objectively about breaking up with his girlfriend rapping, “Damn, she text me all day and night / So pissed off, she ain’t even spelling shit right / I text her back and tell her it’s life / Now somebody tell them ho’s I’m single for the night.” All of his songs include some aspect that alludes to Weezy’s current life—not the one of imprisonment, but the one of the decadence he was living when he started recording this album—but it is particularly noticeable in this track, which has Lil Wayne bragging about everything he can do as a single man.

Because the album is a manifestation of Lil Wyane himself, most of the songs are energetic, fast and continually building up the beat. However, “I Am Not a Human Being” also includes slower tracks like “With You,” which serve to break up what may have been a monotonous album. The title track even brings in elements of rock, which Weezy has been trying to incorporate into his style. This song does it right, unlike his past attempts. It includes recordings of real session musicians rather than from a synthesizer, but a beat that keeps it grounded in hip-hop roots.

The last portion of the album is a tribute to Lil Wayne’s label Young Money Entertainment and the songs are accordingly named “YM Banger” and “YM Salute.” Six of the 13 people on the label play some part in these two songs, and two other artists, Lil Twist and Nicki Minaj, are featured in some other part of the album as well. “I Am Not a Human Being” serves as kind of a debut of the record label and it highlights its strengths and weaknesses. The group works very well cohesively, but mainly because a couple of the people on the label, like Drake and Lil Twist, sing or rap with the same nasally voice that Lil Wayne has trademarked. This makes it a little bit confusing to pick out the other artists from Lil Wayne at times, and doesn’t have the intended effect of introducing new artists to the audience.

“I Am Not a Human Being” puts all of Lil Wayne’s current life on display. It provides tons of quick, adoptable one-liners and is driven by raw energy. Even though it slows down in some places, it doesn’t ever cut out the intensity. Though at face value it seems like one big ego trip for Weezy, it’s easy to ride along on the trip and adopt hisrockstar attitude.

The laws of old age have been unusually kind to a band with a sound as iconically youthful as Belle and Sebastian’s. But on “Write About Love” ­— their latest album, and first in four years — it looks like Father Time has caught up with the Scottish septet, and they’ve been spitting out poppy schoolyard tunes for so long that they’ve withered into boring old grown-ups.

In their 14 years of existence, Belle and Sebastian’s music has embodied a scrapbook of work that its band members admire. They’ve shaped their aesthetic and sound from a hodgepodge of obscure book titles and throwback Smiths riffs. In this sense, their form dictates function. Belle and Sebastian strive to ingrain life’s dearest souvenirs in every song and, as a result, the music is catalogued with life experiences. “Write About Love” is a skillfully composed reflection on the throes of relationships and religion, but its subdued sound has sapped the playfulness from the band’s identity.

The album opens with violin player Sarah Martin’s calming falsetto on “I Didn’t See It Coming.”

“Make me dance/I want to surrender/Your familiar arms I remember,” she chirps over Murdoch’s backup and a thoughtful piano. The song, about being poor and in love, isn’t so bad at first. But somewhere around the epic electric piano solo, it’s apparent Murdoch won’t be taking the reigns to offer some comic relief. Without her fierce leader to sugarcoat the heartbreak with an offbeat verse or anecdote, Martin drowns deeper and deeper in her shallow verses, making it a chore to listen.

The vocal free-for-all doesn’t end there. In “Little Lou, Ugly Jack, Prophet John,” Murdoch and Norah Jones share a duet about a one-night stand. In the days of “Tigermilk,” Jones couldn’t have kept up with a Belle and Sebastian track’s energetic bounce. Nowadays, Murdoch sees no problem in idling his instrumental engine to accommodate a slower, more contemplative feeling.

Elsewhere, “An Education” actress Carey Mulligan sings the chorus for the title track and guitarist Stevie Jackson steps up in ’60s Brit-pop throwback “I’m Not Living in the Real World.” Maybe this collection of underwhelming, overserious collaborations was Murdoch’s bright idea for a reinvigorated sound. It’d be nice if some doctor started working on treatment for the early onset creativity loss that’s most commonly found in 15- to 20-year-old bands. Belle and Sebastian might seriously benefit from it.

To any ’60s and ’70s rock-lovers out there: Be ready to rejoice when Steeple is played through your computer or, even more appropriately for the sound of the album, through a dusty boom box on your back porch.

Wolf People, the rock band from Britain, will release its first album, Steeple, with Jagjaguwar Records on Oct. 12.

In February, the band released the much softer-sounding Tidings, a compilation of 15 singles put together by the band’s lead vocalist, Jack Sharp. The collection is merely a taste test of Wolf People’s overall sound, showcasing only a few of the band’s late-60s, early ’70s influences.

These Grateful Dead-era influences are clearly present in Steeple, with such tracks as “Banks of Sweet Dundee Pt. 1” and “Morning Born.” All echo the far-out sounds of this rock ’n’ roll band with soft trailing lyrics and heavy musical tones.

The album is highly centered on the instrumentation, with many long guitar riffs throughout the nine songs that are often accompanied by light drumming and the sounds of a tambourine.

Completely void of lyrics, “Cromlech” highlights the band’s harmonious musical talents, including two guitarists, one bassist, and a drummer. The song starts of rather chaotically — similar to the end of a guitar solo — and builds up to a more cohesive ending.

The songs blend together so well that it is difficult to tell when one song ends and a new one begins.

Usually, only the introduction of a new instrument is the only indication of a change in song.

It is evident that the four band members like to jam, especially the drummer, Tom Watt, with his steady thumping rhythm present in all of the songs. The crisp clash of the cymbals are also apparent throughout the album, adding to the rich background sound.

The addition of the flute in the song “Tiny Circle” brings a surprising quirkiness to the tune and also serves to make it the most upbeat track of the album. “Tiny Circle” emphasizes the band’s common pattern throughout its songs — extensive and fast-paced instrumental jams that lead into short spurts of gentle sounds.

During the rare lyrical moments throughout the album, Sharp’s high-pitched voice accents the ends of words, often holding onto them until he has no more air to keep them up. His voice is also nasally at times, sounding a bit like the voice of Fran Healy, the lead vocalist of the alternative rock band Travis. This is especially noticeable in the song “Silbury Sands.”

Steeple sounds as if it were recorded 40 years ago, like something that would have been played in Eric Foreman’s basement on “That ’70s Show.”

Overall, Steeple is sure to be a hit with nostalgic ’70s rock fans. Those who play this album will be taken back to another era; an era of bell-bottoms, boom boxes, and real rock ’n’ roll.

“Out of Goodbyes,” the band’s collaboration with Lady Antebellum, is sure to have its fans, but it seems weirdly jarring when compared to the rest of the album.  The only song that screams “legendary” like “Harder to Breathe” or “This Love” is “Misery,” the album’s first single and the catchiest song.

Maroon 5 is at its best when it sticks to what it knows. Their outrageously sensual, guitar-driven funk is fantastic, but the ballads are surprisingly slow and nothing, save for “Misery,” is particularly thrilling. Sadly enough for Maroon 5 fans everywhere, “Hands All Over” probably wasn’t worth the three-year wait.

Rating: 2/4 stars

The 90′s sensation is most well-known for their 1992 hit “Hey Jealousy” and, unfortunately, hasn’t been the same since. The untimely loss of guitarist and songwriter Doug Hopkins is one contributing factor to the decline, and, even though Robin Wilson, the vocalist of the group, is still around, his vocals don’t have the same effect in the absence of Hopkins’s lyricism. Most of the album consists of slow jam, soft rock that is typical of this group. However, their modernized pop rock sound doesn’t seem to have the catchy beat or lyrics of the previous compositions that made them famous.

Wilson sounds off-key, or flat, in many songs and there was also a lack of synchronization in the harmony sections of “If you’ll be mine.” This lack of quality, which is seen throughout much of the album, is off-putting to most, especially music aficionados and musicians.

The first single off of the album, “Miss Disarray,” sounds like nearly every other song on the album, but luckily the singer dropped out of the falsetto register for it. The single was released on Aug. 2, 2010 to radio, but as a habitual radio listener, I have not heard the single until now; astonishingly, the album debuted at number one on Amazon.com.

“No Chocolate Cake” seems to be reminiscent of early Hansen, but without popular appeal. They also include the stereotypical love songs and “bubble gum” positive messages that were prevalent in 90′s pop rock.

“Wave Bye Bye,” just like its title, hosts extremely simple and mindless lyrics that detract from the overall appeal of the song. It is almost comparable to a modernized “No Rain” by Blind Melon, sans complexity.

Fortunately, the album wasn’t a total loss. “I’m Ready” is a song that possesses actual merit and Wilson’s voice even reminds me in spots of Jane’s Addiction’s Perry Farrell.

“Dead or Alive on the 405″ was another unique track. The single was like 311 meets the Beach Boys with its ska-like sound.

Critic’s Conclusion: It might be telling of my own preference, but I feel this album is not something that sounds as if it was produced by professional musicians. It is not even comparable to EP’s that are put together in someone’s garage.

The simplicity, instead of being a positive attribute like it is for many modern bands, only served as an annoyance that seemed mindless and shoddy. The beat was repetitive and it felt like something one could dance the “Carlton” to. Perhaps the band should consider putting more time into an album before they release it.

It would almost be comparable to bands like Hootie and the Blowfish, Goo Goo Dolls or Simple Plan if it were actually good. If you’re looking for something deep or meaningful, it would be wise to look elsewhere.

Track listing:

1.”Don’t Change for Me” 4:05

2.”I Don’t Want to Lose You Now” 4:11

3.”Miss Disarray” 3:30

4.”Wave Bye Bye” 4:07

5.”I’m Ready” 4:22

6.”Somewhere Tonight” 3:56

7.”Go Crybaby” 5:00

8.”If You’ll Be Mine” 3:14

9.”Dead or Alive on the 405″ 3:02

10.”Something Real” 4:03

11.”Goin’ to California” 3:44

12.”Please Don’t Ask Me (iTunes Bonus Track)”

Needless to say, expectations were high for their new release, “You Get What You Give,” which was released on Tuesday, and though it may not surpass its predecessor, it certainly is in the same general ballpark.

The album has a healthy variety to its sound, ranging from traditional country to a funky country-rock sound that is guaranteed to get you in a better mood. The song “Knee Deep,” the second track on the album, is definitely an example of the latter.

It’s an upbeat and cheerful song about relaxing on a beach without a care in the world. It only figures that Jimmy Buffet is featured on the song, singing about buying a boat and sailing away. It’s exactly the type of song you would expect to find Jimmy Buffet in.

One thing that remains consistent throughout the album is Zac Brown’s powerful voice and outstanding acoustic guitar play, backed up by the rich sound of Jimmy De Martini’s fiddle. Whether it’s on the uplifting first track, “Let it Go,” or on “Colder Weather,” a pleasant but mellow song about self-discovery and hardship.

Even if you’re not into country, one song that you absolutely must listen to is “Whiskey’s Gone,” a brilliant song about a guy who won’t leave the bar even after being cut off. The lyrics are hysterical and the song itself is a lot of fun to listen to.

Easily two of the best songs on the album are the lead single “As She’s Walking Away” and the longer “Who Knows.”

“As She’s Walking Away” is the lead single for good reason. Country superstar Alan Jackson is featured on this sure-to-be-a-hit track.

“Who Knows,” on the other hand, will probably never end up on the radio, given that it is over 10 minutes long and features an instrumental bridge that is several minutes long on its own.

But don’t be intimidated by it’s length. “Who Knows” is a microchasm of the album as a whole – fun, exciting, and fulfilling. The best way I can describe it is that it’s like a classic country jam, almost something you might expect to hear from O.A.R.

The album as a whole is definitely satisfying. The Zac Brown Band brought their “A” game and delivered on their second major label release. However, unlike “The Foundation,” the album didn’t completely grab me the first time I heard it.

It’s hard to describe, but it seems to lack that “it factor” that made “The Foundation” as great as it was. But that’s just the difference between a great album and an outstanding album, and “You Get What You Give” is definitely a great album, and you should check it out.

But that’s not to say that the album is a failure. Nostalgia aside, this just might be Linkin Park’s best effort yet. It’s apparent right from the start that the band really wants this to be a cohesive album, as opposed to just a collection of songs. This goal is largely achieved through the use of atmospheric interludes, which work surprisingly well. The songs themselves aren’t always up to par, but the album still maintains a very nice flow.

As far as their new style goes, anyone expecting the pop-rock, nu-metal, rap-core (or whatever else they’re considered these days) that Linkin Park is known for, they have another thing coming. The rock elements are only marginally present at this point. Instead, Linkin Park draws a much stronger influence from EBM/Electro-industrial music. They still try to preserve their pop-rock accessibility, but this time it’s against a backdrop of programmed beats and sound loops.

In terms of songwriting, Linkin Park has never been the master of subtlety. For the most part, the cheesy, melodramatic lyrics remain. Fortunately, Linkin Park do manage to throw us a few curveballs. For example, “The Catalyst” initially seems like  it will simply be a schlocky, call-to-arms track, but quickly develops into the album’s best anthem (which is a good thing, seeing as the album already has a schlocky, call-to-arms track, the awful “Wretches and Kings”).

The other highlight, “Waiting for the End”, is rooted more in rock music than the electronic-sounding “The Catalyst” and features great vocal interplay between Chester Bennington and Mike Shinoda.

Unfortunately, with the exception of a few tasteful electronic interludes, the rest of the album ranges from bad to mediocre. Even the better tracks such as “Blackout” and “Robot Boy” tend to be on the forgettable side.

Though the more subdued, electronics-based style of the album is a nice change of pace, Linkin Park hasn’t quite worked out the kinks necessary to make “A Thousand Suns” a truly gratifying listen.

Ludo’s biggest issue is simply their inability to be anything but vanilla, remaining stuck in a no man’s land of mediocrity. However, that said, that doesn’t mean that Ludo has nothing to offer. “Whipped Cream,” is a catchy pop style song with crunchy guitars and fun beat that’s almost impossible to not toe-tap to, and the charming and soft-hearted “All the Stars Over Texas” showcases some excellent lyrics. “As long as the tide ebbs, and the earth turns and sun sets, I promise I’ll always be true, As long as there’s stars over Texas, I’ll hang on the moon for you.” Last, but not least, opening track “Too Tired to Wink,” proves to be an undeniably catchy song. The lyrics are silly, the music is fast paced and the drums kick the song into overdrive, making the song stand out as the real rocker on the album.

Volpe shows a lot of talent as a singer and songwriter, and all of the members of the band are talented musicians; the music is not bad, Ludo just needs to break out of the generic pop-alternative sound, and develop something of their own. Ludo has some solid songs, definitely check out “Whipped Cream,” but they simply need more time to develop into something a little more memorable.

Rating: 2 1/2 Stars

Guitarist Daniel Kesser earns respect breaking out some excellent riffs, each full of post-punk romance and proves to be one of the few indie-rock guitarists who knows how to get heavy and technical. In addition, he dances a fine line, holding back and keeping mellow when the music calls for it. The lyrics don’t really make sense, but I’m sure they did to somebody when they were written and they fit the music, so I won’t complain. Eerie and haunting, singer Paul Banks croons and pleads over the epic and sweeping synths and guitar in the masterfully composed, “The Undoing.” The real meat and potatoes of the album, however, is found in the epic and trippy cut, “Lights.” The guitar opens the song with some echoing, twangy progression, sounding like a Clint Eastwood classic in outer space.

As far as I’m concerned, Interpol is a real powerhouse of a band, drawing from inspirations like Muse, U2, Incubus and Angels and Airwaves, but miraculously managing to not sound like a rip-off or copy-cat. They are talented musicians, orchestrators, and storytellers, weaving lyrics full of paranoia and longing with music that could have told you the same story almost as easily.

Rating: 3 Stars

In Body Talk Pt. 2, Robyn offers up another album chock full of electro-pop songs that get you moving. Body Talk Pt. 2, produced by Robyn and fellow Swedes Kleerup and Klas Ã…hlund, is Robyn’s sixth album. It is made up of eight-nine if you purchase the album from iTunes-songs that are cohesive and fun. Through this album, you can really see that Robyn has become comfortable at composing songs that are just right for the dance floor, carefully crafting her unique pop sound. While almost every song has an infectious beat supported by synthesizers and various other effects, the lyrics and content never end up being mere fluff. Robyn moves from one theme to another, emphasizing her us-against-the-world attitude along with her philosophy on the healing power of dance. This album, though by no means perfect, offers an enjoyable 33-minute experience.

One thing that Body Talk does really well is meld synthetic electro-pop with Robyn’s sugary-sweet voice. “In My Eyes” opens the album perfectly with that us-against-the-world attitude that permeates throughout the album. Accompanied by futuristic sound effects and strings, Robyn jumps right into the swing of the things, oozing confidence as she belts out the value of originality, of being different and of going to someone for hope and comfort. Robyn continues with similar themes in “Include Me Out.” The song, which is not considerably upbeat, provides a great platform for Robyn to display her desire to empower, which she does quite well.

On the other hand, Robyn dishes out some sassy, cutting and risqué songs, that starkly contrast to the former half of the album. In “Criminal Intent,” she coolly compares her desire to “unwind and just bump and grind” to being criminal; so criminal, in fact, that someone should contact the authorities. The song is a perfect display of Robyn’s ability to border the ridiculous but somehow keep intact her smooth appeal as an artist.

Another song that stands out is “U Should Know Better,” featuring, surprisingly, Snoop Dogg. One, this collaboration just shocked the heck out of me, and two, in some weird, mysterious way I cannot yet determine, this song works. It really works. While it is not my favorite song on Body Talk, Robyn comes out in full force, basically challenging the entire world and giving them a big “eff you.” She and Snoop challenge everyone from the French to the Vatican, the CIA to the LAPD, and even the Devil himself.

After two relentless, slippery smooth songs, Body Talk ends with “Indestructible,” a sincere and urgent acoustic song that displays Robyn’s softer, more vulnerable side. The backdrop of the song is a club in which strobe lights and lasers are prevalent and where Robyn is willing to let down her guard, despite not being the most fortunate in love in the past, for the one she loves. “Indestructible” is an arresting song, and the dramatic string instruments in the song mimic and emphasize her urgency and apprehension.

In terms of sound, Robyn doesn’t make enormous strides in Body Talk-she’s got her own formula and is sticking to it. However, she provides an honest, well-paced and slick album worthy of any dance floor.

Despite being an outspoken fan and proponent, I must make this sorry admission: indie rock isn’t always much fun. Indie bands tend to have a holier-than-thou air about them, while their sound is often abrasive for the mere sake of sounding edgy and different.

The fans are no better, if not worse. Hipsters force their way into cramped Brooklyn clubs to catch the next cool band before they become passé tomorrow. The ritual proceeds with their American Apparel-clad arms folded across their chest, their legs unable to move much for the constraint of their skinny jeans.

The whole atmosphere surrounding indie rock can be so steeped in pretense and self-consciousness that an outsider could hardly perceive it as being even the slightest bit enjoyable. It is thus a blessing that out of this snobby muck indie rock has come Of Montreal.

Of Montreal are an Athens, Ga. band that have been crafting psychedelic pop for nearly fifteen years. What began as group of acoustic-happy Beatleites has however evolved into something much different and better. On their latest — and perhaps best? — album “False Priest,” the band has solidified their spastic 21st Century sound. The result is a wild electronic take on sexy and catchy R&B.

Opening track “I Feel Ya’ Strutter” immediately thrusts you into the “False Priest” party. The song’s pseudo-’70s feel and highly danceable beat make for a killer “want you back, girl” track. Frontman Kevin Barnes doesn’t go strictly Jackson 5 though, bringing his whiteboy falsetto to the chorus and singing off-color lyrics like, “Hey, I’m still way erect for you.”

“False Priest” isn’t just retro-chic. Lead single “Coquet Coquette” is a power chord laden romp, a complement to the much more vindictive lyrics than those featured in “Strutter.” “Famine Affair” is a synth rocker not unlike the sound on last year’s solo effort from Julian Casablancas, lead singer of the Strokes. “Casualty of You” is a soft-spoken ballad driven by piano and an impressive string section.

Fans of Of Montreal’s trippiest moments will be happy to find plenty here. Fuzzy, meandering electronics permeate throughout “False Priest” though never so much as on track “Around the Way.” The song explodes early on, moving to the barely discernible voice of an unknown French-speaking woman and continuing to rise and fall from there. Eventually the song rides out on a lengthy, noisy synth outro. “False Priest” may find some of Of Montreal’s eccentricities tamed, but it’s still their quirkiness that carries their sound.

For all its variety, the album excels most for the brilliantly weird R&B like that in “Strutter.” Well-chosen guests enforce the feel, including the R&B singer and Big Boi protégé Janelle Monae, as well as Beyoncé’s younger sister Solange Knowles. Monae brings her sultry voice to album highlights “Our Rioutous Defects” and “Enemy Gene.” Barnes trades lines with Knowles on the sensual “Sex Karma,” arguably the album’s peak. The list of contributors is rounded out by Kanye West collaborator Jon Brion, the album’s producer. The complete team make for a bumping art pop record.

In the end “False Priest” is packed full of catchy dance hits with lyrics on love found, love lost, plenty of sex and drugs. Given all this is coming from a band known for exotic costumes and riding white stallions onto stage during their live performances. It would seem that in the age of Lady Gaga, Barnes has stepped up to the plate as our new Prince. Who would have thought we’d have found him in some stuck-up indie band?

Grade: A

The band delivers a predictable mix of pleasant melodies and catchy chorus lines, with a darker overtone than previous albums.

The lyrics are packed with emotional phrases like “My words are choked and full of tears but still you listen to me dear … the time that I’ve wasted, so bitter and faithless, is wearing me down now,” from the track “Still Your Song.”

It seems the problems of the world have gotten to lead singer-songwriter John Rzeznik. Nearly every track is about the difficulty of fixing issues and finding purpose in life.

On the Goo Goo Dolls website, he explained the reason why.

“I wanted some of the material on this album to address the disillusionment of the difficult period we live in; I wanted to give a voice to the emotional uncertainty that accompanies hard times,” Rzeznik said.

The album could have done without the songs “Now I Hear” and “Say You’re Free,” featuring bassist Robby Takac as lead vocalist. Although he has a good voice, the edgy, rough quality of it made these songs feel like an anomaly on the album.

When the band formed, Takac did most of the lead vocals. However, loyal followers of the Goo Goo Dolls accustomed to the smooth vocals of Rzeznik will certainly be disappointed with these tracks.

Overall, fans will enjoy this new album.  The title track, “Something for the Rest of Us,” is melodically the highlight of the CD, with “Hey Ya” also pleasing the ears.

The album’s heavy subject material may deter some.  However, the songs generally follow the upbeat rock structure the band’s followers have come to depend on.

“The Forest of Dance,” by hometown heroes Restless Groove, spins the tale of four friends (who look strikingly similar to the members of the band) as they join forces with the creatures of The Forest of Dance. Set in the year 2211, the forest is under attack by the Mayor of Funk City and Macky, his “misguided tool of destruction,” according to the liner notes.

Similarities to “Avatar” and “Fern Gully” aside, the record uses its storyline to express themes of alienation, technological advancement and the classic battle of good vs. evil. It opens with airy acoustic guitars and a carefree groove, while Pete Gerard’s breathy voice comes in singing, “Time keeps spinning fast every year, but those same thoughts keep ringing in my ears.”

Yet the lyrics aren’t where the band excels. It’s the musical precision that gives Restless Groove their power. The band stays together note for note, bar for bar, throughout the entire album. Their timing never slips even as both Gerard and fellow guitarist Ryan Kirkpatrick bound up and down the neck, often times playing blistering unison lines.

Bassist Josh Bernier and drummer Justin Michaud keep the band locked down as well, even when Bernier begins slapping away or Michaud starts pounding on the double bass drum pedal.

Instrumentally, they are defined by these jagged unison lines and funkadelic wah pedal rhythms. The formula can get somewhat tiresome by the end of the album, but the band knows what they are good at. There are plenty of allusions to their heavier, more progressive roots — “March of the Kodiaks” could easily be a Coheed and Cambria single — but the record stays jammy enough to dance to most of the time. It’s enough parts Grateful Dead and enough parts Rush to keep everyone happy.

It’s actually this same formula that carries listeners through some questionable songwriting decisions later in the album. Gerard’s rapping on “Mr. Mayor” is a big swing and a miss and even when they bring in Andrew Downey to rap on “The Puzzle,” his quick flow can’t keep the song from sounding like a bad Rage Against the Machine knock-off. But these guys aren’t afraid to take risks.

The production on the album is clean and nicely arranged, placing the guitars in stereo throughout, which gives each player their own personality. Vocals sound somewhat distant at times and it would have been nice to see them get more imaginative with instrumentations — although there is a sweet organ part thrown in there. However, everything that needs to be heard is heard, and it sounds great.

Overall, “The Forest of Dance” is a very cohesive concept album. It starts off light-hearted with songs like “Big California,” while the distorted, instrumental songs chronicling the battle scenes are much heavier. When they finally reprise “Slap Your Sole” at the end, listeners are reminded why Restless Groove is such a fun band to listen to — they are four guys who really know how to play their instruments.

Grade: B+

The eighth release from local indie Unknown Component, The Infinite Definitive, shows the music industry a single mind can create a great album.

Keith Lynch is Unknown Component — no one else is in the band. This multitasking musical wizard seems to have more than an abundance of talent. His lyrics alone are testament to indie-rock surviving as a distinct genre.

His instrumental work is also top-notch. Lynch plays all the instruments and is self-taught.

He started in 2002 and has released seven albums prior to his latest.

Most one-man bands fall into the plague of lacking any sense of depth or sound.

Unknown Component doesn’t do this. Listeners can almost imagine seeing a full band on a big stage.

Each song on the album highlights one of the many instruments Lynch plays. The slower ballads have more piano and keyboards mixed in with his smooth voice.

The faster songs display more energy, as he rocks out with electric guitars and exciting beats. He lets loose with his singing sometimes, screaming directly from the pain in his heart.

The album’s opening track, “Moving out of Frame,” grabs the listener’s attention. The track is layered with heavy drum work, powerful guitar, and enigmatic lyrics.

“Moving out of Frame” has a real mysterious feel to the words, making the listener think you know what he’s talking about, but then it seems to get deeper.

The opening line — “In another form of cover, everyone survives” — shows the brilliance Lynch has in his writing. Listeners get perplexed immediately by deep suggestions of pain.

The Infinite Definitive features another great set of lyrics in the song “Collections of the State.” The reverb-guitar in the beginning is an epic scream into the depths of space, just before that classic melancholy indie-ness pushes you back into your seat. This is how Unknown Component has created his ever expanding cult following — by making sure people listen.

With the song “The Experience of Understanding,” Lynch brings indie songwriting up a notch by creating one of our generation’s great indie-ballads.

The Infinite Definitive ends with the piano-ballad “Electric Dissolution.” The track is filled to the brim with pain, sorrow, and melancholy.

The Infinite Definitive is nothing short of a distinctive album. Unknown Component is one of the hidden jewels in the Iowa City music scene. This new release will hopefully change that.

Enter a new self-titled album, their first since 2007’s underwhelming “Our Love To Admire.” Unfortunately, instead of the success of their early efforts, the band’s newest effort falls far short of their earlier brilliance.

The sound of Interpol has always been built around its epic riffs and the sharp melancholy tone of lead singer Paul Banks’ lyrics.

But on “Interpol,” the band falls into a deeper, more mournful mood than its earlier works, and not for the better. The best tracks, “Bright Lights” and “Antics”,  were reminiscent of the late Ian Curtis of Joy Division fronting a New York City rock band like the Strokes.

The new album sounds like the exact same band, only with Banks’ baritone vocals remembering the bad times and the guitarist experimenting with the “echo” effect on his guitar in a failed attempt at ambiance.

Having a method reliant on only two factors backfires on an album like “Interpol.” Banks’ singing stays in one gear the whole time – low and mournful. This has an unfortunate effect on the album, as most songs bleed into one another. The problem is only compounded by the repetitive riffs found throughout the record.

Only a few tracks stand out from this rut; the rest could have the same name and most listeners who aren’t hardcore fans wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

The album does have some gems. The leadoff track “Success” rides a ripping drum beat into a frenetic chorus, while the leadoff single “Lights” rides a dark opening riff into a grim crescendo, and plays Banks’ dark vocals to an advantage. His call to a lover, “You will always obey me,” are haunting.

But the highs of “Interpol” can’t hold a candle to the best of the band’s earlier work. The band seems to have fallen into the “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” rut, not realizing their method broke about an album ago. Maybe on their next effort, Interpol can climb back to the glory days of “Bright Lights;” until then, at least we still have “PDA” and “Slow Hands.”

My Morning Jacket, with roots in Kentucky, is known for its Southern alternative-jam-band sound since it formed in 1998. In those 12 years, the band has grown from the laid-back Jimmy Buffett style guitar riffs on its 2001 album, At Dawn, to the ambiguous arena-rock jams on its last album, Evil Urges. And while the band is famous for its long and intense live performances, Jacket lead guitarist Carl Broemel’s second solo album, All Birds Say, finds the Southern fret-shredder toning things down a notch in what is mostly a solid attempt at going back to the acoustic country roots that has polished the group’s sound into what it is today.

The title track kicks off the album with a short acoustic instrumental that begins like a Bright Eyes B-side and ends up transforming into a guitar piece that seems as if it were written for an Italian dining scene in a movie. All of that is combined with that trademark Jacket guitar sound.

There’s a lot of steel guitar on this album, which has also been a recurring theme in Jacket’s music. That steel guitar echo reminds the listener of going on a peaceful nature walk and provides the backdrop for Broemel’s simple yet honest lyrics, which mostly feature him looking back on his past while fearing what the future might bring.

On “Carried Away,” one of the standout tracks on the album, he sings the chorus, “Don’t get carried away in the past, it’s not there, don’t get carried away in the past, it’s not fair.” This seems to describe the overall laid-back and forgiving tone of the album, which makes Broemel come off as more of a “live and let die” kind of person.

Broemel’s lyrics make him sound content with where he’s at in his personal life, maybe even a little too content. On the final track, “Retired,” he paints a picture of a life of simplicity and purpose.

When he sings such lines as “the smells of dinner and paint in the air, at 4 in the morning you’re still lying there, asleep on the couch, you wake up and rub your eyes,” we can’t be completely certain whether this is his present or a predicted future. But he seems to have a pretty good idea for a dream of a life spent in a cabin in the woods surrounded only by things that truly mean something to him.

All Birds Say is an album you need to have a specific state of mind to truly appreciate. A state of mind with no worries about the obsolete things in life and appreciation for the things you have. The majority of the songs are slow and somber, which works in this case because it sounds exactly like what Broemel set out to make. And while he proves he can hold his ground, I can’t help but imagine the improvement each song would feature with Jacket lead singer Jim James’s reverb vocals singing each story.

The Tallest Man on Earth’s new album, The Wild Hunt, floods listeners’ ears with a sound that is straight out of another time. Swedish folk artist Kristian Matsson, now signed to Dead Oceans records, producers of folk crooners Bowerbirds as well as other well-known artists like Evangelicals and Dirty Projectors, has forged a sound that’s undeniably familiar. But this Bob Dylan sing-alike transcends its folk-rock roots.

Matsson’s coarse, nasally voice can seem unbearably grating on first listen. Yet a keen listen to The Tallest Man on Earth reveals a musical world that has been long forgotten, awakened by Matsson for today’s listener. A completely deconstructed sound, consisting of only guitar, banjo, and for the first time on The Wild Hunt, piano, Matsson’s voice and his corresponding instrument carry an aesthetic which is extremely disarming.

Guitar-picked, driving melodies like “Troubles Will Be Gone” and “A Lion’s Heart” remind listeners of just how intricate a well-plucked guitar song can be.  Matsson is not just a folk rocker but an adept musician as well.

Beyond mere aesthetic enjoyment, The Wild Hunt is an ode to the spirit of the wandering man in pure folk form. Matsson proclaims, “I left my heart to the wild hunt a-comin’ / I live until the call.” Such freedom goes beyond a mentality, as tracks like “King of Spain” proclaim, a theoretical journey about self-reinvention, reveling in the idea of freedom. Matsson lives life as it comes: “I drink my water when it rains / And live by chance among the lightning strikes.” The Wild Hunt is a manifesto of living life day by day, with much appreciation of nature and wandering along the way.

Matsson’s music isn’t for everyone, as its pure folkiness can scare the unprepared away. But for the folk-at-heart, The Tallest Man on Earth is a refreshing escape from the hyper-produced studio jams of the modern day. The Tallest Man on Earth is like a dark ale: it should be consumed slowly and deliberately to savor the taste.

“Thank Me Later” is an uncluttered album fueled by spare beats, minor keys, moody synthesizers, and Drake’s hypnotically smooth voice. These traits are best displayed on “Show Me a Good Time,” which opens with syncopation that begs for sinuous movement in a smoky, dimly lit room at the end of a house party. Soon enough Drake begins his signature silky-smooth croon, begging for a good time that has glaringly obvious sexual undertones. But he quickly turns sentimental: “I live for the nights that I can’t remember / with the people that I won’t forget;” his first line of rap, reflects the youth, moodiness, and reflective attitude on fame that pervade the entire album.

“Don’t be fooled by the money / I’m still young and unlucky” notes Drake in “Karaoke,” a slow song with faint echoes of Michael Jackson’s “Human Nature.” Between those lines and the entirety of the ubiquitous summer hit “Find Your Love,” listeners can safely conclude that Drake has never had any luck finding real love. Most rappers sing about all the women they’ve bedded and the constant presence of voluptuoius and good-looking females in their lives, while Drake moans about the irony of how the girl he wanted to marry is now a wedding planner. This is what sets Drake apart; he’s not afraid to show the chinks or even gaping holes in his armor against the world, and by letting listeners into his heart, where his true feelings lie, he becomes our hipster best friend.

The only downfall to the album is the number of high-profile guests that Drake enlists to help him on his way to fame. Drake sounds best on his own; tracks like “Over,” “Find Your Love,” “Thank Me Now,” and “Show Me a Good Time” are all so effective because they feature Drake rapping and singing about his experiences in his unique style that no one else is successfully emulating. When he is placed against heavy hitters like Jay-Z, T.I., Lil Wayne, and Young Jeezy, however, he is hopelessly shown up by the ease with which these members of rap royalty spit their flows. Drake is a new kid on the block; whenever he writes a rhyme he sounds like he tried too hard to write it (as in the overwrought lyric: “Time heals all, and heels hurt to walk in”). T.I.’s southern drawl effortlessly coats “Fancy” like smooth molasses, while Jay-Z’s absentminded verse on “Light Up,” far from the best verse he’s ever performed, still brings attention to the fact that it’s better than anything Drake has come up with.

Despite its flaws, Drake’s “Thank Me Later” is a roaring success. There really aren’t enough popular, non-militant, emotionally confused rappers out there. Is there truly a market for this type of music, or will Drake end up as a one-album wonder? Drake can’t even tell you the answer; on the opening track “Fireworks” he notes that his “15 minutes of fame / started an hour ago.” However, while he is surprised by his success, he takes full advantage of his time in the spotlight. In the final track, “Thank Me Now,” he says: “I’m in the world where things are taken, never given / How long they choose to love you will never be your decision / And I’m aware that this could be the last time that you listen / So while I’m still here in this position / You can thank me now.”

Nobody expected the supposedly lesser half of hip-hop duo Outkast to lead the fight against monotony in major-label hip-hop, but with “Sir Luscious Left Foot: The Son of Chico Dusty,” that’s exactly what Big Boi accomplishes. In both lyrical style and orchestration, Big Boi’s new album is an adrenaline shot into the heart of mainstream rap and hip hop. The rapper’s smooth and inimitable flow, over a wide and mercurial assortment of electro, funk and classical backdrops, is unmatched. And “Sir Luscious Left Foot,” is the genre’s most inventive effort since Madvillain’s “Madvillainy” in 2004, and most joyously eccentric since De La Soul’s “3 Feet High and Rising” more than 20 years ago.

The most impressive demonstration of Big Boi’s rhyming prowess is “Tangerine” a sparsely-produced tune in which ominous, sinusoidal bass and a crisp drumline take the backseat to the rapper’s vocal stylings. He spews lines like “Okay, midnight, fit like, four or five chicks / in the drop ‘66 bumpin ‘Southernplayalistic’ / as we ridin’ through the city lights, Monday Magic City night” at will, effortlessly shifting the cadence to accommodate his tongue-twisting rhyme schemes.

The album’s standouts vary in theme, instrumental support and mood, and at times the whole unit feels held together only by the single thread of Big Boi’s mesmerizing flow. Weaving rhymes within rhymes and switching tempos on a dime, he sounds more confident than ever on “Sir Luscious Left Foot,” and his lyricism turns out to be a far less tenuous unifier than might be expected.

“Shutterbugg,” the first single off “Sir Luscious Left Foot,” is perhaps not the best tune on the album, but does feature some of Big Boi’s silkiest rhymes. It also benefits from a spellbinding wordless vocal hook and a funky guitar-driven bridge. Still, the mostly straightforward track pales in comparison to some of its more adventurous neighbors.

One of those is “Shine Blockas,” a confection of synthesizer swells, delicate keyboards and carefully-constructed vocal layerings. Gucci Mane’s muddled, mediocre verse only reinforces how precise and listenable Big Boi’s rhymes are: “Can’t be tripping bout no paper cause the safe is not so safe / The piggy bank got legs and feet, and can’t get up and walk away,” he raps with his distinctive Georgian lilt. This is the peak of “Sir Luscious Left Foot,” and the album experiences its only extended dip in quality in its remaining tracks.

But for all the standout tunes on “Sir Luscious Left Foot” perhaps its most remarkable quality is its consistency. Barring the irritating staccato chatter of “You Ain’t No DJ,” which breaks up an otherwise brilliant stretch in the album’s middle third, the album defies another rap cliché by containing near-zero duds, achieving the rare combination of innovation and evenness.

It’s a testament to Big Boi’s creativity and attention to detail that even the skits that end several of the songs – which on most rap albums constitute throwaway talk sessions or self-aggrandizing rants – are clever and genuinely funny. “Sir Luscious Left Foot” is a labor of love, and the work pays off in rhymes as reference-packed as a David Foster Wallace story and in the astonishing cohesiveness of an album that samples British R&B group Soul II Soul and a Tozzi opera in two consecutive tracks. The long-gestating, oft-delayed “Sir Luscious Left Foot” displays the fruits of those extended efforts clearly, and seems destined as a result for an esteemed place in hip-hop history.

Then again, it might be easy to pass off Familial as Selway’s attempt to create solo work like that of Thom Yorke. However, Selway’s voice and style are unmistakably different than his band mate’s. The drummer can sing, and his voice is calming, whereas Yorke’s tenor voice and vocal range are more distinctive.

Selway’s percussion technique gave Radiohead its original style and classic rock vibe. His voice was also used periodically in live shows as backing vocals. Selway’s quiet, hushed tone gives the album an extremely intimate feel.

This experience in backing vocals helps Selway’s voice to be harmonious, even with the depressing tone of Familial. Although his words are blatantly solemn, the subtle instrumentation makes each track beautifully simple and well produced.

Familial can easily be compared to the folk music of Nick Drake, largely because of Selway’s soft tones and low vocals.

“By Some Miracle,” his first single, was released in early July, setting the tone for his solo work. It is an earnest track complemented by the poignant voice of Lisa Germano.

“A Simple Life,” another one of his songs, is slightly creepy, but the percussion performed by Glenn Kotche of Wilco pulls the song together. Keeping in line with the album’s theme of family values, “A Simple Life” reflects what Selway wants: “We’ll leave and disappear into the night / We’ll turn out the lights / We just want a simple life.”

Selway continues with an almost resentful track, “Broken Promises.” Initially it seems nostalgic, however it turns out to be Selway scolding his past. He sings, “Make amends for all the broken promises / Dreams never fulfilled / Celebrate the lies that you made / Look on my face and you’ll find / Peace for the very first time.” Despite the fact that Selway had disappointments in his past, he can find peace in the present with his own success.

At first, the track “Don’t Look Down” has the same solemn tone as the other songs, however, a smidge of optimism is reflected in the lyrics. Selway croons, “Don’t look down it’s fine / It’s one of those days / Don’t run and hide.” As a father of three children, it seems Selway is looking to give some parental advice. Selway is explaining that although responsibility increases and becomes more daunting, it is important to stay focused on what lies ahead.

The outcome of Phil Selway’s solo debut is a style that has been done in the past, but done well, and thus is unlikely to bore any listener. Familial’s beautiful tracks will provide listeners with a diversion from Radiohead’s complex style. The simplicity of Selway’s album is the perfect balance to his previous work, adding to his impressive talent. The track “The Witching Hour” perfectly summarizes the sentiment that Selway produces: “Those I love / Will carry me home.”

When performing with My Morning Jacket, Broemel can often be found flailing around the stage during up-tempo barn-burners, or adding texture to one of the band’s hazy ballads. For Broemel’s solo record, however, he trades in his electric guitar for an acoustic set of lilting country-folk numbers perfect for the segue into fall.

With a warm voice similar to My Morning Jacket lead-man Jim James, Broemel effortlessly works his way through breezy, relatively simple songs that, generally put, fall into the folk-rock genre.

The instrumental title track, “All Birds Say,” proves an apt starting point for the record. A sunny, classical, guitar melody eases up to a piano-bass-drums combo that gently fades into second track “Life Leftover,” a laid-back folk song about not taking for granted the short time we are given on earth.

Tucked into a dreamy country number called “Carried Away,” a subtly moaning lap steel guitar matches the weary chorus: “Don’t get carried away in the past, it’s not there/Don’t get carried away in the past, it’s not fair.” These lyrics are merely one example of the subtly poignant style of Broemel’s songwriting.

Elsewhere on All Birds Say, simple truths such as “Seems impossible to get ahead/When you are only making just enough,” from “Enough,” and the close detail of the gentle shuffling “On The Case,” with its descriptions of dusty, unfinished books and weeds “growing in beds by the water,” display Broemel’s lyrical prowess.

All Birds Say may disappoint some My Morning Jacket fans looking for another record of balls-to-the-wall, country-rock anthems and psychedelic balladry. Those willing to accept the fact that All Birds Say is a slower, more easy-going affair, however, will find a perfect fall record full of lilting, country-folk songs focused on the simple truths and nuances of everyday life.

“The Orchard” is not “The Rhumb Line.” Characterized by syncopated beats, synths and remaining true to the meandering vocals that made the first album so memorable, “The Orchard” adds dimension to a band that could easily fall into the rut of mundane indie-pop that many of their contemporaries epitomize. Instead of adhering to strings as the songs’ foundation, they work seamlessly alongside the synths, upped bass and ever-present percussion.

The album starts with the track sharing its name, an introduction to the heartfelt, lovesick vocals that continue throughout. The single “Boy” and dance jam “Too Dramatic” follow with upbeat tempos and vocalist Wes Miles’ soaring melodies. The ballad “You and I Know” adds variety, sung by cellist Alexandra Lawn whose previously unheard vocal abilities are showcased with minimal instrumentation. “The Orchard” is immensely enjoyable, but unfortunately some songs fall into the “filler” category —specifically the forgettable “Massachusetts,” clocking in at an unnecessary 5:39.

The relative lows are countered by undeniable highs with the last half of the album boasting arguably the strongest tracks including “Shadowcasting,” a throwback to “The Rhumb Line.” Overall, “The Orchard” demonstrates progress, heart and the resounding message that Syracuse’s Ra Ra Riot is here to stay.

With this album playing in the background, it doesn’t matter that I’m 22 and staring at the last rays of summer. LaMontagne’s voice is keeping me tied to an alternate gravity that will undoubtedly end in fiery destruction if he ever stops singing.

The husky yet undeniably pure timbre that has become LaMontagne’s trademark is the reason why ridiculously corny, yet entirely appropriate phrases like “would make angels cry” ever came into existence.

“For The Summer” features harmonica, accordion, and a lap steel guitar, in addition to the acoustic, bass, and drum set staples, and is one of the most dynamic songs on the album. A short intro using complex acoustic hammer-ons transitions smoothly into steel slides moving fluidly beneath the accompaniment of the first verse. LaMontagne’s vocals slide effortlessly through a full octave range, rising easily into high notes that turn impossibly smoother at the top.

Other songs, such as “Repo Man” and “Beg Steal Or Borrow” lend a more upbeat feel to the album, with the latter contributing catchy lyrics about “howlin’ at the moon like a slack-jawed fool/a breaking every rule that they can throw on.”

Getting through all 10 tracks in one sitting is effortless and by the end, it feels exactly like waking up from a refreshing nap.

Barnes, the band’s mastermind and chief songwriter, has supposedly chosen to return to more traditional, acoustic instrumentation like live pianos, drums and strings. The result is a cheery blend of funk, dance and psychedelia-infused pop gems — a departure from the synthetic tunes of 2008’s Skeletal Lamping. With a preference for what I think of as Barnes’ golden-age sound (think Satanic Panic in the Attic and Sunlandic Twins), I have to say that this is much more appealing than the band’s sound as of late.

The lyrics are equally poignant and off-the-wall. On “Cocquet Coquette” Barnes eerily pleads, “I don’t wanna catch you with some other guy’s face under your eyelids,” and then on “Godly Intersex” his deadpan mutter describes a strange scene: “A zombie’s licking your window for black body radiation.”  

Lyrics aside, False Priest is somewhat of a studio wonder. There are marvelous flutters and fluctuating fuzzes that dazzle the ears, especially with headphones.

My immediate reaction was to connect it to the second half of 2007’s Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer?, which features a few dance-synth numbers that laid the groundwork for the schizophrenic mania of Skeletal Lamping. Janelle Monáe’s soothing croon accompanies Barnes on “Our Riotous Defects” and “Enemy Gene,” cementing the album’s vague R&B/soul feel.

Of Montreal has come a long way since 1997’s Cherry Peel, but with False Priest Barnes retains the voyeuristic and masochistic tone that many have come to love so much: “I want somebody to frisk me, I want this night to destroy me.”

In 2008, the band released Lens, a great melodic punk record. Drawing from hardcore punk forefathers such as Gorilla Biscuits and D.C.’s own Dag Nasty, Hostage Calm developed a sound that is raw and sincere yet refined and smart. Though Lens did not see major success, the record did attract the attention of Boston’s Run For Cover Records, an independent label with major scene influence and an impressive roster of up-and-coming bands. With this latest LP, I doubt this band can or will go unnoticed for much longer.

Hostage Calm marks a shift in the band’s sound from melodic punk music to more accessible indie pop, and the result is refreshing. It is clear that the band spent more hours in the studio, as they experiment with new instrumentation and tonalities, reaching far beyond the spectrum of punk rock.

Hostage Calm’s diverse influences shine through on each track, too, as they pay respects to bands like The Smiths and The Cure. When the band applies their impressive musicianship to the punk rock paradigm, the result is explosive. On “Ballots/Stones,” the band lays down an insatiable dance groove, while “Wither on the Vine” is a full-blown tango, blossoming into a lush Britpop chorus. “Victory Lap” has a more straightforward punk, four-on-the-floor sound with a ‘60s surf-rock vibe. The music is creatively composed and constantly evolving with each measure.

The vocals really set this record apart, and are layered into a golden wall of sound, drenched with Pet Sounds vibes. The lyrics are intellectual and honest, exploring with the vulnerability of adolescence without being cheesy. Singer Chris Martin croons on “Jerry Rumspringer,” “ I want to know where all the summers go/Do they pack up and leave when you turn 23?”

Still young themselves, Hostage Calm has already shown great maturity in their ability to shift their sound and experiment with new styles. So while the lyrics on Hostage Calm nail the identity crisis of growing up perfectly, the overall quality of the album proves that this is a band that has come into its own.

Interpol is the band’s most cohesive release since their debut, and while they’ve revoked certain stylistic elements of 2007’s godforsaken Our Love To Admire, they haven’t simply returned to what they know works. The 10 songs on this record display a sense of grandeur that they’ve never had before, as they experiment with piano riffs and hypnotic synth lines in addition to Banks’s trademark gothic drones. Perhaps most impressive is their ability to blend a certain degree of pop sensibility into an album so reminiscent of Phantom of the Opera.

Given the strength of the album, it almost seems that Interpol released lead single “Barricade” to trick listeners into avoiding their new album. The song is choppy and repetitive, and has a chorus that does not invite singing along. This weak link plays halfway through the record, after four of the band’s most shoegaze influenced tunes.

Album opener “Success” proves that while Interpol lacks the ominous crescendos of Turn on the Bright Lights, you shouldn’t quite write them off as the newest mainstream flop. The stark guitars create intricate atmospherics, and Banks’s falsettos are always welcome.

“Memory Serves” follows in a similar vein, and showcases the album’s prominent piano. Sparse chord placement resounds throughout the number, ultimately helping bring the song to a climax and finish.

“Summer Well” and “Try it On” also rely heavily on the piano. In the former, the piano leads the song into a relentless, clashing melody of guitars and the album’s most sing-along-worthy chorus. In the latter, guitar riffs are largely replaced with layered piano, creating an atypical, warming sound.

“All of the Ways” may be long-winded, but it redeems itself with an ominous tonality that sounds nothing short of apocalyptic, and in the closing track, “The Undoing,” indecision between the English and Spanish languages culminates in a claustrophobic hustle of nonsensical shouting and layered electronics.

Listeners will surely recognize that Interpol does not have the lasting appeal of Turn on the Bright Lights. But it should also teach us that the Interpol record everyone is waiting for will never come. The band has changed, and with the recent departure of bassist Carlos Dengler, we can’t expect them to ever return to their earlier stylings. Interpol marks the beginning of a new page for the band. We’re just lucky they didn’t stop with Our Love to Admire.

Once you gain enough focus to get past the ridiculous cover (Perry essentially lying naked on some cotton candy-esque clouds) and start listening, you’ll immediately notice an album split into two halves; in the first half, Perry showcases upbeat electro-pop, full of Russell Brand influenced lyrics about sex, partying and more sex. Jumpstarting the album are her two smash hits, “Teenage Dream” and “California Gurls,” with “Last Friday Night (T.G.I.F)” sandwiched in between. Essentially the musical version of “The Hangover,” “Last Friday Night” runs down the list of all the things Perry and her drunken entourage accomplished last Friday — including blacking out, streaking and having a casual menage-a-trois.

On “Fireworks,” Perry attempts to steer the lyrics into deeper territory but ultimately ends up with a cliched and somewhat awkward hybrid ballad-dance mix. Luckily, she quickly backpedals to her roots with “Peacock,” a song reminiscent of fellow party-fiend Ke$ha, on which Perry belts out, “I wanna see your peacock,” followed by two emphatic echoes of “cock.” Enough said.

After once again entering dramatic territory with “Circle the Drain,” a tune about her struggle with loving a drug addict, Perry slows down the pace for the rest of the album with ballads like “Not Like the Movies” and “Pace” and some light, fluffy love songs including “The One That Got Away” and “Hummingbird Heartbeat.”

Although I can’t recommend purchasing this album, I know I will probably be out partying to half of the songs on it for the rest of the semester; I guess Ms. Perry gets the last laugh.

Hamilton Leithauser has this gift. He’s been yelping and belting his innermost frustrations on The Walkmen albums for years with a success that most rock and rollers of Leithauser’s nature will never find.

The rest of The Walkmen lay down tight, emotionally wrought arrangements that match up perfectly with Leithauser’s words. It’s a combination that has created songs like “The Rat” and “Little House of Savages,” easily two of the best rock songs of the last 10 years.

So for their sixth studio album, my hopes were high. It’s not to say that it’s a let down, because the album certainly has its moments. “Woe is Me” has the classic Walkmen sound with Leithauser letting his voice soar over the catchy, guitar-driven sounds.

In fact, the instrumentation on this album is beautiful. South-of–the-Border guitar licks pepper nearly every track. Driving bass lines braided through four on the floor drumbeats make this album an interesting listen.

Sadly, The Walkmen’s strength throughout their career comes off as the weakness on this album. Leithauser just doesn’t have his mojo.

“Stranded” is the first single off of “Lisbon,” and it is one of the few instances when Leithauser’s vocals ring as true as they do on The Walkmen’s best songs. Telling, though, is the song’s first line. Leithauser sings, “Throw another dime in me my friend, and I’ll sing a song I know for you.”

When despondency is the only emotion that you can convey with conviction, then something might be wrong.
This album makes a perfect jukebox addition. It doesn’t burn as brightly as previous efforts, but even when The Walkmen get it wrong, they’re still better than whatever was in the CD player before them.

Waxing wistful, Sonny & the Sunsets’ new release “Tomorrow Is Alright” lightly eulogizes that fleeting springtime, when you still lived hours away from the city and were young and beautiful and chaste and sheeee-it.

It’s a fresh wave of nouveau-nostalgic innocence embodied in Tomorrow, a product of Sonny Smith and an evolving troupe of musicians. The San Francisco-based band’s new album is one of longing, unmarked by painful recollections of a simpler time, impressed instead with a wide-eyed yearning. Its sentimentality defies era-specificity, echoing music that crosses from ’50s rock and roll to garage blues to something reminiscent of the Beach Boys’ harmonious whine.

The first and strongest track, “Too Young to Burn,” expresses an experience unmarred by jaded sobriety; instead, here, the band sings with a clarity that speaks to an understanding of the past. “I’m older now,” sings Sonny. “I say it’s alright / every tear rolling down / is a lesson learned.” Looking back in Tomorrow isn’t a source of regret; instead, it’s soaked in sweet recollection.

The simplicity of “Tomorrow” is in its still-youthful positivity, evoking a summer-dream montage. It’s whimsical, with lyrics that tell long delirious stories, though the text remains uncomplicated and direct. It’s a coming-of-age album from those who are already of age, but still remember what it was like back then – with the same aching wonder.

But Tall Hours in the Glowstream is a breeze. If Michael Nau and Whitney McGraw experienced difficulty or forced any sentiments, listeners won’t notice.

The pair’s vocals still echo like an homage to Mazzy Star, and the retro sounding but entirely of-the-moment lo-fi quality is firmly in place. The sweet exchanges between the two, reminiscent of televised old school country performances (like Loretta Lynn’s frequent duets with Conway Twitty), are less prevalent, but remain an obvious highlight. The album opener, “Sail of the Silver Morning,” and the upbeat, drum roll-peppered “Glorylight and Christie” both feature that lovely back-and-forth. And though sometimes McGraw’s voice is used simply to accent Nau’s, the results are just as delightful.

On last year’s Paranoid Cocoon, the tune of most songs, although beautiful, are hard to follow naturally. The organ-backed “Gotta Cheer Up,” for one, is a tinge creepy in its repetitiveness. In this sophomore effort though, the duplicated lyrics are happier in content and backed by similarly lovely, but certainly more hopeful, melodies. It appears Nau and McGraw have taken their own advice—they’ve cheered up.

The album’s promotion began promisingly enough, with lead single “Cooler Than Me” becoming one of the biggest hits of the summer. Takeoff follows through on the single’s catchy electropop sounds, providing 12 tracks of irresistible ear candy. Posner, who handles production duties on most of the album’s tracks, proves to be a capable producer.

As a songwriter, though, Posner falls into a particularly nasty problem. Posner and his record label have frequently promoted Posner as a Duke frat boy, and his lyrics take on a sadly stereotypical frat boy stance toward women. “Cheated,” for example, features this gem of a chorus: “I should’ve cheated on you / I was everything you wanted and more / I should’ve cheated on you / Nobody told me I was dating a whore.” The song is made more grotesque by a specific naming of the lyrical target.

Overall, Posner shows some promise with his album. In particular, “Please Don’t Go” and “Bow Chicka Wow Wow” are potential hit singles. His vocals are similar to, but thinner than, Justin Timberlake’s. If he can get past the lyrical issues, he could stand a shot at a decently successful career.

While “Foundling” is far from his best work, any Gray fan will appreciate his release.

Staying primarily in the English underground for most of the 1990s, Gray broke through with his fourth album, “White Ladder,” in 1999, receiving critical and commercial success. The album contains his best songs, and its success made a name for Gray in the United States. Gray followed with “A New Day At Midnight,” which also went quadruple-platinum.

After “Midnight,” Gray released “Life In Slow Motion” in 2005. He then proceeded to take a hiatus until returning last year with “Draw The Line.”

“Foundling” is far from groundbreaking. The initial plans were to release a reissue of “Draw The Line,” but once that idea was scrapped, Gray quickly put an album’s worth of songs together, and added some B-sides, which were initially supposed to go on the reissue, but instead put on an EP disc included with this album.

“Founding” has 19 tracks in all, but it really lacks a single. “A Moment Changes Everything” is claimed to be the single from the album, but the song is on the EP, so that pretty much sums up the album for you. The single couldn’t make it on the LP. There are better songs on the EP, which is supposed to be a bonus.

Gray calls this release a “personal album.” He never expected the album to reach the sales that his last four have accomplished.

“Foundling” takes a bare bones approach that fans of Gray might like, but this is more than likely not for first-time listeners. With songs like “Only the Wine” and “Holding On,” it just seems like Gray is not even enjoying the songs. He almost sounds bored.

It’s tough to criticize Gray for anything he does, but this is album does not even begin to approach the greatness of “White Ladder.” It’s just a little too simple. Gray does have a vocal approach that is very recognizable, much like other slow adult-rock singers like Chris Martin, Ray LaMontagne and Jack Johnson.

If you’re already familiar with Gray’s work and enjoy his albums, this album has a different feel to it. It’s definitely a David Gray album, just slower and with out any of the electronic additions that made “White Ladder” so charming. If you haven’t heard much David Gray, work your way into “Foundling,” because the album alone is too different from his previous work to get a sense of what he is all about.

This past week has been the week of surprises for fans of the odd, interesting and multitalented artist. On Aug. 10, after five years without an official album release, Stevens, without any warning or speculation, released an EP entitled All Delighted People. This EP is a 60-minute, eight-track creative piece with song lengths spanning from 2 minutes, 57 seconds to 17:03. Those concerned by the extended running times of many songs (three of which are over 9 minutes) should be comforted to know that from 45 seconds up to 17 minutes, Stevens consistently delivers one of the most interesting sounds in the music industry-a booming mash-up between orchestral masterpieces, calming guitar and experimental chaos.

All Delighted People is based around two incarnations of the title track: the 12-minute original and the 8-minute classic rock version. It is amazing to listen to how Stevens is able to take the exact same song and create two extremely different songs, emotions and understandings out of it. He proved his abilities to do so with his most famous song, “Chicago,” (my favorite is titled “the Multiple Personality Disorder version”) and he has done it yet again.

As an artist, Stevens’ style is unmistakable. As I pressed “play” on the album and the solemn chorus of voices began with a soft “doo” while a comforting, familiar yet eerie voice played over my speakers, I instantly knew that I was listening to one of the most interesting people in modern music.

As the track progresses, it shifts through various musical incarnations. Electric instruments mix and meld with orchestra ensembles of horns, trombones, cymbals and electric recording equipment, which results in a beautiful mess that only Stevens could achieve. The constant shift in music from simple to convoluted, clean to messy, ordered to random, works so well it almost feels unintentional. Yet it effectively keeps the listener interested and alert throughout the entire 11:40 song. This is Stevens’ art-making something so simple out of a mass of complexity. It feels like a mix between the sweet simplicity of “Chicago” with the indie orchestra art of his BQE project. Stevens’ technique is unlike oil and water: though the individual aspects don’t inherently go together, Stevens creates a perfect mix that works both separated and stirred.

Though he repeats many lines, such as the line, “Oh I love you a lot/oh I love from the top of my heart,” he manages to take the words from a chorus backed with simple guitar to a staccato fairy-tale sound only transitioned by drum beat that becomes slowly fortissimo.

From the “fairy tale” the track approaches orchestrated madness just as Stevens says the lyrics, “I’ve tried my best/I’ve tried in vain/oh but the world is a mess.” His cries to “the delighted people” of the world are not only heard through his haunting voice but the accompanying composed music. The song reaches its conclusive endnotes, which can only be described as a Michael Giacchino score during the highest-intensity moments of LOST. Though the song is almost 12 minutes, unprecedented for the majority of modern music, the time flies by so quickly that by the time the song is finished, the listener is ready to listen to it again from the beginning.

On the classic rock version, he creates a softer guitar- and ukulele-centric version of the original. I find it interesting that Stevens calls this the “classic rock” version, because listening to the song, I would not associate any famous classic rock acts with it. While not true classic rock, the instrumentals and occasional solos are exactly what I would imagine Stevens’ interpretation of classic rock would be. A hint of disgruntled experimental guitar solos with a dash of madness and chaos all tied together with some sort of consistent order-a formula that mostly works.

The rest of the EP follows in the same vain as the title track. Songs such as “Enchanting Ghost” and “Heirloom” riff on Stevens’ soft-folk music side with added interesting musical techniques such as using the electric guitar to mimic the notes of his voice.

The fourth, fifth and seventh songs play to Stevens’ spiritual, religious side with songs such as “From the Mouth of Gabriel” which deals with the archangel Gabriel, who serves as a messenger from God. These songs further show Stevens’ beautiful prose with poetic lyrics and enchanting rhyme schemes, timing and flow. The “oooh” and “ahhh” during “The Owl and the Tanger” seek to replicate the sounds of these gentle creatures watching the world perched high up on a tree. The effect creates enchanting noises that sound like they have been put through a gramophone and lost in the fog of Dickensesque cemetery.

The last song, “Djohariah,” is a 17-minute epic that goes through three acts. The first feels like a mix between a spaghetti western and a Quentin Tarantino film-The Good, The Bad, and the Reservoir Dogs. The enchanted chorus of “oohs” at beginning with the twang of the electric guitar creates a disunity of sound that fits together like pieces in the world’s most jagged puzzle. The first 5 minutes are a prolonged guitar solo filled with raw emotion and pain, only to cut out to reveal clear vocals chanting “Djohari Djohariah” with a marching band drum beat and trumpet line playing in the background.

This order is followed by more electro chaos-the sound of a child who just got a hold of his first synthesizer or multi effect amplifier and is having wholehearted fun. The issue is that this fun time translates more to art than pleasant sounds. For those uninitiated to the oddities of Stevens, this long interlude will seem like a mess of noise-an experiment gone awry. Finally, after the prolonged 12-minute, two-act solo, the song and album finish with a “typical” third act: Sufjan singing over soft musical backings. Among his depressing lyrics, Stevens’ rhythmic prowess is once again proved.

In the last two minutes, in a formulaic way, the chorus of “Djohariah” joins in along with a subdued version of his chaos and a simple beat-keeping clap. The music slowly fades until there is only the guitar and his voice to be heard as it fades away concluding yet another incredibly interesting Sufjan Stevens album. I can only wait until Oct. 12 when he releases his full-length album, The Age of Adz. Until then, this EP will have to do-and it does just fine.

Now, nearly four years after their debut, Klaxons have released their sophomore effort, Surfing the Void. Gone are the air-raid sirens and bass-heavy 4/4 beats. In their place is more emphasis on proggy guitar work and a super-dense wall of sound that may very well destroy your headphones.

What caused such a 180-degree turnaround in the London-based band? That may be the work of producer Ross Robinson, an unlikely figure to be working with Klaxons. The American producer is responsible for bringing us albums by Korn, Limp Bizkit, Slipknot and — get this — Vanilla Ice. Robinson was the guy who created the hordes of angsty neu-metal punks that hung around the Harlingen mall.

Even after considering that tidbit, Surfing the Void marks quite a progression for a band once considered the buffoons of the Day-glo scene. Album opener “Echoes” is rife with pounding, swelling guitars and vocals that exhibit some serious dynamic range. But on songs like “Flashover,” warbly guitar and heavy reverb make for straight-ahead rock music that eerily recalls The Horrors’ first few singles.

The transition from rave-inspired jams to rock music in its most traditional form was a risky, and probably very challenging, move to make. For that to happen in four short years, Klaxons deserve some applause.

Isobel Campbell, her voice ambrosial and effervescent, and Mark Lanegan, his voice soaked with whiskey and cigarette smoke, have released their third full-length album, Hawk. A compelling amalgam of post-modern Americana and dark folk melodies, Hawk may be their best effort yet.

On “No Place to Fall,” Willy Mason lends his murmuring voice to a rustic, shuffling desert ballad and along with Campbell’s lilting vocals, the combination is hauntingly beautiful. But on songs like “Get Behind Me,” Mark Lanegan takes the spotlight, raspily singing into the mic as gospel organs and rollicking guitar fill the negative space.

Like an iron fist in a velvet glove, Hawk is commanding and delicate in its composition. Whereas Campbell and Lanegan’s previous albums were hindered by an overwhelming sense of restraint, Hawk is the fully realized dichotomy between two extremely different ­— and compatible — vocalists.

6.9/10.0

Jenny and Johnny may appear to be a rather anonymous pairing, but it’s hardly a fluke.

Jenny is Jenny Lewis (Rilo Kiley) and Johnny is Johnathan Rice, who produced Lewis’ two solo efforts (“Acid Tongue,” “Rabbit Fur Coat”) in addition to his own solo career.

And yes, this is just about as sickeningly cute as a couple can get … a match made in indie heaven.

And the couple’s debut effort is just as adorable, if teetering on uninteresting at times.

The chemistry is undeniable, especially on the leadoff single, “Scissor Runner,” but at points, it feels as though Jenny and Johnny are just trying not to step on each other’s shoes.

The aforementioned single captures the ’60s pop radio romance like a Polaroid, a sunny haze of boy-girl harmonies and motoring guitar riffs. The sultry “My Pet Snakes” is an equally brilliant outing from the twosome, with a rearing blend of choppy baselines and seductive whispers.

“Big Wave” proves to be the peak before rolling onto shore. Like no other effort on “I’m Having Fun Now,” the track finds the duo pushing each other in new musical directions while uniting their strengths into something new and interesting.

The rest of the album — with notable exceptions “Animal” and “Just Like Zeus” — politely ambles along without an original thought to be found.

But something can be said for making pretty music, which Jenny and Johnny could feasibly do in their sleep, and the streamlined “She & Him” formula works on most levels.

If they can move beyond the cuteness — as they do at times here — we could have a romance for the ages … or at the very least, a lovely summer fling.

Phil Selway

7.3/10.0

Phil Selway might sound like another no-name singer-songwriter. He’s anything but. Being the drummer of the biggest band in the world — Radiohead — affords you certain opportunities, like releasing a solo disc on the same label that has put out albums from Wilco and The Black Keys.

But “Familial” isn’t the product of privilege and is worth release on its own merit.

Selway has occasionally provided backing vocals to Radiohead tracks (“There There,” “2+2=5”), but here, he’s on his own and stripped totally bare.

And just like the band he’s famous for being in, Selway continues to innovate, if in a more tightly restrained manner.

Bedroom noodlings have a certain limit in invention though, and “Familial” suffers a bit for it.

Selway has claimed that in recording his solo debut, he actively edited out anything deemed “very Radiohead.” He would have done well to include it, pushing the boundaries of traditional acoustic music.

There are the faintest echoes of “Kid A” in “The Ties That Bind Us” and even more so on “A Simple Life” and “Beyond Reason” — the best, and most ingenious, ditty “Familial” has to offer.

There’s a certain novelty to hearing Radiohead funneled through coffee house speakers, but even so, “Familial” doesn’t go above or beyond the scope of solo side-efforts.

But there is an unquestioned, admirable beauty to Selway’s courage and solo musings, enough to make you hope that he can find more spare time to test the bounds yet again.

Dead Confederate

8.9/10.0

The South consistently gives rise to a bountiful heap of stellar music running the gamut from blues to country to hip-hop to rock.

The one thing uniting the sound of each is an undeniable Dixie flavor, and Dead Confederate — with a southern-fried name to boot — is hardly an exception.

The Athens, Ga. five-piece’s flavor comes off as Southern Gothic, falling somewhere in the spectrum between My Morning Jacket and Smashing Pumpkins.

“Sugar” is anything but sweet — it’s as thick and dense as you can imagine. The droning, hard rock inspired riffs are pulled off with an artful tact and studied formulation.

Most remarkable is Dead Confederate’s ability to continue to layer these murky harmonies and boggy bass chords into something that is both deep and accessible.

“In the Dark” launches to an appropriately perilous, heavy start with a scorching bridge and alert organ flares. “Father Figure” sounds like it is straight out of “Siamese Dream” with a coiled, but dangerous, structure. “Giving It All Away” — which features Dinosaur Jr. frontman J. Mascis — has Dead Confederate at its most flexible.

The album’s biggest sin is the unrelenting bleakness the cover promises, an endless storm of dark, dredging elements nearly driving to the breaking point.

But the band manages to stop just short, and “Run From the Gun” is just the luscious pause “Sugar” was in dire need of.

As heavy as “Sugar” is on your heart, the temporary lifts stop just short of drowning in dense, always powerful, Southern dirges from the talented land of Dixie.

Ra Ra Riot plays a brand of rustic indie rock in the vein of Fleetwood Mac or Paul Simon. It is obvious that the band members have been heavily influenced by friends and tour mates Death Cab for Cutie and Vampire Weekend, both of which lend members as guest producers on The Orchard.

The record offers ten mellow, folksy tracks that are enhanced by the band’s small string section. But despite its modest 40 minute playing time, the record drags. Most of the songs are mid-tempo and similar in structure, and the album suffers from a lack of variety.

When the band shakes things up with female vocals, compliments of Alexandra Lawn, on “You and I Know” and “Shadowcasting,” however, the music flourishes, and we catch a glimpse of the band’s potential. The strings and guitars diminish into a twinkling echo as the vocals soar into reverb-drenched ethereality.

Unfortunately, most of the record lacks originality. It tends to waver between Appalachian-tinged indie jams that sound like watered-down Fleet Foxes or My Morning Jacket, and a quirky college-rock band like Local Natives.

A safe record without any real risks, The Orchard is sure to see some success. And aesthetically, there is hope for Ra Ra Riot. There are moments when the band shows promise, utilizing their string section to back lush choruses on tracks like “Do You Remember,” giving a distinct nod to Revolver-era Beatles. If Ra Ra Riot wants to break out of indie-rock mediocrity, though, it needs to step out of the shadow of its peers, take risks, and convince its audience that the band’s music is just as exciting as its dramatic history.

Most people who know of The Sword know that they toured in support of Metallica, and that the Guitar Hero video game series includes songs from their catalogue. They received pothead publication High Times’ prestigious Doobie Award for Best Metal Artist in 2009 which is fitting, given that the most common metal subgenre used to describe The Sword is “stoner metal.”

In addition to their weed-related genre classification, The Sword’s musical style has been described as “retro metal” and “heritage metal,” with a few elements of “sludge metal” added for good measure. Some more fundamentalist metal fans may jeeringly label them “hipster metal” due to their sound’s vintage elements and the band’s commercial success among non-metal fans. But despite the mess of subgenre titles they claim, the rolling chords and Ozzy-like vocals mainly point to Black Sabbath as a primary influence.

Warp Riders follows the two-part story of a hunter named Ereth, who was banished from his home planet of Archeron, a celestial body that has just stopped spinning, leaving one side to burn under multiple suns while the other freezes. Ereth meets the Chronomancer, who enlists him in a quest to restore the planet’s balance. It’s the stuff of Tolkien—certainly an album to geek-out over if you’ll let yourself.

Melody abounds on plenty of tracks, such as “Lawless Lands” and “Night City.” The tracks are heavily riff-based, with a pace that’s pure hard-rock. The titular track, though, draws on Southern rock. As for the metal genre’s signiture solos, they’re impressive, but not so long or frequent that they become boring.

Despite the blazing guitars throughout the riff-heavy album, The Sword’s greatest weakness remains its vocals. The band’s vocalist, lyricist, and rhythm guitarist J.D. Cronise’s voice has improved over the past two albums, but it still often lacks the energy necessary to carry its songs. On a science-fiction concept album, he really should have upped the drama.

While a solid release, this is not a future classic by any means. Anyone who enjoys some fun guitar solos should hear this, but for a concept album that had two parts designated for different chapters of the story, its storytelling is surprisingly weak. Despite The Sword’s grand ambition, Warp Riders is decidedly less than epic.

While Perry’s 2008 work, One of the Boys, is a solid effort overall, the strength of the album’s two biggest singles obscures the rock influence that’s heard on the album’s other ten tracks. With Teenage Dream, Perry takes the poppier sounds of her two biggest hits and magnifies them, working with the same producers, Max Martin and Dr. Luke, on five of the album’s tracks. For the rest, she brings in pop producers Tricky Stewart and Stargate, along with longtime collaborator Greg Wells.

The result of this emphasis on dance-oriented pop music, with the occasional rock influence still creeping in, is a more sonically diverse disc than her last album. The greatest fault of the album is an interesting one: Teenage Dream doesn’t necessarily hold up as an album in and of itself, but it makes for a rather stunning greatest hits album. An album this packed with potential singles hasn’t been released since Rihanna’s majorly successful Good Girl Gone Bad. Just a week before the album’s release, Perry became the tenth female in the history of the Billboard Hot 100 to land two top five singles in a single week, with former number one single “California Gurls” and the recently released second single “Teenage Dream.” With the album’s third single, the explosive “Firework,” already in line for an October release, music fans anticipate Perry’s stronghold on the charts to continue for months to come.

The opener, “The Orchard,” is a slow-paced symphony with glorious lyrics that rival the intensity of their previous hit, “Ghost Under Rocks.” Lead singer Wes Miles conveys an emotional maturity that reflects back on the band’s new-found confidence in their music. This continues throughout the rest of the tracks, from the frenzied and energetic “Boy” to “Too Dramatic,” a highlight on the album due to its simple yet loaded lyrics and furious strains of violin.

Wes Miles steps aside on “You and I Know,” allowing the spotlight to shine on cellist Alexandra Lawn, whose bluesy vocals combined with the keyboard-heavy accompaniment give off a Fleetwood Mac feel.

Unfortunately, many of the tracks lack the immediate intrigue found in their debut. The Rhumb Line displayed a refreshing inconsistency between songs that delighted listeners as they wondered what might come next. But The Orchard, despite the elaborate accompaniments, repeats similar styles and offers no such twists and turns. It is almost all hook-free and as a result, most songs will not instantly catch your attention. They test listeners’ patience by slowly building up momentum, adding layer after layer of detailed instrumentals before achieving perfection. It is an album that requires multiple listens – only then will you truly appreciate its genius.

Their third release, Hawk, is a continuation of Campbell and Lanegan’s last album, Sunday at Devil Dirt. As on that album, Lanegan’s heavy voice growls over an acoustic guitar, complemented by Campbell’s breathy harmonies. Hawk progresses from simple acoustic melodies such as “Cool Water” to dark lullabies such as “Sunrise” to big-band country rock such as “Get Behind Me,” transitions which lend more variety to the album than inconsistency. Other tracks blend seamlessly in between, ultimately making Hawk a well-executed exercise in country rock.

Though Campbell and Lanegan won’t become country legends, Hawk is a commendable addition to their collection of alluring albums. Each track stays true to its influence, whether it be seductive jazz or gritty country, and the album in its entirety feels complete and satisfying.

Kay Bertholf and Ryan Hover combine voices for a dreamy, yet often upbeat flow. Songs like “Sunbeam Show” and “Warm Forest Floor” deliver a soft, jazzy, Latin beat that is a little like disco, but always soft and easy.

The disco shows itself a bit more on the track “The Breathing Fire,” a song that calls to mind the theme song from The X-Files. It is an eerie ballad that gives way to a playful, but not quite melodic tune.

Indeed, much of the album features delightfully discordant notes. “Silent Time Of Earth,” which is not at all silent, is another example of dissonance that gives many of the songs such a playful and interesting feel.

The album is based on the book The Secret Life Of The Forest. Even though there is little that seems natural about the tracks of Hidden Lands (except perhaps the vocals, and even they feel alien), oddly, it makes sense that the album was inspired by nature. It is music you might listen to during yoga or lucid dreaming.

Hidden Lands isn’t perfect. The ghostly and indecipherable lyrics get tiresome and the discord is overplayed.

Still, the album delivers a positive and calming experience. Hidden Lands is music for dreaming.

Grade: B

Katy Perry, the 25-year-old pop chart-topper, is at it again. Her newest release, Teenage Dream, makes one 60-minute whirlwind of an album out of crazy antics, nostalgic love and lustful thoughts — basically, the three main components of a teenage lifestyle.

The teenage life is one of adventure, hardship and discovery, and Perry, in her musical career, is just about at her pubescent stage. In 2008, all she wanted was to be One of The Boys. But with Teenage Dream, Perry has matured from losing her fake I.D. in Las Vegas to falling head over heals in love. Though, as with most teenagers, it’s hard for her to find balance between her old childish ways and her newly established sound.

We were given a taste of Perry this season on the summer’s smash hit, “California Gurls,” that melted the pop charts as well as everyone’s popsicles. The tune is wildly catchy, as is Perry’s newest single, “Teenage Dream.” The title track brings the listeners into Perry’s new life of blossoming love. The singer describes a puppy love as she’s finally found her “missing puzzle piece.” This not-so-innocent preacher’s daughter knows her way around a pop song pretty well.

However, don’t discount Perry as just another pop tart — the girl can sing. On pop-power ballads such as “Who Am I Living For?” and “Pearl,” she displays her vocal aptitude. The more heavily themed songs tend to have a dreamier atmosphere with haunting vocals and a slower-paced course. On “Pearl,” Perry recounts a time when the man in her life kept her radiant and beautiful self “in the dark.” The chilling passion in her voice conveys the intense emotional attachment she has to this song.

Perry also falls back on her power-pop/rock roots on the standout track “Circle the Drain.” The artist tackles the hard-hitting subject of an ex-lover’s — most likely breakout “Billionaire” musician Travie McCoy — struggle between feeding his addiction and making time for her. She recalls, “Should’ve been my teammate / Could’ve changed your fate / You say that you love me / You won’t remember in the morning.” But don’t fret, Katy Perry fans — there is still enough poppy-girly-bubblegum fun to cure your confectionary cravings.

On tracks such as “Hummingbird Heartbeat” and “Peacock,” Perry brings her usual playful and humorous self to the record. “Peacock,” a dirtier “Hey Mickey” tribute, is a song only Katy Perry can pull off. She jokingly taunts, “Are you brave enough to let me see your peacock? / Don’t be a chicken boy, stop acting like a beeotch.” The lyrics aren’t exactly eloquent, but the raunch is reminiscent of her “I Kissed A Girl” days.

Another pop-tastic tune is the party-infused hangover “Last Friday Night (T.G.I.F).” It’s a confusing medley of blurry memories from a boozy night, a chanting crowd and a synthesized saxophone. Perry can’t recall if she has a hickey or bruise, or why there is “glitter all over the room.” The song is almost like a classier version of Ke$ha, and the album’s biggest WTF moment.

It’s apparent that Perry finds difficulty in balancing her sugary reputation with her new tied-down life as a lady in love. She is stuck between the two, and the inconsistency hurts the album. However, as Katy continues to find her balance, Teenage Dream proves she will be seeping into all of your dreams, one pop song at a time.

The Montreal-based musicians have shifted their chilling, lyrically powered lens toward life in suburbia, detailing repressive boredom, listlessness and just what those kids are up to in their signature anthemic sheen. Front man Win Butler croons: “I know we are the chosen few/But we’re wasted/And that’s why we’re still waiting.” Such tragic romance for white picket fences and a car parked in every driveway.

Yet Arcade Fire do not wholeheartedly disparage the suburbs as a dreamless wasteland. Rather, it is a place where kids “seem wild but they are so tame/They’re moving towards you with their colors all the same.” Sometimes being asleep isn’t so easy to recognize.

The album, at times, becomes frantic, decrying the soullessness of this heavily-constructed environment, as heard in the laid-back, vampy track, “City With No Children”: “I feel like I’ve been living in/A city with no children in it/A garden left for ruin by a millionaire inside/Of a private prison.” Of course it’s hell. But it’s home.

It’s also central to Arcade Fire’s identity, as sung in “Wasted Hours”: “We’re still kids in buses longing to be free.” The birthplace of angst isn’t all bad — what would Arcade Fire be without the suburbs?

Another notable track include the velvety-smooth “Half Light,” an exemplary use of the minor chord. Butler and Régine Chassagne’s duet is a testament to the versatility of the band, with Chassagne’s less-often-heard voice adding an ethereal dimension to the album.

Overall, The Suburbs is an opus to the beautiful disaster that is life too comfortable. And if it keeps creating music like this, it’s probably good if it’s here to stay. Arcade Fire prove that something really tremendous can come out of nothing.

“Cooler than Me,” the first single off the album, is an excellent example of how Posner’s style has changed over his music career. From his beginnings as a 16-year-old making beats and tracks in the basement of his Southfield, Mich. home to his major label deal with J-Records (RCA/Sony) in July 2009, Posner has evolved from a rapper (yes, he did rap at one point in his career), to singer and producer. The first amalgamation of the track was released on his free mixtape in early 2009. The song, made in a makeshift dorm-room record studio, had a fairly basic combination of guitar, piano and created beats. While the lyrics in the original and recently released track are the same, the original was much simpler and also included an additional verse from longtime friend and collaborator Big Sean. In late 2009, Posner released his second mixtape One Foot out the Door, hosted by Boston radio and mixtape DJ Clinton Sparks. On it was the clubbier, electro-dance “gigamesh remix” to his biggest single. The song showed how, in just a few months, Posner grew as a producer, creating more advanced beats though overshadowing the essence of the original song with the fanciness of his production.

Unfortunately, his official single that has been rocking airwaves sounds a lot more like the “gigamesh remix” than the mixtape original. Missing the simplicity of the first release and a Big Sean cameo, the song shows a Posner who has advanced as a producer but lost some of his charm.

This element is noticeable on the entire album from the first 53-second track titled 31 Minute to Takeoff-a title that both alludes to the quick rise in fame and an Easter egg that occurs 31 minutes into the album right before the aptly titled track “Delta 1406″-to the last track entitled “Falling.” No longer is Posner the goofy pop singer/producer who remixed popular songs such as “Kiss me Thru the Phone” and “Evil Woman.” Instead, he is a singer who is reminiscing on his quick rise to fame instead of basking in what got him there. While it is refreshing to hear a different message from such a young star, the replacement for fame boasting is girl chasing. The album has too many songs about love gained, lost and all the one-night stands in between. The song “Bow Chicka Wow Wow” shows this transition. In the song he is boasting about his ability to get girls home with him with lines such as, “Girl I don’t even need to say sh*t to make you feel right girl you know you like that” and “You act like you gonna leave but I know that you’ll stay.”

He follows up this song with the likes of “Cheated,” an ode to an ex-girlfriend who broke his heart and whom he claims he “should have cheated on” because “nobody told him he was dating a whorrr.” Later in the song, if this weren’t enough, he calls the lady in question out by full name-first and last. I wonder if she is the same one who felt “cooler than him.” From track to track, it seems like there isn’t much on his mind aside from girls. The whole thing feels a bit sleazy.

Don’t get me wrong; there are certainly some gems among his album. The first song, the 53-second intro, “31 Minutes To Takeoff” is simple and elegant with a beautiful backbeat. The short track even gives a small treat to fans of his mixtapes where he alludes to the opening and closing tracks of his first release Tick and Tock respectively when, referring to his rise to fame, he says, “It was just a matter of” followed by the sound of a clock. This strong introduction leads into one of the best songs on the album, the dance ballad “Please Don’t Go.” On this track, Posner is able to balance out being an all-star producer with his scratchy-soft vocals. My favorite track, though, is titled “Do U Wanna.” On it, he samples the fantastic Ray LaMontagne and finds a way to turn the slow trumpet riff into a catchy pop song.

Overall, 31 Minutes to Takeoff is not a bad album; I would call it hit and miss. Watching Posner perform here last February, I have seen the energy and enthusiasm he has toward his music and his fans. After years of listening to his music, I know of his talent as a music maker and a producer. This album, though, does not completely showcase all that he has. I would recommend checking out songs individually instead of as a whole album. There are dance tracks for those looking for a club-infused beat, and there are slower tracks looking for more Posner soul, but the two rarely overlap. It will be interesting to see which music path Posner will choose to pursue on his following album. Regardless, his talent is undeniable, and I hope he continues to produce music for many years.

With May’s “California Gurls,” the first single off “Teenage Dream,” Perry pushed more towards bubble gum pop — with an accompanying video so drenched in inventive colors and art direction it can only be read as a comment on its own excess.

It’s no secret she’s in a field that’s suddenly become super-saturated — the titanic ascendancy of Lady GaGa and Ke$ha are just two in the most recent line of female goddesses dying to create party anthems about men, drinks and their own brand of female empowerment.

Her sophomore effort, “Teenage Dream,” clearly puts Perry within her genre without singularly distinguishing her. Her cadenced verse and simple choruses seem to borrow a hand from Ke$ha, while she retains the sultry fire that lit up “One of the Boys” on at least a few of the songs.

While lacking the tightly wound production of Lady GaGa, Perry uses “Teenage Dream” as a way to try and carve her place as a jewel of the Top 40 radio waves and, surprisingly, a singer who actually wants to put some emotion beneath those lyrics and beats.

The title track is the best merger of these divergent themes, a riff on adolescent love built on a smooth combo of guitar and electronic beats that complements the way her voice ducks in and out of electronic aid.

The album is best in its first half, when Perry gives over to the kind of shtick that made her a certifiable hit (and also despised by plenty who see her as the epitome of what’s wrong with music). Songs like “Last Friday Night (T.G.I.F.)” are loaded with superficial party lyrics and equally superficial music. It even has a random sax break.

But to call “Teenage Dream” a wholly competent piece of evolution would be a dramatic stretch. The problem with Katy Perry 2.0 is that there’s nothing audacious, nothing to set her apart. The farthest departure she conjures comes in album-closing “Not Like the Movies,” a piano-driven piece that’s simply the thematic antithesis of the titular single.

“I Kissed a Girl” was like a mini-shockwave in that it provoked people to think about its underlying sexual politics, and whether her faux-bisexuality was something worth lauding or just a silly gimmick.

“Teenage Dream” lacks a similar verve, with only the aforementioned “Last Friday Night” or perhaps the wailing chorus on “E.T.” having any kind of playfulness.

Songs like “Firework” and “Peacock” feel direly repetitive in their plea for the listener to dance to them, while “Who Am I Living For?” and “Pearl” try to be serious and simply feel out of place.

Had Perry turned more toward collaboration, like the great little gem of Snoop Dogg’s verse on “California Gurls,” or tried to critique her sound in a more original way, the whole thing wouldn’t feel so Lady GaGa-Lite.

“Teenage Dream” will satisfy Katy Perry fans looking for a jolt of sugar-loaded musical Pop-Tarts in spades. It succeeds at re-emulating what made her popular without distinguishing her from the crowd. She’s simply starting to sound more and more like everyone else.

0.0-2.5/Frisbee

Sufjan Stevens

Released: Aug. 21

8.9/10.0

What better way to prove the world isn’t a messy, tangled, revolting blob of coincidence and meaningless chance than by arranging an epic, baroque composition of indie pop and exclaiming your achievement to said world?

Sufjan did it. It’s the 11-and-a-half-minute opener to his hour-long, suddenly-released-without-any-previous-indication-on-Saturday double-LP EP, “All Delighted People.”

Wait a minute, a double-LP EP? Shave “All Delighted People (Original Version)” and the whopping 17-minute closer “Djohariah” off each end, and you’re left with 30 minutes of tunes, a proper amount for an EP.

But to do that would eliminate the Michigan songwriter’s newfound greatest strength: his ability to construct epic, climactic songs — full of so much beauty and wonder — tailor built for his signature whispery vocal performance.

The ending of “All Delighted People (Original Version)” gives the frenetic, violin-charging finish of “A Day in the Life” a run for its money. Seriously, The Beatles, but way more ornate.

The whole song is lovingly arranged, with climaxes of horn arrangements, apocalyptic banjo interludes and plenty of the backing strings and electronic elements you’d expect from the songwriter who once gave you “Chicago.”

Stevens has long been interested in the existential and spiritual, even before exploring the transfiguration of Christ and recording worship songs on 2004’s sparse, intimate “Seven Swans.”

In both arrangements of “All Delighted People” (there’s a “Classic Rock Version” complete with a guitar and electro freak-out), he reviews his decisions, questions meaning and even offers a shout-out to Simon and Garfunkel — all sentiments that echo throughout the remainder of the record.

But all is not lost and in the dark. Halfway through his dream, a light is lit by a neon God as everybody bows down to pray and Sufjan takes refuge in the arms of his God: “I tried my best, I tried in vain, do you love me a lot? Do you love me from the top of your heart?”

Happy piccolos whistle as he walks hand-in-hand with this God, comforted by omnipotent power. “What difference does it make if the world is a mess?” he asks.

“I tried my best, I trained in vain, oh but the world is a mess,” he moans as violins shriek and big, orchestral drums summon up God’s thunder around him.

The remainder of the album seeks to sort through some of these finer feelings. “Arnika” explores existential exhaustion, and the little gem “Heirloom” is a soft and lovely song of helping others through the same.

But the strength of the album rests firmly upon its bookends: the epics. Sufjan gets existentially lost, but in the best way, channeling the experience into this newfound musical venue.

The EP caps off with “Djohariah,” allegedly named for Sufjan’s sister. Like “Sister” from “Seven Swans,” the track just builds on louder waves of choral aahs and guitar work until nearly five minutes in when Djohariah, his sister’s name, becomes clear in the mix. He finally starts singing with five minutes left in the track, encouraging his sister to leave her room and take joy “for the woman is the glorious, victorious mother of the heart of the world,” backed by an electronic beat and hand claps.

It’s as weird as it sounds, but in a way that’s elegant and overwhelming. As though it’s from far away, like Jónsi and Sigur Rós. But Sufjan’s not from Iceland. He’s an angel from above.

-MC

Ra Ra Riot

Released: Today

8.5/10.0

No band’s identity has been marked with melancholy to quite the degree Ra Ra Riot’s has.

Not only do the Syracuse, N.Y., sextet’s sorrowful strings and morose arrangements bring about a bit of sadness, but the band’s buzz rose right along with the news that John Pike — Ra Ra Riot’s chief lyricist and drummer — had died in a tragic accident.

And while “The Rhumb Line” searched inward for resolution, “The Orchard” seemingly has found that sense of peace, as evidenced by a bouquet of garden hymns and ever-blooming melodies.

As though it was a somber, but cheery, celebration with friends, Ra Ra Riot’s second proper release pops with color, blossoming at every turn.

The quaint self-titled track plucks the album to life with an elegant, Victorian charm before launching into a cascade of spirited singles and choruses.

“Boy” pushes the brilliant string duo of Alexandra Lawn and Rebecca Zeller to new heights with a precise, reverberating bass shuffle, while lead singer Wes Miles shines in the upbeat, shimmering “Too Dramatic,” a balance of porcelain coos and choppy, airy chants.

The triumphant pairing of “Shadowcasting” and “Do You Remember” recovers from a casual swoon — brought about by the cyclic “Massachusetts” and ambling “Foolish” — with “Kansai” whirling in with a tightly orchestrated chamber poppiness afterward.

The starry “Keep It Quiet” brings the evening to a close in a delicate, restrained manner, capped by an echoing, definitive thud.

Chris Walla (Death Cab for Cutie) does a great job pushing the performers in their craft, but also lifting the expansive sound — buoyed by the string section and baroque arrangements — beyond any restraints that had previously shackled the band.

Ra Ra Riot’s lofty melodies soar higher than ever — mimicking a bird that has just been freed from its cage — both in sound and emotion. The strings fly higher, the vocals reach further and any burden of sadness has been shed far below.

-JB

!!!

7.6/10.0

!!! (pronounced chk chk chk) is one of a kind, a group influenced by post-punk riffs just as much as glammed-up electro jams.

“Strange Weather, Isn’t It?” follows along those lines, with even more diverse offerings and assemblies of inspirations.

The group’s fourth disc melds along with previous efforts, just as layered and intricate as ever. Though the album is relatively straightforward in its chic, hypnotic dance aspirations, !!! opts to amass its music in a cluster of disco hooks, hyperspace echoes and swanky blues grooves.

With an endless array of twists and turns with no apparent beginning or end, the product begins to resemble an M.C. Escher drawing — controlled chaos observed from a static viewpoint.

At just nine tracks, “Strange Weather” skirts the droning sensation you often get from six-minute dance anthems, no doubt in part thanks to its ever-revolving set of styles that mesh in a fresh manner with each submission.

“Wannagain Wannagain” brings about a harsh ’90s house music vibe, while “Steady As The Sidewalk Cracks” simmers with Latin flavor, a sizzle of vanishing, shuttering guitars and loose, carefree choruses.

The dangerous “Jamie, My Intentions Are Bass” bounces like a Bond villain, but it’s the thudding, ruthless “The Hammer” that grips your hips and gets you moving more than any other.

!!! lacks a certain repeat value that makes for a truly great dance record, and the album lacks any connection deeper than its dance-hall facade. But the admirable craftsmanship and tempting hooks make “Strange Weather” worth a listen, and fans of the band have no reason not to love what !!! does here.

“You can change the station. There’s just no replacement,” front man Nic Offer chants in “AM/FM.”

That pretty much hits the nail on the head.

-JB

Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin

7.9/10.0

Once a name is out there — and more importantly, familiar to people — there really is no changing it. Which is a shame, because Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin just doesn’t really suit this Springfield, Mo., four-piece.

A name like Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin points to a band that is chocked full of eccentricities, who would hardly craft anything resembling what should be on the radio, but that is exactly what SSLYBY (whew) does.

Any quirk the group had was purged in its debut, “Broom,” while the bedroom musings in its follow-up, “Pershing,” hinted at the direction “Let It Sway” took off in: alterna-pop.

Sounding much like Weezer and Semisonic when they were on top of their games, SSLYBY’s junior effort cranks things up to 11 (OK, six), ratcheting up a bevy of power-pop anthems meant to please the masses.

The quartet gets all “Buddy Holly” on “Banned (By the Man),” maintained by a steady stream of fuzzy guitar riffs and carefully constructed breakdowns. “Sink/Let It Sway” takes that formula and adds an impossibly smooth slur of optimistic lyrics and sunny drum bursts.

In addition to cranking up the volume, the band introduces slight Southern inspirations in the twangy “My Terrible Personality” and appropriately titled “Back in the Saddle.”

All the songs make for easy pills to swallow. The production ear of indie-pop aficionado Chris Walla (Death Cab For Cutie) only helps, and his guidance sets SSLYBY on a clear path.

Arguably, some of the charm of “Pershing” is lost in the translation. The band had already nailed the slow, subtle ballads that most bands of this sort struggle with but doesn’t pack any along for “Let It Sway.”

But the vintage guitar melodies and dazzling simplicity are charming enough to make one overlook most of the faults … including the name.

-JB

— Matt Carney, professional writing senior

— Joshua Boydston, psychology junior.

This happened to Oxford, Miss. band Colour Revolt. After the release of their 2008 debut “Plunder, Beg and Curse” failed to sell many copies despite glowing reviews from a majority of publications, the band was dropped from their label and drummer Len Clark and bassist Patrick Addison quit.

This left lead-singer/guitarist Jesse Coppenbarger and lead-guitarist/co-vocalist Sean Kirkpatrick to start anew.

The band’s first step was filling out their lineup, which added Daniel Davison (ex-Norma Jean) on drums, Brooks Tipton on keyboards, and Hank Sullivant (MGMT producer) on bass and production.

Once that was taken care of, the real production could begin.

The first noticeable trait of the second album, “The Cradle,” is that the band has changed their sound from the gritty, bluesy jams of their debut to scrappy energetic freak-outs in the form of twin-guitar attacks.

The first track, “8 Years,” gives an account of the band’s history up to this point. According to Coppenbarger, it was written the day that Clark and Addison left the band. It also follows the belief that everything that happens in life is just based on perspective, as shown in the chorus “One man’s limo is another man’s hearse,” which is repeated as a theme throughout the song.

The second song and the first single, “Our Names,” was written at a point where the band wasn’t sure that they would continue. The turning point came when they realized that the band was more important than their names and meant something to people outside of themselves, resulting in the song.

The track is a highlight of the album, featuring Coppenbarger’s strong vocals, ranging in everything from soft whispers featuring a distinctive southern twang, to soaring falsettos and gritty screams.

The track, “She Don’t Talk,” is the strongest of the album, featuring the core members soloing over each other. The song sounds like early Modest Mouse if their singer was born in the Deep South.

The song’s lyrics touch on bad communication, which in this case is between a man and a woman, but also could lend themselves to a band with members recently abandoning ship.

The closing track, “Reno,” features the band at their instrumental best. While the band typically records everything in a setting similar to a live performance, this song was recorded with separate parts layered over each other giving the track a bevy of guitars to satisfy those who listen with headphones.

While “The Cradle” may not launch Colour Revolt into super-stardom, it certainly is a step forward for a band whose future was hanging by a thread.

Each of the songs paints a portrait that the listener can sink into. “The Cradle” takes listeners to another world just like all great albums, books and movies. This album cannot be seen as anything short of a blowout victory as it is one of the best of the summer.

And this Cinderella story may also go down as one of the best of the year.

It is safe to bet that not many would have expected newcomers Best Coast to make the album that would epitomize youthful summertime sentiments.

Last year, the Los Angeles-based trio began releasing seven-inch singles and EPs, which garnered them much attention before signing with small label, Mexican Summer.

Their debut album, Crazy for You, is an interesting blend of upbeat indie pop and lo-fidelity with a refreshing take on 1960s surf rock. Best Coast sings lovable songs about being boy-crazy and being out in the sun.

Singer and lyricist Bethany Cosentino’s voice is both dreamy and endearing. It echoes a similarity to other modern lo-fidelity band vocals, like Beach House and Crystal Stilts.

One loses count on how many times Cosentino almost amateurishly rhymes “crazy/lazy,” such as in their title track, “Crazy for You.” In other songs, Cosentino’s silly side is exposed when she sings about her marijuana being taken in “Our Deal,” losing a favorite T-shirt in “Bratty B” and how she yearns to hear her cat talk in “Goodbye.”

Best Coast’s lyrics lack a profound meaning, which in many cases, would appear to be a huge setback for the band. However, in “Crazy for You,” simple lyrics never sounded so charming. The refrain from “Boyfriend,” their first single? “I wish he was my boyfriend” ? is reminiscent to lovelorn rants by 1960s girl groups.

As a whole, the album flows together because Best Coast’s sound is continuous from the opening song to the last. Yet, the tracks do not blend with one another, making every song distinct, fresh and hard not to dance to.

The album‘s bonus track, “When I’m With You,” also repeats “crazy/lazy.” However, the song is a great addition to the album because it delivers some of the sweetest lyrics: “When I’m with you, I have fun,” Cosentino confesses throughout the song.

Crazy for You is an album that stands out, so be prepared to hear a wave of other bands come out with a similar sound. It’s clear that Best Coast has the ability to deliver great summer tunes and will no doubt have their fans eagerly anticipating their next release.

Until then, fans can probably be seen dancing along to the album’s catchy surf pop harmonies across California’s sunny coast in their sunscreen and swimsuits.

After hearing a leaked copy of the album a few days before its official release, I was very surprised but by no means disappointed. On “The Final Frontier,” Maiden’s fifteenth studio album, the band has finally perfected the melding of progressive rock with their trademark brand of traditional heavy metal, which they have been attempting since 1995′s “The X Factor.”

Clocking in at nearly 77 minutes spread over ten tracks, Maiden continues their trend of ever-increasing average song lengths; but this time around they manage to cut repetition to a minimum. The album is full of surprising time changes and alterations of mood, yet taken as a whole it flows together quite seamlessly.

Highlights include opener “Satellite 15… The Final Frontier” (showcasing the band at their most experimental), “Isle of Avalon,” “The Talisman,” and the prerequisite Steve Harris-penned epic-album closer “When the Wild Wind Blows.”

Now 35 years into their career, Maiden manages to turn in a very solid effort, likely to appeal not only to heavy metal traditionalists, but also fans of progressive acts like Rush, and even mainstream hard rock fans. Although not on a par with magnificent 1980s high-water marks such as “Killers,” “Powerslave,” or “SSOASS,” “The Final Frontier” is still an excellent album: 4 out of 5 stars.

The ever-shifting and mood-altering tunes match the visuals perfectly. There are highly disturbing images, like a vampiric figure floating in a canoe that creeps up on children making s’mores, a woman peeling back yellow wallpaper as oil spills from behind it, a knight hand-washing brains on a riverbank and a crazed fish-like man playing autoharp in front of swirling, spinning flames. But the scary images are paired with humorous, euphoric and childish scenes. If you’re a fan of AC’s earlier, more abrasive albums like Here Comes The Indian, you’ll enjoy the avant-garde soundscapes and disorienting imagery.

The music is a strange blend of droning tribal-pop with plenty of acoustic and electronic instrumentation. There are individual tracks, but it’s often hard to tell when one ends and the next begins. One minute you’ll hear brain-frying, looped computer noise while staring at melting, visualized sound waves, and then you’ll see an anonymous longhaired albino grunge freak setting up a drum kit on a sea of rocks in a gorgeous Pacific Northwest landscape.

The songs are entrancing to say the least, and recall the repetitive, noisy pop of Feels and Strawberry Jam, along with the acoustic/electronic clashing dissonance of Spirit They’re Gone…, Danse Manatee and Sung Tongs.

ODDSAC is a breath of fresh air, and it’s encouraging to see a band step out of its realm and experiment with a seemingly forgotten art form.

The almost-titular track, “Sink/Let It Sway,” is the perfect example. Its jaunty guitar riffs and uplifting vocals express a carefree, almost naive, attitude towards difficulties. The cheerfulness-in-the-face-of-obstacles theme is echoed in “Banned (By the Man),” which boasts a string of “na na na”s so catchy that you forget to notice the diluted lyrics.

But when taking a closer look, you find that the lyrical content is laughable due to its emptiness. Admittedly, SSLYBY have never been known for their insight. At least this time around, they offer an overall addictiveness that excuses lackluster content. Case in point: “In Pairs” loops the same five, trite lines throughout the entire three minutes but darn it, you can’t help but tap your foot while grinning like an idiot.

Then again, not every song has to be painstakingly dissected for a deeper meaning. As long as it provides a sanctuary of blissful joy, it achieves its purpose. Even though SSLYBY can’t be described as particularly profound, with Let It Sway, the band’s experimentation has paid off, providing 41 minutes of energizing power-pop.

But sic a wizened Wilson on the songs of George Gershwin, and you get utter sincerity. You get joy. You get an a cappella version of “Rhapsody in Blue,” which reprises throughout Wilson’s album, that’s pretty damn majestic. Oh, and, of course, you get rhythm.

The rest of Brian Wilson Reimagines Gershwin is sort of like a strawberry shortcake of genius. The layers are well put-together, and it’s certainly very sweet and delicious, but you sort of have to be in the mood for that particular combination of flavors.

After all, Wilson is hardly the first to “reimagine” Gershwin’s music. The original compositions have acted as templates for artists ranging from Ella Fitzgerald to the Residents. What makes Wilson’s crack at the old standards so unique is that he was chosen by the Gershwin estate to actually complete two of Gershwin’s unfinished songs, as opposed to just covering previously unrecorded ones.

“The Like In I Love You,” as conceived by Wilson, is a slightly schmaltzy, more traditional rendition of a Gershwin tune, although lyrics like “Gliding in a starless sky/ ’til we find the inner light/ Now we can duplicate the universe,” indicate some later filling in. On the other hand, the opening riffs of the surf-y guitar on “Nothing But Love” immediately point to a wholehearted Endless Summer-ification of a classically Gershwin melody.

Ultimately, both tracks speak to the versatility of the “collaborators,” and especially to Wilson’s lack of ego in what was clearly a labor of love on the oeuvre of a respected predecessor. And, honestly, who can say no to strawberry shortcake?

On the introduction to his major label debut, dance-pop purveyor Mike Posner — born in Southfield — audaciously croons, “Do you recall / I told you / This was just a matter of time,” with the perceived confidence of a “sure thing.” While this attitude is promising, it’s never fully realized, and unfortunately, after those 53 seconds, Posner emerges full of contradictions and lapses of judgment rather than compatibility and consistency. After listening to 31 Minutes to Takeoff, it’s clear that despite two successful self-produced discs, this mixtape wunderkind still has a lot to figure out.

What Posner does well, he does with the fluidity and spark of a true pop star. On the album’s first real song, “Please Don’t Go,” Posner’s airy voice soars over a 16-bit video-game beat as he belts out 31 Minutes’s biggest chorus. After a glitchy interlude, Posner unsheathes a soaring falsetto line, hitting a perfect climax after a stretch of production that’s a bit more out of left field than the remainder of the album. While the song itself isn’t what one would call “experimental,” it’s this fraction of deviation that hints at the fact that Posner isn’t afraid to embrace a less polished veneer.

Not too far beyond the entrance to 31 Minutes is its ubiquitous summer hit, “Cooler Than Me.” The finger snaps are infectious and perfectly utilized, and the beat is driving, yet never overwhelming. This song is Posner the entertainer: a singer with a purpose and a full arsenal of talent and creativity fueling his dry tenor and party-boy persona. This song achieves everything he wants, even while lacking any diversity at all in terms of tempo or feel — picture a confidant man strutting through a packed club, never scuffing a shoe or brushing an elbow.

Disappointingly, beyond the two aforementioned success stories, the rest of this LP takes a turn for the vapid and relies on teenage idiosyncrasies to shape its instrumentation and lyrical content.

Stylistically, 31 Minutes ranges from the big-band trumpet fanfare of “Do U Wanna” to the Maroon 5-esque guitar pop of “Gone In September.” Posner’s influences become fully apparent on “Déjà Vu,” a track that lives and breathes the Timbaland/Timberlake collaborations that have set an industry standard over the course of the past decade — everything from its frenzied percussion samples (see Timbaland’s “Give it to Me”) to its call-and-response verses (see JT’s “What Goes Around… Comes Around”).

What eventually becomes this album’s final downfall is its lyrics. Even though today’s hit music scene isn’t exactly filled with John Lennons, with talk of being “three shots deep” and the dire need for a Red Bull (from the sexed-up “Bow Chicka Wow Wow”) coupled with the rhyme of “synthesizer” and “synthesize her” (on slow jam “Synthesizer”), it’s glaringly obvious that Posner isn’t ready to write interesting pop songs. In addition to his lyrical underachieving, Posner is never fully able to decide between playing the invincible playboy or the heartbroken everyman and sings of conquest and heartache as if they’re one and the same. Ultimately, it’s this lack of direction that dooms one of our own.

Darker My Love, a frustratingly talented L.A. quintet, drifts dangerously close to this territory on Alive As You Are, its disappointing third LP. After a somewhat promising eponymous debut album and a less promising second album, this derivative dud does little to inspire confidence in the future of the group.

The problems are evident from the opening notes of “Backseat.” The song is an American Beauty-era Grateful Dead folk-rambler that stalls at its halfway point where somebody had penciled in “guitar solo.” The rest of the song is actually very enjoyable, but the stock guitar work in that middle section is blatantly lazy. The more glaring problem is the complete lack of inventiveness. It doesn’t sound like a tip of the hat to their influences; it sounds like a rip-off.

The Rolling Stones receive the band’s sincerest flattery on “18th Street Shuffle,” and the Kinks are imitated on “New America.” There’s nothing wrong with the band name-checking its idols, but without innovations, there’s nothing to distinguish the group from the pack.

It’s ironic and slightly sad the cuts that sound most like Darker My Love songs, which fall somewhere on the scale from original to modestly referential, are the weakest links. “Split Minute” hints at a hook that never materializes, and the repetitive and inappropriate synth riff detracts from serviceable lyrics.

Then there’s “Dear Author,” a shrug of a rocker that manages slight novelty by existing as an amalgam of the band’s other influences. A less annoying song would have cut the two-word drawl chorus, but then you’d just have “A Lovely Game,” a less annoying song.

In the thorough 2010 rock-doc You Weren’t There: A History of Chicago Punk 1877-1984, aging musicians and former punk scenesters bemoaning the death of “true punk” hit on an important caveat for, really, any musician. When asked about the state of punk today, one former Chicago studio musician responded, “I’m not supposed to like what you do. I’m almost 50 years old. You should be doing something that’s really gonna annoy me.”

Yes, he was talking about punk specifically, but it’s applicable to current music. Bands are breaking ground, making noise and getting out there, but other bands, often popular and even talented groups, do nothing to deconstruct aural traditions. To the innovators who came before them, that has to be really frustrating.

Frustrating. That’s maybe the best word to describe Darker My Love’s discography as it stands. Guitarist, songwriter and vocalist Tim Presley is more than capable of creating original tunes, as proven by his best work with former band the Nerve Agents and Darker My Love.

But on the weaker tracks from the first two DML albums and essentially the entire third album, he seems more dedicated to conceiving adorable tributes to his heroes. That’s a great way to start a garage band with your buddies. It’s a terrible way to fulfill the promise of your stronger work.

To be fair, the aforementioned promising Darker My Love material was always on par with that of the Dandy Warhols and Brian Jonestown Massacre. What made its prior albums different, especially its first, was a smooth combination of the former group’s creativity with a pinch of the latter group’s swagger. On Alive As You Are, creativity is inexplicably scant, and swagger is nonexistent.

The hope would be that this entire project is a fluke creative misstep. By many accounts, the band’s live performances are enjoyable affairs, and some of these tracks might gel better alongside choice cuts from the first two albums.

Darker My Love is certainly more talented than a cover band led by cool uncles, but if it chooses to straddle the line between reference and pastiche, it’ll have to work harder to stay relevant.

Hey, there’s always some bill space between Fred Zeppelin and Stone Temple Co-Pilots. But the guys from Darker My Love are better than that.

Wavves’ latest release, however, sheds the lo-fi scuzz in favor of crispy ‘n’ clean sound engineering from Modest Mouse producer Dennis Herring and a fleshed-out rhythm section from the late Jay Reatard’s backing band. The result is kind of like shaving Zach Galifianakis and realizing that the beard is what made him funny.

No longer cloaked in distortion, Wavves’ music — or at least 50 percent of it — reveals itself to be a marginally cooler, slightly less boneheaded Blink-182.

Opening track “King of the Beach” exemplifies this. It’s a standard verse-chorus-verse-chorus-bridge-chorus rocker about getting sunburned on the thigh, telling adults or whomever that “You’re never gonna stop me!” and then yelling your self-anointed nickname, “King of the Beach.” This is the rowdy, nasally punk song you’ve heard 10 times over; it makes you wonder if the band’s older canon of damaged recordings was concealing anything exciting in the first place.

But once you get past the wide-eyed, beach bum power-grunge of “Linus Spacehead,” “Super-Soaker” and “Post-Acid,” comparing Wavves to Blink-182 seems a bit unfair and cruel. Sure, Williams spits the occasional juvenile rhyme (for instance, pairing “shit” and “idiot” in the self-deprecating “Idiot”), but he’s only half right when he sings “I still hate my music / It’s all the same” in “Take on the World.” Yes, Blink-182′s music does, in fact, all sound the same, but this is where Williams departs.

The second half of the album is surprisingly innovative for someone who has made the aforementioned shit-idiot lyric. “Baseball Cards,” for instance, samples a plinking piano and two-note guitar line; Williams then glazes over everything with high-register synth chords, low-end hip-hop synth bass, and some Motown “sha-la-la’s.” The song captures the eerie placidity and chaos of shaking up a snow globe and watching a blizzard of plastic snowflakes unfurl onto the shrunken city below. Incidentally, “Baseball Cards” is about not wanting to go outside.

“Mickey Mouse,” the album’s best track, also uses a sample: “Da Doo Ron Ron,” the hit single of ’60s doo-wop girl group the Crystals. The honking brass and claps from the original song are recognizable only for the first 10 seconds; afterward, that low-end synth bass from before checks in, as do programmed claps and a chugging guitar riff. Again, the song is about not wanting to leave home, only this time, the music — something like a languid summer dance rave — implies the opposite.

Still, we should keep Williams indoors. Although we now know what it sounds like when he’s out frolicking, getting sunburned on his thigh — it sounds like Blink-182 — his music is far more compelling when he’s home alone, with nothing but samples to keep him company.

The lagging first half of “The Suburbs” is almost boring enough to seem like a conscious creative choice, lulling the listener into a sensation of static existence. Songs like “Empty Room” retain pleasingly squiggly baroque string lines, while “City With No Children” churns away like a road song with a failing engine — catchy in a car commercial kind of way. Meanwhile, many of the lyrics imply a struggle with fame and expectations, along with plenty of self-mockery (see the audience-baiting meta-joke “Rococo”).

A wider view of the record, however, shows Win Butler straining to write his Springsteen opus about adolescent love, life and growing up in the strange suburban jungle. So many teenagers across America probably share Butler’s feelings of guilt and persecution, the sense that any other lifestyle would be more “real” than a suburban existence. It’s an adolescent obsession — never wanting to turn into one of “them,” whoever “they” might be. Eventually, this facade fades, and on “City With No Children,” Butler is left musing, “I used to think I was not like them. But I’m beginning to have my doubts about it.”

Under the ping-ponging bass, insistent military drums and U2-like jangle of the powerful “Half Light II,” Butler vows “I will never raise my voice.” It’s a lonely and torturous surrender. By tightening the theme of suburban discontent around seemingly every other line of the lyrics, the music is left to loop around the fringes, trilling and pounding away to no avail. Synth lines are cloyingly generic and brass explosions are kept in check despite the presence of so many crescendos begging for catharsis.

Still, the vocal interplay between Butler and wife/multi-instrumentalist Regine Chassagne remains fascinating; they are two youths, one with a cracked shell and the other resiliently wide-eyed. In “Sprawl (Flatland),” Butler bemoans the loneliest day of his life, when he searched every corner of the earth for “the real” and came up empty. It’s a gloomy, string-laden suicide note for childlike idealism.

Yet in the phenomenal ecstasy of “Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains),” Chassagne has an irrepressible yearning to escape. Car alarms and squealing New Order synths exhort her onward and upward toward the invisible summit, losing oxygen along the way but thirsting for escape into the unknown darkness of the clouds. It’s one of Arcade Fire’s best songs, a confirmation that we can make the best of what this world has to offer after an album of doom and gloom.

To me, “The Suburbs” kept conjuring memories of the closing scene in “The Virgin Suicides.” In the movie, teenage boys who have spent their whole lives pining for the love of sheltered sisters finally think they are getting the chance to run away together. Instead, when the culmination of their desire is so close, the boys bear witness to the girls’ deaths. “The Suburbs” is the carefully curated playlist made by those who know exactly what they want to hear during their escape on the open road, even though the tape never makes it to the car.

The band was set to play their acclaimed 1997 album, “Ladies And Gentlemen We Are Floating In Space,” in its entirety, and the sudden intrusion of the disco ball was a fitting metaphor for the record’s glimmering, otherworldly offering. In the album, Pierce delivers a woeful tale of drugs and love that is thoroughly cable of invading your life like some swirling visitor from the heavens.

Supplemented by a small orchestra of horns, strings and a gospel choir, the performance of “Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating In Space” made good on its planetary promises. The casually dressed, sunglass-shielded Pierce was still able to channel the black hole of his former heroin addiction, which fuels the record’s nihilistic outlook on falling in and out of love.

For Pierce, the experience of falling in love is a literal and physical one, evoking images of wind whipping past his ears as he finds himself contorted, flailing helplessly against the whims of his lost lover. His lyrics prove that he is conflicted about the pain of romance; on the title track, he begs for “a little love in life to take the pain away,” while on “I Think I’m In Love,” he dismisses himself as “probably just hungry.”

The horns section packed a bloody wallop throughout, skronking and squealing like elephants in heat. The brass also battled the scores of guitar noise and feedback, a sound that viciously tears through the album’s drug-fueled descent.

With so much noisy repetition in the music, the audience was free to either bask in the beautiful inertia or let the most haunting themes shoot out unheeded. Nowhere was this more noticeable than in the overt heroin references throughout the album. In the shout-along choruses of “Come Together,” Pierce bombastically claims, “those tracks of mine” are “the tracks of time.”

Elsewhere, Pierce makes the spookily nonchalant claim, in near-20-minute album closer “Cop Shoot Cop,” that “there’s a hole in my arm where all the money goes.” These acknowledgments of the depths of his addiction were at odds with the gorgeous music — particularly the angelic strings and white-robed swaying gospel singers.

Pierce barely moved, occasionally inching forward on his chair at particularly chaotic points of the show, when it seemed like the thundering storm was reaching proportions beyond his hold. More likely, he sat so still because the internal furor and physical pain manifested in the music has finally, blessedly, been extinguished from his body.

The closing encore was a cover of gospel standard “Oh Happy Day,” dynamic and shouting and replete with Motown horns and grinding guitars. As Pierce gaped back in his chair while the choir joyously affirmed all sins being washed away, it felt like true deliverance.

In American folk pop, we have Regina Spektor and Fiona Apple. And with the release of Sarah Blasko’s As Day Follows Night, the Australian singer-songwriter is on her way to joining the ranks of folk pop’s finest.

Produced by Bjorn Yttling of Peter Bjorn and John, Blasko released the album in July of 2009 in Australia, but the record has now reached the United States.

The opening track entitled “Down On Love” is adorned with dainty piano notes and softly spoken vocals. And while this track lyrically addresses themes of hope, “Lost & Defeated” evidently crushes these hopes later on in the album.

Blasko’s songwriting is obviously reminiscent of a broken heart, and for a record that dives straight into emotionally drenched lyrics, there’s something optimistic about the album in its entirety.

As Day Follows Night reveals a focus on bass, percussion and vocals as tracks like “Is My Baby Yours” highlights flamenco tinges and reluctant vocals.

Blasko sets a relaxed jazz club vibe from the very start, taking you back to the era of Jazz divas in “Bird On A Wire” when bending notes like Billie Holiday’s business.

“No Turning Back” is perhaps the album’s strongest track, featuring insistent pounding of drum beats (clearly Yttling’s doing) opposite the lowest piano notes that appear on this record.

With each song having the potential to be a single, Blasko riddles each track with a modest and clever attitude that makes the emotional baggage of breakups seem more artistic than somber.

The band describes its new album, The Suburbs, as a mix between Depeche Mode and Neil Young, and it’s dead on: Taking cues evenhandedly from new-wave electronica and classic folk troubadour-ism, Butler and company find a rare, agreeable middle ground between a synthesizer and an acoustic guitar. It’s something other acts could never pull off as tastefully and inventively. Equal parts epic and reflective, The Suburbs’s 16 tracks never falter or lose momentum, and by the time the title track gets its reprise at the album’s close, it feels like finishing a really satisfying book or film — loose ends tied, characters reunited and conflicts resolved.

As dark as this album gets, it never loses its sunny feel — its melodic ease and chiming guitars could compete with Best Coast’s sun-drenched debut. The band uses its production to full effect, but always with an expert ear to let melody and feeling reign. Like The National, Arcade Fire has a knack for catharsis and is able to create complete moods within its songs. Whether triumphant or terrifying, emotions dictate the entire album.

“The Suburbs” is a slow-burner driven by a piano and some dizzying strings, opening the album with a bounce but hinting at the darkness ahead. Segueing into the radio-ready stomp “Ready to Start,” it’s immediately clear that the band is back in full force, with dense textures, black lit guitar lines and lucid synth textures.

“City With No Children” is a steady chime of ringing guitars and handclaps that recalls the better tracks of Funeral, recapturing the freedom of “Wake Up” and the possibility of “Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)” with ease. “Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains)” is just as revelatory but with even more New Wave flair, propelled by a four-on-the-floor backbeat and Régine Chassagne’s best Debbie Harry.

Even with its use of older tricks and aesthetics, Arcade Fire never sounds like a total throwback — it’s as 2010 as it is 1981, and probably more. The Suburbs is the sermon Neon Bible tried to be, only never as preachy, and it’s all the more affecting for it. No one can write songs about “the kids” that sound as all encompassing and urgent as Win Butler and company — their directness hits home regardless of your age or where you grew up. Urban sprawl aside, if the suburbs sound anything like this, here’s your reason to get out of the city.

The group’s creativity transforms the philosophical quandaries of urban subject matter into 65 minutes of the most cathartic contemplation of life. “Suburban War” soars from drifting lulls to chilling highs, pushing and pulling between themes of acceptance and regret.

Brimming with references to youthful naivety through the phrase “the kids” – “The kids have always known that the emperor wears no clothes/But they bow down to him anyway” – what seems to be an album displaying cynicism towards society’s youth translates into a disquieting masterpiece. The kids in question are Butler and his multi-instrumentalist brother, Will, with songs that chastise but celebrate youthful frustrations like in the piano melodies in “We Used To Wait.” Chassagne sings, “Sometimes I wonder if the world’s so small/That we can never get away from the sprawl,” in “Sprawl II,” addressing the album’s themes of consumerism.

The album echoes an existential angst that makes The Suburbs reach a thematic and compositional sophistication that is both pessimistic and hopeful. The Suburbs is a breath of fresh air, cataloging a kind of dry-eyed realism that’s inspiring while at the same time bitterly nostalgic. The Suburbs truly shows that the group has strengthened the masonry of their ambitious baroque rock around a fascinating suburban theme.

To those unfamiliar with the baroque pop band’s surprising brush with success, the group released a highly acclaimed record in 2004 called “Funeral,” an album deserving of being considered one of the best records of the past 10 years. The follow-up, 2007’s “Neon Bible,” is just as fascinating, if a bit flawed.

However, “The Suburbs” seems to be the finest way to return to complete form, taking the elements of the two previous records and fusing them together in commentary both insular and worldly.

It seems ridiculous to say that chief songwriter and vocalist Win Butler is attacking suburban white kids through the course of the record, but there are definitely some sharp barbs, among other things, levied at the band’s own fans.

In “Rococo,” Butler mocks the attitudes of wordy hipsters he labels “the modern kids,” rebuking their tastes, speech and attitudes about life in the process. Butler does have a point and probably would be one of the few rock types who vehemently hates cultish fans hanging on his every word. So he transmits a message to those who would do just that.

Of course, if it was merely Butler’s attacks, the album would grow tiresome, and thankfully the music’s flow never feels repetitive or tiresome, bouncing from the haunting title track to the rushed “Month of May,” another rebuke on Butler’s own neurosis about being a “modern rock star.”

The fiery Butler is a former native of Texas who moved to Canada and later married fellow Arcade Fire vocalist Regine Chassagne. The dynamic of Butler and Chassagne, even more than the incredible instrumentation, has always given the band its jaw-dropping appeal, and once again, Butler’s anger counterbalances Regine’s tenderness.

The band sounds upbeat in songs like “Empty Room,” which is practically a positive endorsement on “being yourself” done in the most realistic way possible and not containing any element of cheesy sentiment. Regine coos, “When I’m by myself, I can be myself,” toying the line of agoraphobia while facing off and rebuking the inherently fake nature of the suburbs.

Regine only really plays lead in two tracks on “Suburbs,” the aforementioned “Empty Room” and “Sprawl II,” where her soft-spoken tone turns great listening into classic music. After staging the character of “the suburbs” almost as if it is a disaster movie, Regine’s coda is depressing, beautiful and transcendental. “I need the darkness, could you please cut the lights?” she asks as the music soars into low-tuned piano keys. She is defeated, but settled in her new environment. Like the disaster movie, we all have to meet the consequences of the villain, but the villain is normalcy.

So perhaps “The Suburbs” is a classic made out of pure depression that the rebellious days will always die. We will all move into our houses, get married and live out our lives in semi-interesting but far too similar ways.

The heavy metal band could have taken the route the legendary rockers of Led Zeppelin took after the untimely death of their star drummer and contributing songwriter, John Bonham, and disband. Or they could pull through and keep making music. Sevenfold chose the latter and about 8 months after The Rev’s death, they released their fifth studio album, “Nightmare.”

“Nightmare” is certainly a somber and dark record, with themes of death and despair being prominent in nearly every one of the album’s 11 tracks. The lead single and title track opens the record with heavy guitars and hard-hitting drums provided by The Rev’s stand in, Mike Portnoy (of Dream Theater). The title-track, along with “Welcome to the Family,” features a Metallica-esque, heavy metal sound that will be loved by metal heads and avid Guitar Hero fans.

“Nightmare” consists of several face-melting guitar solos that are featured on a majority of the album’s tracks. The stellar solo in “Danger Line” carries an otherwise forgettable song. And the opening riff in “Buried Alive” is one of the standout moments, musically, of the album.

Lyrically, “Nightmare” is very hit and miss. For every thoughtful and vulnerable lyric such as, “Much has changed since the last time, and I feel a little less certain now,” there are several lyrical duds. On “Danger Line,” lead singer M. Shadows screams, “Nothing shocks you like a bullet hole …  suffering no man ever should know,” which comes off sounding like something written in an angsty preteen’s personal diary.

Shadows and company are at their best on songs like “So Far Away,” which is softer, more emotional, and one of the most sincere songs on the album. The quietest moment on the 60-plus minute album is one of the most interesting. The quiet acoustic guitar is a nice break from the heavy distorted guitar and screaming, and allows the band to show their true feelings for their fallen friend.

The following track, “God Hates Us All,” is a complete change in direction however. The soft guitar played in the opening and ending of the song is the only interesting aspect of the track because the rest is, as the opening lyrics say, a “total nightmare.” The heavy up-beat guitars and screaming is loud and without direction. The track is easily the worst track on the album, and the chuckle-worthy lyrics almost seem satirical, with lines like “Liar, rape, kill, love, hate, fear.”

Luckily, the band bounces back quickly with another standout track, “Victim.” With one of the best choruses on the record, Shadows claims that “we are all just victims of a crime.”

The album’s most emotional and powerful track, which is also the last song the Rev ever wrote, is the climactic “Fiction.” The song opens with an eerie rolling piano, played by the Rev. The track also features haunting vocals provided by the late-drummer which almost sounds like he’s speaking to the group from his grave when he sings, “I hope you’ll find your own way when I’m not with you.”

The almost tear-jerking song sounds like a dialogue between the Rev and his band mates as Shadows sings, “So tell everybody, the ones who walked beside me, I know you’ll find your own way when I’m not with you tonight.”

The album closes with the near 11-minute long epic “Save Me.” With stadium-sized sounding drums and heavily distorted guitars, it ends the album on a musical high. But as a conclusion to a very dark album, it leaves the listener with a sense of despair and hopelessness with lyrics like, “Tonight we all die young.”

While there are a fair amount of flaws on the record, “Nightmare” effectively puts the listener in the mind of the members of Avenged Sevenfold, as they are dealing with the tragic death of their friend and band mate. 

“Nightmare” is definitely a must-listen for any metal or heavy rock fan, as it is already considered by many to be one of the group’s finest offerings. While there are certainly a handful of records that music listeners not familiar with metal can enjoy, much of the record may not appeal to them. 

Perhaps the genre hopping can be attributed to Melua’s exploration of human emotions. She has already covered the generic topics of love and heartbreak with her previous works. Here, she tackles stronger sentiments, evident in “I’d Love To Kill You,” the album’s acoustic but powerful opener. The song is the epitome of obsession. It screams “stalker,” with lyrics such as “I’d like to tie you up in knots/Until your heart stops,” but Melua’s tender vocals keep it poetic, though the eerie vibe remains. She plays the victim as well, depicted in “A Moment of Madness,” a dangerous tale of domestic abuse that is carefully veiled by a playful, burlesque harmony.

Unfortunately, her lyric-penning talents falter in the second half of the album. “Plague Of Love” relies on easy rhymes and clichéd phrases. But at least it makes sense, which is more than I can say for the jumbled “God On Drums, Devil On The Bass.” The name alone should be a glaring warning. Both of these tracks, however, have rather catchy beats and are actually enjoyable listens if you simply tune out the lyrics.

Like Melua’s earlier works, The House has innovative hits that stand out from the first listen. Unfortunately, the rest of the album recycles her old material and is thus easily forgettable.

The noisy slacker-punk creation from 23-year old Nathan Williams was indie rock’s biggest viral sensation last year. With blogosphere buzz and a generous eight-point nod from Pitchfork for their self-titled album, Wavves skyrocketed to unimaginable heights, appearing everywhere from the Primavera Sound festival to the New York Times.

And a year later, following a painfully public, drug-fueled breakdown in Barcelona and a fracas with the flower-punk sensations Black Lips, the impish surf rocker has returned, this time supposedly clean and supported by two members of the late Jay Reatard’s backing band, Bill Hayes and Stephen Pope.

On the new album “King of the Beach,” Wavves — now a three-piece — has endured a bit of a facelift production-wise. Unlike previous efforts, the sound is crisp and clear but isn’t devoid of Williams’ distinct nasally vocals and poppy four-chord crunch.

Williams’ melodies are consistently catchy, but when you peel back the layers of glossy production, “King of the Beach” is really just another dose of no-frills, beach-party punk that only begs the question of “Why are we paying so much attention to this guy in the first place?”

The real issue with Wavves isn’t so much that the music is of poor quality. It’s that the songs are so shamelessly unoriginal and overdone that the amount of coverage Williams’ receives is baffling, if not infuriating. There are few cases of manufactured hype as criminally outlandish as the Wavves phenomenon.

“You can find someone in your hometown doing the same thing and probably doing it better,” said Ali Jaafar, front man of local Goth post-punk act Zombie Season.

And Minneapolis sees no shortage of groups who operate in the same mold, whether it’s scene stalwarts like the Red Pens or lesser-known acts like Teenage Moods or Sleeping in the Aviary.

“And because they’re from your hometown you can go see their shows for free and probably get the records for free and hang out with them and it’s no big thing,” Jaafar added.

It’s a not-so-rosy fairytale that could only exist in our absurdist Age of Irony: A bratty borderline-talented housecat sets down his bong and crawls out of his basement just long enough to be heralded as Pitchfork’s next big thing, only to fall victim to his own childlike petulance shortly afterward. And even despite his tarnished image, Williams is still making records and getting airplay.

It only makes Fat Possum Records president Matthew Johnson’s impetus for signing Williams all the more unnerving. “This sounds like snot, it’s totally disposable, it’s just a mess, it’s totally on drugs and drunk. I have to sign it,” Johnson said to The Los Angeles Times in March of 2008.

But perhaps Williams sums it up best. In the curiously self- flagellating and seemingly sincere “Take on the World,” he sounds like an artist who can’t even comprehend his own hype: “I still hate my music / It’s all the same/ When it drips like moisture/ My head just hangs.”

It’s not that Wavves is a bad band. Nathan Williams’ hook-heavy surf rock is terribly catchy and the addition of Hayes and Pope only compliments his infectious pop-fused melodies. But the issue is that Wavves isn’t doing anything out of the ordinary or superlative to warrant this caliber of attention. Unlike his indie peers, Nathan Williams never really exploded onto the scene, he just snuck in through the back door.

And such is the basic problem with Arcade Fire’s immensely anticipated new LP, The Suburbs, an epic, 16-track voyage into the depths of front man Win Butler’s complex relationships with his place of birth and frustrated adolescence. Were it to be held up as a purely musical artifact and stripped of all conceptual significance, it would be an immediate classic, a multifaceted, chameleonlike glimpse into the influences and abilities of the most famous indie rock band in the world. But because of its near-mythical density, it cannot be judged as an album alone.

The Suburbs is a concept album to its core (like The Wall, it even hints at a repeating loop), to the point where it often feels more like an opera or a novel than pop music. It opens with an overture, and features deeply texturized lyrical themes (a variety of phrases are repeated from song to song), a definite narrative, and a recurring motif of call-and-response song structures (“Sprawl” I and II, “Half Light” I and II, “Modern Man”/“Rococo”) that give the album a flashback quality, as if its narrator were speaking from a present that was fully engaged with, and commenting on, his own past. Vaguely autobiographical (the album makes direct reference to Houston, Texas, where Win and William Butler were raised), The Suburbs seems to ultimately be Butler’s attempt to grapple with a childhood he once reviled but has since come to terms with, much to his own surprise.

It is to the album’s credit that Butler does not set down firmly on one side of the fence or the other about his suburban upbringing – had the album been solely composed of a variety of tracks that extrapolate on the many similarly simplistic ways in which the suburbs are boring, it would have been an immediately dismissible slog. Fortunately, each track that derides the suburban experience (and there are many) features an equally forceful response – that the city is no better than the suburbs, and twice as unauthentic – that in the end seem to combine to reach the conclusion that, really, it’s all the same.

But the album offers little explanation as to why Butler is suddenly reexamining his upbringing. What seems to be indicated is some sort of apocalyptic war – bombs are a common motif, and “Half Light II” appears to directly indicate that San Francisco has been exterminated – but The Suburbs spends so little time on explaining Butler’s newfound nostalgia and so much on repeatedly elucidating to the listener the same ideas, sometimes mere minutes apart (“Modern Man” and “Wasted Hours” are at heart the same song), that the narrative thread becomes frightfully thin, and ultimately meaningless.

It’s difficult to tell whether The Suburbs would have been better off eschewing its ambiguous post-apocalyptic setting or becoming more involved with it; if Butler discards his apocalypse entirely, the album collapses into an endless spiral of repeating motifs and phrases, but if he expands on it, the album potentially erupts into a runaway, bloated mess. What’s left is a frustratingly incomplete core of unconnected ideas that yield a veritable garden of promise – but disappointingly little else – that can at least be commended for thinking big, even if they falls short of an immeasurably lofty promise.

But where the album fails as a literary text, it is transcendent as a musical work. Eschewing the toweringly ominous, religious reverb that drenched Neon Bible, The Suburbs is an amalgamation of numerous genres of music – the clean, whimsical Bowie pop of its title track, the Radiohead clatter of “Month of May,” the baroque Police-esque rock of “Modern Man,” and the delightful new wave of “Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains),” the best track on the album and one of the highlights of Arcade Fire’s oeuvre – that as a whole reflect the cultural construction of an identity that so vehemently rejected the boredom and conformity of a suburban upbringing. It is easily the band’s most musically self-aware work, a top-to-bottom collection of breathtakingly diverse anthems; but it never feels like anything but an Arcade Fire record, even as it stretches into places the group had never yet dared go.

The Suburbs is a beautiful-sounding record, a hell of a nice try, and in the end a rather poignant elegy for the shrinking, dying American suburbs. Americans are moving back into the city at a record pace as the pastoral picture of white-fenced, dog-in-the-yard, two-and-a-half-kids home ownership that we’ve lived with since the end of the Second World War is being very forcefully replaced by one of industry, bustle, and high-rise apartments, and I suppose it’s worth something that at least one band pines for a landscape in which “dead shopping malls rise like mountains beyond mountains” and where quiet, dutiful policemen vainly and quaintly patrol the darkening streets of the dying dream to which they hold so fast. While not as good as either Funeral or Neon Bible, it nonetheless holds its own in one of the most staggeringly impressive years for music in recent memory.

To fully understand The Suburbs, it’s important to take a look at the band’s previous work. Funeral, released in 2004, played on the many themes of neighborhood living, including a night of severe, deadly winter as well as riding in the backseat and losing yourself in the scenery. Funeral solidified Arcade Fire’s reputation as a band that isn’t afraid to branch out into arena-style rock and roll.

With The Suburbs, the band sticks with its familiar theme of suburban life, but it does so in a way that doesn’t sound tired or overworked. All the songs fit together as a whole, each song molding into the next with ease. For instance, on the song “Modern Man,” the band takes an introspective moment to examine man’s place in the world, hoping that “when you are older, you will understand.” The track is poignant and easy to relate to. Another key track, “Rococo,” talks about the “modern kids” and their need to fit a certain mold, yet the song displays a deep sense of empathy for these so-called “intellectual” individuals.

The album’s smooth transitions from quiet, self-involved moments to balls-to-the-wall rock — particularly on the track “Month of May” — constantly engage listeners.
Arcade Fire has already made a major name for itself, and with The Suburbs, it will finally able to reflect on its success. This may not be the masterpiece that Funeral was, but it’s not too far behind.

The Books have brought this style into the 21st century with their latest release The Way Out.

The album opens with the track “Group Autogenics I,” featuring heavy guitar plucking and a voice saying, “Hello, greetings and welcome. Welcome to a new beginning, for this tape will serve you as a new beginning. That’s right, a new beginning.” The relaxation techniques doubled and looped with a collection of reminiscent and nostalgic field recordings offer a new take on collage music, synthesizing old ideas with the new to innovate in an entirely different way.

Album track “Beautiful People” reverses, overlays and distorts a clear vocal to provide a nonsensical yet not entirely foreign collection of harmonies in the cassette-tape vocal. This is a piece treated at the top layer, while underneath lies the interaction between an electronic, driving beat and a synthesized orchestra of only brass.

Critics mark the band as aleatoric, or having to do with randomized sound. But the band refutes these claims by stating that its music is very order-oriented. The sound of seeming randomness lies in the decision and interaction of cassette vocals used and the instruments the band members come into musical contact with, but techniques are not presented to the listener in a random way. The album comes across as an intensely structured, precisely planned collection of otherwise random bits of recording.

Continuing the emergence theme, it would be hard to evaluate That’s How We Burn in anything other than the context of 2010’s most burgeoning acts; and surprisingly it seems to fit best into the latest surf-rock wave. Pretty much the last place you’d expect the surf-rock sound to pop up would be a place like Milwaukee, but with That’s How We Burn, the Midwest may have found its own type of surf-rock sound, blending in well with noteworthy 2010 releases from Surfer Blood and The Soft Pack.

But despite their similarities to the aforementioned bands, Jaill doesn’t exactly fit into the typical surf-rock box. After all, Jaill were around long before the current surf wave crashed into the beach. While Jaill keep the addictive hooks and smooth flow of contemporaries like Wavves, That’s How We Burn takes on a considerably more paranoid tone than one would expect from a bro on a long board in Malibu. Think Surfer Blood as fronted by Billy Corgan.

The album’s debut track, “The Stroller,” is a tense walk through mistrust, anxiety and claustrophobia. The surf-rock sound is ever-present underneath the track, but the easy-going nature is hidden. Even in “Everyone’s Hip,” one of the album’s more upbeat tracks, a tone of pessimism streaks in, with lyrics “Pity bitter rapid pace rapidly changed to fit our tastes / Every effort endlessly expecting to have been in vain” reflecting a nihilistic streak. Why does work matter when it will just end up molded by a fickle world? Jaill create the impression that if they were on a beach in Hawaii, they could hit the waves not for the thrill or the rush but because there simply is no reason not to.

This may make That’s How We Burn sound like half an hour of depression, but the downtrodden message of Jaill’s lyrics actually fits well with its surf-rock underpinnings. Instead of creating a sort of stark dissonance between the album’s lyrical and musical sides, Jaill take the two seemingly counter ideas and make them fit together in a package that is not just tolerable but almost awkwardly pleasing. By the time the album reaches its concluding title track, the predominant feeling is more in line with satisfied bemusement than catharsis.

Jaill have made this album the ultimate coping mechanism, not just disguising some of the despairing elements of life under a few catchy beats, but melding them together into one. This is not just a spoon full of sugar to make the medicine go down, but instead more of a hallucinogenic drug to make pain a distant memory. Mary Poppins, Jaill has one-upped you.

Try this on for size: Pitchfork sometimes champions garbage music.

(Editor’s note. I could point out to Brian that he isn’t the first person to reach this conclusion. Yeah I could do that.)

I doubt they’re being paid to shine turds; no one in the music business has that kind of money anymore. (Except that I did read something the other day accusing major labels of buying Itunes downloads to goose artist chart positions. It’s bribery without the middle man….. namely Clear Channel regional program directors with a taste for the marching powder.)

And really what does it matter? Pitchfork are by no means the worst offenders regardless of motivation. Rolling Stone once gave Mick Jagger’s “Goddess In The Doorway” five out of five stars. Publisher Jan Wenner has always taken care of his own. I shudder to think what would happen if Bill Clinton ever cut a sax record. Imagine Wenner running into Bono at a charity event and having to explain why David Fricke gave “No Line On The Horizon” the one and half stars it actually deserved. Choose your battles I always say. And all of that of course comes from my fevered imagination. I don’t know any of these people, and can only draw conclusions from available evidence. To wit: “No Line On The Horizon” is a piece of ordure.

Which brings me back to Pitchfork. Their sometimes-puzzling conclusions are perhaps on a smaller scale the same thing. The music business is, if it’s anything, intensely political. Everything at a joint like Pitchfork has to be subjected to something of a relationship calculus. A review can be currency. Good, and you get artist access from gatekeepers. Bad? There will be some sort of reckoning you can bet. That’s the way of the world kids.

In 2009 Wavves aka lo-fi nose picker Nathan Williams was snatched from obscurity to much less obscurity thanks in part to a glowing Pitchfork review. It almost seemed like an experiment. ‘Let’s see how much horseshit we can get people to accept.’ And we all found out at The Primavera Sound Festival when the crowd pelted him with bottles.

The self-titled second album was praised to the gills by Pitchfork for it’s “thrilling evidence of compelling, thoughtful craftsmanship.” Moaning “I’m So Bored” over and over again isn’t lazy and childish…. to writer David Bevan it’s a “mantra.” Turning everything up really loud and making cool sounds until mom comes home from the Albertsons becomes a “young man most certainly singing the blues.” John Lee Hooker didn’t live long enough to punch all concerned in the mouth.

And so it’s with much surprise that I report the first Wavves album not made on Williams’ crusty bed sheets ain’t half bad. Veteran producer Dennis Herring (Modest Mouse, Ben Folds, Elvis Costello etc) took it upon himself to conjure out of Williams an occasionally winning album worthy of, if not the 8.4 out of ten it got from Pitchfork, at least a half assed thumbs up from me. Herring makes sure “King Of The Beach” still retains at least some of the splattery, leaky sonics of before. What Herring also does is play up the surfer dude hooks hinted at prior. The woo hoos of “Take On The World” sound weary and wary, but there’s some stoned exuberance too. It’s ok to make a fun song sound fun now isn’t it…. “Baseball Cards” is a friendly nod to the Beach Boys, and ends with a goofy roller skate rink synth and Peanuts Gang chorus.

There’s honest to God stylistic variety here too. “Convertible Balloon” is hand clapping new wave taffy. A line like “my old friends hate my guts, and who gives a fuck” on the lovely “Green Eyes” isn’t so whiny pee pants anymore thanks to a chunky hook anchored on fizzy power pop. In fact in 1991 or so “Green Eyes” could have been an alt-radio smash, built as it is on the now time honored “loud-quiet” dynamic.

In the end “King Of The Beach” reminds me of an old Jesus and Mary Chain record called “Darklands.” The Scottish band had gained a good deal of notoriety in 1985 with their infamous “Psychocandy” album, and subsequent tour. The black leather clad lads played sunny surf pop drenched in mind flubbering swaths of unrelenting feedback. Their concerts consisted of 20 minutes of racket as the band flailed away, backs to the audience. Self-hating critics lapped it all up, every last chunk off their boots and two years later the 1987 follow up “Darklands” was to many of them something of a shock. The J&M Chain’s sadomasochistic style was gone, replaced by something more compelling altogether: great songs, including one of the ultimate singles of the early alternative era “April Skies.” Without “Darklands” The Jesus And Mary Chain would have been a bizarre footnote, with it they had something of a career.

And so it could be with Wavves. It’s up to Nathan Williams now. People will slow down for car wrecks, but they keep moving. If he wants them to stay he’ll have to build on what he has with “King Of The Beach.”

Williams has certainly had his share of press over the past year, leading up to his band’s sophomore release, King of the Beach. The San Diego-bred, pizza-loving weed demon/skate punk blew up the blogosphere with his own homegrown version of lo-fi noise-pop experimentation, often referred to as “shitgaze,” on his first, deliberately unpolished Wavves EP, followed by his second album Wavvves. Then, in rapid succession: critical acclaim from media outlets such as Pitchfork, followed by the infamous Primavera festival meltdown (in which Williams took a reported drug cocktail of ecstasy and Valium before jeering the crowd, and then, if that weren’t enough, prompting former Wavves drummer Ryan Ulsh to pour a beer on Williams’s head before calling it quits for good) — all of which led up to an inevitable Internet backlash.

After finding solace in the arms of Bethany Cosentino of Best Coast, and smoking a bowl or fifty-hundred, Williams managed to quickly regroup from the disaster, finding new band mates and signing with Mountain Dew’s Green Label Sound for King of the Beach, a jaunty, snotty overture to weed, surf and sun.

King is definitely not Wavvves version three-point-oh (or “Wavvvves,” as some had surmised it would be called). While Williams’s first albums relied heavily on experimentation and haze, King has a distinctive, mostly fuzz-free sound that veers the Wavves project in a new direction. This time around, Williams’s voice is actually discernible (and uncannily reminiscent of Blink 182’s Tom DeLonge) amidst the synth clutter. He’s distinctively less morose, too.

If Wavvves represented Williams at his most despondent and withdrawn, then King shows his sunnier, extroverted side. Instead of lamenting the goth scene and his lack of future prospects like in previous records — “Got no car, got no money,” Williams takes on a more blatantly sarcastic tone, even during his favorite, oft-mentioned topic of self-reproach.

On “Green Eyes,” (essentially a love ballad — in the style of Wavves, anyway) Williams claims that all of his friends hate his guts. He’s obviously kidding, as the sentiment is accompanied by an extremely up-tempo guitar riff and drum beats. Introspection is definitely not a key trait of Williams, who seems to have a predilection for taking it easy (via copious 420 references, Garfield memorabilia, et al).

This is not to say that everything about Wavves has changed. Williams impishness remains inherent throughout the record. The lead track, “Post-Acid” features his signature snide snarls. He’s “just having fun with you,” though. No worries. Worrying is not something in Williams’s vernacular, anyhow.

William’s laissez-faire attitude has served him well — musically, at least. And while his personal life has definitely had its ups and downs (often documented in the lyrics of his songs), they sure make for one hell of a summer album.

Underscoring the surf-rocky, boy-crazy music of Best Coast’s debut, Crazy For You, is the story of a pining homebody. But in the midst of its slacker, pack-a-bowl aesthetic, it’s the sort of pining that would have made Billie Holiday and Nina Simone proud.

Bethany Cosentino and Bobb Bruno are Best Coast, the name a reference to west coast versus east coast rivalries, a feud in which they are decidedly biased. And while at first blush songs like lead single “Boyfriend” can – in the shallowest of interpretations – smack of Hilary Duff minus the fluff, there’s something going on behind the scenes of this starry-eyed, sunshine-soaked music.

Take for instance the motif of being “crazy,” right there in the album title. Cosentino cries “When you leave me, the bed is empty and I feel crazy,” on “Our Deal.” This song in particular deals in the things left unsaid that seem to tear at the singer’s peace of mind. Cosentino sings, “I wish you would tell me how you really feel, but you never tell me ’cause that’s not our deal.”

In the vein of Lady Day going tete-a-tete with those damn blues, the mood at hand on Crazy is a mixture of denial, girlish crushes and – in Cosentino’s case – the harsh reality of post-collegiate life rife with unrequited love and dim prospects.

The altering agents acting upon the psyche she lays lyrically bare are part emotional, part chemical to be sure. “Goodbye” – the same track that has Cosentino wishing for a more conversational feline – enumerates her guilty pleasures and their recent inability to please. “Nothing makes me happy,” she sighs, “not even TV or a bunch of weed.”

Crazy For You pays tribute to the sort of puppy love fare prevalent in the ’60s with Phil Spector girl groups, but the album’s retro-minded musicality is anything but regurgitated. While the majority of the 13 two-and-a-half-minute songs burst forth with fuzzy guitars, snare hits, backup vocals and surf pop tropes, there is the monster of those crazy blues always on the verge of rearing its ugly head.

The song “Honey” portrays this beast at its most domesticated – like Cosentino’s beloved cat, Snacks, illustrated in all his glory on Crazy’s cover. Unlike the majority of the album’s other tracks, “Honey” is the would-be triumphant he’s-mine-all-mine song, with the repeated titular pet name addressing the man at hand. But “Honey” is no triumph for Cupid. Not only is the music notably darker and more lethargic than at any other point on the album, but the lyrics exhibit some of the most exhaustive acts of denial that Crazy can boast: “You’re so good to me when you go away / but when you get home you don’t have much to say / It doesn’t matter to me either way / All I want is for you to stay.”

Having a man for a man’s sake furthers the crazy of Crazy, while also reinforcing its twitterpated yet sateless romantic antics. It’s the my-man-done-left-me blues, but with a twist: It’s two kids who can’t bother about the things left unsaid, and the complexities that remain in this codependent “deal” are numbed away either with denial or substances.

It’s the sort of thing that makes a song like the band’s early-on hit single “When I’m With You” – included on Crazy as a bonus track – all the more pertinent to this otherwise completely new collection of Cosentino’s songs. On that 2009 number, she sings, “The world is lazy, but you and me we’re just crazy / And when I’m with you I have fun.” At face value, it’s the carefree love of a new romance, flipping the bird to everyone else looking on. Within the context of Crazy, it’s the precursor of a theme that is self-consciously 420-friendly as it paint a modern portrait of those crazy, tormenting blues.

Taking some of the bite out of the blues divas’ sting, Best Coast deals in the sort of worlds we create for ourselves with the object of our desire ever-present in our minds and a spliff ever-present in our hands.

Jaill’s That’s How We Burn delivers 11 tracks of unapologetic, garage-influenced speed pop clocking in at just over half an hour. Whether you’re bobbing your head or tapping your feet, this frantic yet organized cacophony screams “feel good” and will undeniably keep you moving. As their third full-length release, That’s How We Burn is the quartet’s debut album on the Sub Pop label. Highlighted with terse guitar riffs and a carefree vibe that can be found in tracks like “Demon” and “How’s the Grave,” That’s How We Burn lets off a nostalgic steam of all the elements for a solid rock album but manages to instill a surf rock edge similar to former Sub Pop band the Shins.

With sweeps of plangent vocals underscored with upbeat melodies and lines like “’cause she’s my, she’s my baby,” lead vocalist Vincent Kircher takes a guileless approach towards songwriting and achieves a type of bubblegum simplicity that counters his brooding vocals. Tracks like “Everyone’s Hip” and “Snake Shakes” are riddled with all the perfect shifts at all the perfect times, bolstering a slice of melancholic psych-pop spiked with occasional scrapes of heavier guitar clatter. Simply put, Jaill bring all the glory of ’90s lo-fi pop to life with an album that unveils the band’s inherent quirkiness through an enthusiasm that is both vibrant and developed.

With the exception of a handful of tracks that feature Lookbook’s Maggie Morrison and Doomtree’s Dessa, “Made Like Us” is mostly instrumental. It’s a murky 40 minutes that boasts jazzy keys, walloping snares and ’80s club homage that never lulls or becomes redundant.

“When I was working on other records and making a lot of rap-specific stuff, there’s sort of a formula that goes on and you know it’s a little bit more of a verse-chorus-verse-chorus … so it was kind of a nice way to change the process,” Paper Tiger said.

“Made Like Us” is moody from the get-go, with the first half packed with crisp drum samples and sullen synths. The highlight comes early with “The Bully Plank,” a soulful and somber piano-driven instrumental fused with an intermittent vocal sample that recalls some of the darker moments of DJ Shadow’s now-legendary debut, “Endtroducing .” But like Shadow and other deft digital maestros, Paper Tiger’s songs handily avoid repetition by continually shifting the layers of sound.

But the album’s success doesn’t stop with its instrumental arrangements. In the darkly atmospheric “The Painter’s Arm,” Morrison’s meaty vocals soar as a snare pops and patters in the distance.

“I’ve been a fan of Maggie and Lookbook and stuff she’s been doing for years,” Paper Tiger said. “It sounded like the right fit, too; it sounded like something she’d be into.”

In two subsequent tracks that are sure to receive plenty of airplay — “Palace” and “And the Camera” — Dessa’s poetic musings offer something that flows in the same vein of the duo’s previous work.

“[Paper Tiger] has been moving in a direction that has a lot more depth … so it’s fun to be reintroduced to him as a solo artist,” Dessa said. “I think it’s the best work he’s done yet.”

Since it’s devoid of the abrasive lyricism and the hard-hitting boom-bap of crowd favorites like “Game Over” and “Low Light Low Life” that fueled previous Doomtree-related releases, it’s difficult to determine how Paper Tiger’s full-length will be received by Doomtree diehards. Nonetheless, it’s 11 tracks of beautifully haunting soundscapes that shows how Paper Tiger’s electronic arsenal can hold its own ground and further proving that hip-hop doesn’t always require lyrics to be engaging.

3.5/4 Stars

While it runs in the same veins as its predecessors, “The Suburbs” is somewhat of a departure in that it strives to function as a cohesive whole. This album doesn’t really have defining breakout singles such as “Wake Up” from “Funeral.” Instead it directs its effort at a subtle, weaving narrative. The singles that we do get, and those that are sure to follow, don’t feel like typical Arcade Fire fare. Many of the tracks on “The Suburbs” retain the “classic” sound — a handsome blend of antique beauty and modern noise. But tracks like “Month of May ” play like a punk song with its blitzing tempo and distorted power strumming. “Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains),” maybe the catchiest track on the album, sounds like a late-’80s dance-pop ballad, complete with arpeggiating synthesizers (egads!).

Despite the stylistic divergences, these songs do tie into the overarching themes of “The Suburbs” — concepts of the memory and the past, of Butler’s former suburban life, of youth, love and the one paradoxical consistency that is change. For the most part, Butler is looking backward and trying to contextualize his present condition. On “Suburban War,” Butler speaks of a long-lost friend, crooning, “I never saw you again/And now the cities we live in could be distant stars/And I search for you in every passing car.” Butler wishes that he could have a piece of his childhood back, but he knows that’s impossible and tries to move on, acknowledging that “The past won’t rest/Until we jump the fence and leave it behind.” There’s no small amount of reminiscing or lamentation on this record (What’s new?), but “The Suburbs” does have a few bright reveries and moments of epiphany. Butler calls back to a track called “Wasted Hours” in the album’s closer, a song that focuses on the times Butler squandered when he was young and without direction. In “The Suburbs (continued),” Butler reflects on that time and the themes that permeate the album. He ultimately decides he wouldn’t change a thing. “If I could have it back/All the time that we wasted/I’d only waste it again/If I could have it back/I know I would love to waste it again.”

Fans of Arcade Fire would have to agree: Were it not for all the experiences of that wasted time, we might never have heard all the resounding poignancy of “The Suburbs.”

Yes. Intriguer is in fact intriguing, and singer/songwriter Neil Finn is just as good now as he was when Crowdie fans were bobbing their side-ponytails to “Don’t Dream It’s Over.”

Intriguer is the follow-up to the band’s reunion album, Time on Earth. Hailing from Melbourne, Australia, the group’s newest installment is the first to feature all four current band members on all tracks, including percussionist Matt Sherrod, former drummer for Beck, who replaced founding drummer Paul Hester after his death in 2005.

As a result of Hester’s absence, Intriguer implements those same characteristics of Time on Earth, namely a melancholy air. Each song has a placid, staring-at-the-ceiling vibe, allowing the lyrical artistry to take the forefront. Finn is accredited to this masterpiece, proving he has not lost his lofty position as a lyrical genius.

While it may seem as though Intriguer’s songs are considerably slower than their 1980s and 1990s hits, notably “Something So Strong,” and “Locked Out,” it simply denotes the maturing of the group. Such growth will unlikely be unappreciated by original fans, as most of them are now in their late thirties.

The maturation of the band’s vibe and that of their fans coincide with one another. This works as an advantage for Crowded House, as they’re staying true to the fan base that gave them fame, rather than attempting to appeal to today’s consistently unsatisfied youth.

“Saturday Sun,” the first single released from the album, is the perfect song for summer and is worthy of being a radio hit. The music video has been color altered, giving it a heat-map, inverted aesthetic, creating a psychedelic feeling. However, this doesn’t seem appropriate for the song’s radio-friendly, sing-along mood. That kind of creativity would work best with a song like “Inside Out,” whose drawn-out refrains make you feel, as the title would suggest, inside out.

While many of the tracks on Intriguer sound like nothing Crowded House has ever recorded before, “Either Side of the World,” is reminiscent of the band’s earlier work. In particular, “Pineapple Head,” from the group’s fourth studio album Together Alone, bears a striking resemblance to the track, sounding like an upbeat remake.

The band is taking Intriguer on the road this summer, touring through both North America and Europe, which is echoed on the album, as there is a slight European theme throughout. In particular, “Amsterdam” tells the story of a day spent wandering in one of the band’s favorite cities, with lyrics like, “You and me got the whole day off / Take a trip to Vincent Van Gogh / But the line went halfway ’round the block.”

Crowded House has successfully re-wooed their fans after a final farewell and an 11-year hiatus, and it’s likely that Intriguer has sparked a reformation for the group that will continue into the next decade. As the lyrics “Don’t Dream It’s Over” warn, it would be foolish to assume the band was done producing hits.

She’s continued to present herself as a Tamil Tiger apologist, which has made her no friends in the State Department — from which she tried and failed to obtain an artist’s visa in 2007. We also saw her perform nine months pregnant at the 2009 Grammys, before the creator of hits like “Paper Planes” and “Bucky Done Gun” shifted gears; her pledge to give birth to her child, Ikhyd, in a bathtub to better understand women in the concentration camps of Sri Lanka was inexplicably cast aside as M.I.A. opted for the more comfortable setting of the Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in Los Angeles (Nymag.com). Furthermore, she is still carrying on a French fry-induced beef via Twitter with New York Times writer Lynn Hirschberg, passive-aggressively tweeting the writer’s personal phone number for all the world to see (although, Hirschberg has coolly replied to reporters, she isn’t changing numbers).

So considering all the “Whaddaya got?” outbursts against whatever issue M.I.A. should find disagreeable at any given point in time, suffice it to say that she’s got plenty more agitprop snarkery to go around, well-founded or not. Enter Maya (/\/\ /\ Y /\), M.I.A.’s third studio release and her latest batch of lyrical ambiguity laid over the sonic backdrop of hip-hop, reggae dancehall, electro-punk and just about any other worldly sub-genre that she can weave in.

Maya warms up with a minute-long intro bemoaning the so-called growing reach of the feds on the web (“the hand bone’s connected to the Internet connected to the Google connected to the government”) before mercifully switching lanes to the decidedly less political “Steppin Up.” “Steppin Up” and the following “XXXO” prove that M.I.A. hasn’t lost her touch on the mixing board; she boasts her club swag while the background effects suggest that she’s recording in some sort of electronic pastiche of a lumber mill, IndyCar pit stop and bomb-testing range.

Bangers like these are where M.I.A. is most effective, and the twelve-track Maya is dotted with them. But M.I.A. saves plenty of room for her murky agenda, as the relatively empty “Meds and Feds” and “Tell Me Why” remind the listener that M.I.A. hasn’t quite met the burden of proof that accompanies a stinking rich self-proclaimed freedom fighter. It’s a tall order to expect the world to jump on board with Tamil Tiger sympathies just because you want them to, and the see-saw of agenda promotion vis-à-vis pop innovation is regrettably sunk on the former.

But questionable politics don’t preclude artistic merit — consider the importance of Public Enemy or the Sex Pistols — and M.I.A.’s two foci of musical incorporation and political upheaval fit nicely on the Internet-leaked “Born Free,” if nowhere else. After a drum roll, “Born Free” quickly gets up to methamphetaminic speed and M.I.A. reels off vagary after vagary, a heavy guitar loop acting as a tonal reinforcement. It’s the closest she gets to another “Paper Planes” on the entire album, and proof that she can still make shaky agitprop work if the music backs it up.

But the shaky agitprop is still shaky, and often serves more as a blunder than a boon. The time and effort that it must take for the upkeep of such a provocative and obtrusive public image clearly leaves M.I.A. without sufficient means for a well-rounded music career. Unfortunately, the more we learn about M.I.A. — her combative veneer, her beyond-comfortable lifestyle, her panglossian faith in her own correctness, etc. — the more she needs to shift away from what got her the attention in the first place. The songs she writes are successful in spite of her agenda, not because of it.

While mainstream music has translated into iTunes singles designed to fit in a shuffle playlist, The Roots use their newest album “How I Got Over,” released June 22 with Def Jam Recordings, to create a two-act narrative of their journey through self-actualization. Although the album begins with a smooth prelude, the beginning of the two-act journey starts with an intense piano-driven song, carried by the airy vocals of former Roots member, Dice Raw.

“Walk Alone” dives into the realm of personal isolation from which many suffer while enduring and overcoming obstacles. The song features multiple artists who act as co-stars, cohesively contributing to the message of the album. Both Truck North and P.O.R.N. passionately spew out their feelings of seclusion on the track, as Dice Raw sings with affirmation on the acceptance of loneliness.

The first act continues down its solemn road with “Dear God 2.0.” In a plea for answers from above, lead vocalist Black Thought expresses his concerns of the numbed and detached technological society of 2010. The song shares vocals from Monster of Folk, displaying The Roots’ ability to collaborate artistically outside the boundaries of hip-hop without disrupting the continuity of the album.

The album comes to a self-motivational rising action with “Now or Never;” determination to change is articulated well with every verse of the song, never straying from The Roots’ trail through self-progression.

Act One closes with the upbeat and funky title track “How I Got Over,” ending the Act with Black Thought stepping out of his rapper box to passionately croon of hope and resilience in desolate times.

Act Two, much like Act One, contains many feature artists hosted in the thick journey of progression. “The Day” and “Right On” take the album to a whole new level in hip-hop artistic collaborations, using the likes of Icelandic singer Patty Crash and indie folk artist Joanna Newsom. “How I Got Over” moves smoothly through its second act with a more uplifting and revitalized method that builds on progression for oneself.

As both album and journey come near their end, they reach a confident air with two songs featuring John Legend. In “Do it Again” and “The Fire,” Legend creates a huge, cinematic sound, while Black Thought preaches about triumph and refusing to fail, completing their personal travels to self-actualization.

The bonus tracks seem to be the only two songs that do not flow perfectly with the sound of the rest of the album. However unfitting their sound may be, the bonus tracks allow The Roots to end their journey by passing the torch of a new hope for the youth in “Hustla.”

In an era where mainstream entertainment uses the glorification of stardom and up-tempo partying to quell the domestic and global frustrations of its audiences, The Roots reach from within to envelope their 11th studio album. They open up to their listeners with “How I Got Over” by exposing a certain vulnerability that hip-hop often undervalues. Unlike the “808′s & Heartbreak”s and “Lonely Stoner”s of today, The Roots approach their message with much maturity and earnest. Not only is the consistency and artistic vigor of “How I Got Over” worth acknowledging, but the relevance of its message is praiseworthy. The Roots have proved that they are more in touch with real life than reality TV, and demonstrate their unique ability to express it in song with “How I Got Over.”

For the most part, Sheryl Crow and I seem to see “Eye to Eye” on her newest album, “100 Miles From Memphis.”

Though I’m not entirely sure why the album is called “100 Miles From Memphis” — it definitely wasn’t one of the best songs, I don’t even remember how it sounded — the album is a solid effort.

The upbeat swing of the songs provides the perfect complement to a happy-go-lucky summer afternoon. They’re the type of songs you can’t help snapping your fingers to.

It’s the ideal album to tune into when you want to unwind and relax and don’t want to listen to someone trying to pass screaming for music.

It’s refreshing to hear a voice like Crow’s, one that hasn’t been modified or altered. It sounds true and natural — and beautiful.

Then there are the lyrics of her songs. I’m a huge fan of her ability to remain G-rated in her choice of words. Color me innocent, but there’s something nice about not incorporating vulgar terms and actually relaying a strong message, like Crow does in her song “Peaceful Feeling.”

But my personal favorite song on the album is “Stop.” I love how she slows down to provide a contrast to the other more upbeat songs. And call it cheesy, but I also like how the song actually stops whenever she sings “stop” — it’s the simple things that make the difference.

However, if you’re looking for the perfect summer song, make sure to check out “Summer Day,” because it is exactly what the title says. It’s the kind of song that I would like to listen to while driving my make-believe convertible along a vacant highway next to the beach.

But the album has its downsides as well.

First off, some of the songs seem a tad too long, especially when she’s not saying too much. Cue the first song of the album, “Our Love is Fading”: It’s more than six minutes long. I’m sorry, Sheryl, but my attention span isn’t that long for one song.

Though I like the lyrics, sometimes they sounded repetitive and a tad meaningless. How many times can one person sing “nah, nah, nah, nah…” without it getting annoying?

Overall Crow’s album is one to consider purchasing, especially if you’re looking for some music that can instantly put you in a good mood.

Grade: B

Download: “Summer Day,” “Long Road Home,” “Peaceful Feeling” and “Stop”

ARTIST: Private Dancer

ALBUM: “Alive in High Five”

LABEL: Learning Curve

The first time I saw Private Dancer live was at the 2008 Memory Lanes Block Party , straddling a few hardwood lanes atop a makeshift stage. Bowling alleys aren’t the most effective place to host a rock ‘n’ roll show, and many bands would’ve been stifled by the setting. But not Private Dancer. They opened their set with a string of hyper-energetic, feel-good tunes, peeled off into covers of David Bowie , Little Richard and T-Rex, and then let volunteers come up onstage to do karaoke while the band provided backup. Private Dancer impressed three things on me that night: They have great taste in music, they know how to rock out, balls to the wall, and they have a good time doing it.

Their new album, “Alive in High Five,” is rooted on these three basic principles. From the sunny, palm tree-flecked album cover to the final track, this is a record that screams rock ‘n’ roll and summertime fun. With songs about good friends, alluring women and the beach, Private Dancer grounds us in the present, making the subzero gloom of Minnesota winter seem like a distant memory, if it ever existed at all.

The album opens with a bright instrumental, “2000 Year Wave,” lulling us into an airy ambience before we move into the charged, winding jams that best exemplify Private Dancer’s restless spirit.

As we melt into “Diane,” a semi-obsessive love song (which competes with “Into the Dark” for best track on the album), we find ourselves in full Private Dancer swing. The guitars duel, spinning lines in vibrant directions. The drums roll around our ears. Alex Achen shouts his entrancement to the winds: “Well I’ve met girls just like you before / I’ve had them knocking at my door / But I’ve never had a kiss like yours, Diane.” The backing vocals provide plenty of bop-bops, which are, of course, the ultimate staples of summer pop songs.

The bop-bops are soon accompanied by plenty of other infectious, albeit meaningless, noises. Ooh-la-las abound on tracks like “Community Gardens,” and “Bajama Beach,” sucking us into the carefree glee and frantic energy of the record. Songs like “Weekend” and “Into the Dark” take this energy to its peak with their guitars careening near the brink of total chaos and pulling back just in time to keep the listener hooked.

The only real downside to “Alive in High Five” is that it can’t fully match Private Dancer’s live efforts. That’s not a slight — quite the opposite. It’s just that this band puts on an incredible show. It would take some cosmic producer-deity to replicate their ineffable live verve, and sadly, Brian Eno costs too much.

2.5/4 Stars

For the newcomer, “Hourglass” offers a perfect introduction to Lamb of God’s version of New American thrash-metal. It features not only all of their singles from every album, but also some other tracks.

For the uninitiated, prepare to rock – and look up lyrics. Blythe’s growling vocals almost require multiple listens or a translator to understand what is being said – and that is not a bad thing by any means.

For fans, the first disc may introduce them to Lamb of God’s earliest pieces, which they should love.

The first disc, named “The Underground Years,” of course, shows off the band’s early years, including some of their stuff from when they were known as Burn the Priest.

Some of the band’s breakout tracks are on here, like “Black Label,” “Ruin” and “11th Hour.”

Even better is the fact that disc one alone has 13 songs on it.

The second disc is what is going to be most recognizable to newer fans.

Titled “The Epic Years,” it features tracks from their most recent albums, including songs from 2006’s amazing “Sacrament” album and last year’s “Wrath.”

For the fan, disc two is probably nothing special, sadly. It is Lamb of God’s most prolific stuff and fans probably own all of it already. Sorry.

“The Epic Years” really shows off Blythe’s vocals, more so than either of the two other discs. Featuring songs like the excellent “Redneck,” “Set to Fail” and “Blacken the Cursed Sun.” Like the first disc, disc two also has thirteen songs – that is 26 tracks thus far.

The third and final disc of the collection, “The Vault,” again has some of Lamb of God’s older material on it but as an added bonus, some unreleased material as well. For all the content that is featured, “The Vault” could have been a stand-alone release.

It collects all of the band’s Japan-only bonus tracks, as well as some rare rehearsal tapes, and their earliest Burn the Priest vinyl singles all on one disc. Oh, there are 18 of them on the disc.

That adds up to a whopping 44 songs contained in “Hourglass.”

For the collector, this last disc is essential. No longer will die-hard fans have to buy imported albums and scour the Internet for those rare rehearsal tapes.

If anything, the worst part of the whole package is how sparsely presented the collection is. It is merely three discs in slim CD cases.

No liner notes, no lyrics sheets, nothing. For the newcomer, this would have been a nice addition. For the fan and the collector, it is absolutely fine.

By far, however, the best part of the anthology is the price. At $27, it is an absolute steal, even for the third disc alone.

Newcomer, fan, or collector: no matter what category one falls under, Lamb of God’s new “Hourglass” anthology offers a massive bang for the buck.

Grade: A

In a world of commercial pop music filling up the Top 40s, it’s hard to find a feel for the catchy choruses, lyrics requiring a second listen and the root being all about a glamorous life filled with partying. Rock’n'Roll seems to have died with the likes of leading men like Freddie Mercury, Mick Jagger and David Bowie being less than pertinent these days.

Until now.

Still on the road with one of the highest grossing tours of the summer, Lady Gaga’s Monster Ball, Semi Precious Weapons has released their debut album, “You Love You.” The 10-song, 36 minute debut combines flashy lifestyles with erotic themes.

From the album’s first lyrics, “I can’t pay my rent, but I’m f****** gorgeous,” the listener is hooked on this ode to filthy glamour.

SPW is led by charismatic frontman and songwriter, Justin Tranter, who often wears heals and fishnets on stage, much like a lot of his rock star male frontmen that proceed him. His homosexual themed lyrics rise everywhere when he cheerily sings “It’s not my fault I look better in her party dress.”

The lyrics from the New York band are the band’s strongest trait, which will make you laugh (“sticky with champagne, it’s okay it’s a birthday”), scratch your head (“dance me face to face while I finger your ribcage”), tear up (“the only thing that ever came easy to her was me”) or fist pump at the party theme (“dance around my body. Just ’cause I’m dead don’t kill the party”).

What “You Love You” does is take the listener on a journey filled with guitar riffs, hard drums and effects no one knew a voice could do. SPW lines every track on their album with glitz and glam, but still have a raw rock’n'roll sound hard to find these days. The band seems to be channeling the grungy Hollywood theme of Hole’s 1998 album “Celebrity Skin.”

The album’s rock roots leave many pumped up, but the album’s ballad closer, “Look At Me,” shows the strength of the band’s songwriting and vocals. It shows that beyond all the filth, there’s some beauty within.

And like the eighth track states, “rock’n'roll never looked so beautiful.”

I’m just saying, I’m not complaining.

Now, Walsh has a new full-length album out titled “The Hitchhiker’s Son,” and it’s chock-full of everything Lincoln has come to love about Walsh.

“The Hitchhiker’s Son” is an album about Walsh himself, as his father was a hitchhiker. Yet the album still has a lot of the usual themes of Walsh’s music: the road, working hard but staying broke, police and problems.

Walsh’s music has never been particularly complex or intricate, and this has always been one of the best things about his songs. “The Hitchhiker’s Son” is awash with simple, powerful, straightforward folk songs right out of the American heartland.

Walsh’s lyrics continue to be his strong suit on “The Hitchhiker’s Son.” While he and his band play driving folk tunes, he belts out songs about how he’s tired but hopeful of the way the world is going, or about how long and lonely the highway can be, but still worth it. Every message rings clear in Walsh’s trembling tenor voice. He can sound angry and powerful when he wants, or soft and gentle. He has range, and he uses it.

As far as local releases go, this is about as good an album as one could hope for. The recording is top-notch, engineered mostly by A.J. Mogis of Saddle Creek fame, and recorded mostly right here in Lincoln. It’s always good to hear quality work coming out of the heart of the city that spawns the music.

Walsh put a lot into this album, and hopefully doesn’t plan to quit any time soon. If anything negative can be said about “The Hitchhiker’s Son,” it’s that the actually folkiness of it sounds like a lot of music I’ve heard before, but I’m not complaining. As long as Walsh is behind his guitar behind a microphone, I’ll keep listening to it. Walsh’s stories come from the road. And as long as he stays on the road, he’ll keep singing his stories. I can’t wait.

Out of the ashes of local Michigan folk troupe Dog Bird, Hurlahe emerges with a promising debut that, while rooted in his own experiences of young midwestern life, more often than not sounds more imitative than personal or revelatory.

With carefully double-tracked vocals delivered in a slightly shaky, boyish cadence, Hurlahe reproduces Bright Eyes so convincingly that it’s tough to know where his inspiration starts and Conor Oberst’s ends. It’s a well-worn sound: Oberst’s up-tempo living room folk has inspired many bedroom artists to come out of the woodwork. While Hurlahe is certainly better than most at reproducing Oberst’s aesthetic, it seems strange to adopt as one’s own many of the idiosyncrasies that have done much to set Oberst apart — vocal warbles, distant microphone placement and all. The crucial ingredient that Hurlahe lacks, however, to complete the Oberst takeoff — and, also, why his album ultimately fails to leave a lasting impression — is the fragile, heart-on-the-sleeve honesty and nakedness that colors that singer-songwriter’s best songs.

Hurlahe comes close with “Metropolitan Past,” one of the more inventive and personal moments on the album, which samples speeches from 1960s Detroit mayor Jerome Cavanagh. Eulogizing the lost era of a once-booming auto industry and a pre-white flight Detroit, the song shuffles into a waltzing ballad before Hurlahe emotionally delivers: “Is this the broken-down world that they had in mind? / And who else are they? / We’ll find out in time.”

“Silver Screen” is a folk stomp with handclaps and a sing-along chorus that shows the young songwriter at his most wide-eyed and cheery, while “Tall Tale” is a slightly moodier take with more expansive productions (thanks to a B3 organ and some well-placed electric guitar). Elsewhere, more wistful songs of young love and rural living color the album. Hurlahe is at his best behind a harmonica and a frantically strummed acoustic guitar, on tracks like the imaginative “Churchgrove St.”

To be clear, the deft, backwoods production of Cass River County Line, while light, sounds pretty good: With a tambourine-addled rhythm section and plenty of tastefully layered banjo and acoustic guitar noodling, it’s enough to give any folk fan a fix. But those searching for more emotional depth or melodic complexity might have to wait another album or two before Hurlahe can transform Oberst’s limited palette into something he can really call his own.

Still, pastiche, when done well, can work wonders — just ask Ryan Adams, or Kristian Matsson. And if the Swedes can get away with it in 2010, why can’t we?

Even from the opening track “Message,” M.I.A. gets right to the point, repeating “Armbone connects to the hand bone/ Hand bone connects to the Internet/ Connected to the Google/ Connected to the government.” (Her accusation of Google working with the government is recurring throughout the album.) Then, “Steppin’ Up” interrupts with a series of chainsaw noises and distorted vocals that weave in and out of AutoTune (Rusko’s doing, no doubt). Like an assault on music itself, the increasingly electronic composure of the album sounds as if it is spinning out of control and staging a coup between man and computer.

M.I.A. has always been a distinct hit or miss with audiences, but // / Y / just might be the breaking point to end the debate. One can only guess at what inspired it perhaps her own recent run-ins with the press. Though a stark contrast from previous efforts, this is her most introspective work. Even the title suggests that this album is M.I.A., body and soul. If you don’t love it, you don’t love M.I.A.

Known for his hauntingly beautiful voice, Kozelek continues to convey his troubling memories through lyrical snapshots. In the title track, he sadly admits “a thousand days have passed/in this house she and I were sharing/and I hate myself for it/but I have stopped caring.” This painful nostalgia continues throughout the rest of the album and each memory is signified by a particular place. As a San Francisco native, Kozelek choose to name tracks after Bay Area landmarks, such as Chinatown’s “Sam Wong Hotel” and the intersection of “Third and Seneca.”

Besides the depth of emotion conveyed, Kozelek also shows admirable skill on the guitar from the flamenco-esque “Alesund” to the plucked string work of “Third and Seneca.”

However, many of the songs are too similar. Kozelek tends to stay within a certain range and it feels like he is singing about the same thing, with only subtle variations in guitar lines to account for the differences between tracks. As a result, the album feels like an hour-long song. But it’s difficult not to be drawn in by its emotional intensity and Admiral Fell Promises is a beautiful collection of Kozelek’s travels.

It’s safe to say that just about every cut on Big Boi’s Sir Lucious Left Foot: The Son of Chico Dusty demolishes the taste of anything safe, dull or “smooth.” Beyond that, it establishes Boi as a powerhouse craftsman and rapper, with or without the help of a certain Possum Aloysius Jenkins. It’s an album loaded with ideas, hooks and prime performances from everyone involved. From ATL all-stars Organized Noize to George Clinton, the cameos and production sit top shelf. And out of it all, Big Boi stands tall. His finesse, flow and charm take Left Foot to the heights of the most entertaining rap albums of the past decade.

In OutKast, Boi played underdog to Andre’s genre-crossing charm, especially after Speakerboxx/The Love Below’s Grammy and chart demolition derby. And for his skill, Boi’s flow is frequently understated. He seldom has any quotable phrases. His cadence is unpredictable, and half his lines are content to spill into hooks before they finish. Left Foot changes nothing about his style, but it displays Boi in top form. From giddy come-ons to vicious self-aggrandizing, his lines are stronger than ever – from his athletic internal rhymes in double-time to his left-space shout-outs. On Left Foot, he rounds up his talent and splays hip-hop’s guts all over – with or without pop appeal.

The most mystifying part of Left Foot’s history is that it almost never happened. Arista refused to release it in 2008, calling it, of all things, the classic piece-of-art-no-radio-hits mistake. After a four year delay and label swap, Left Foot made its way to pressing. But not before Def Jam refused Andre 3000, fellow Outkaster-actor-singer-rapper-wardrobe designer, an appearance on the album. As a result, we miss out on tight cuts like “Lookin’ for Ya” and “Royal Flush.” But it’s safe to say the popular forms of this album that will circulate online and in the liquor stores of Atlanta will be complete with both of those gems and a few others. Without them, Left Foot and Boi do just fine.

After the brief and potent Zapp-funk intro of “Feel Me,” “Daddy Fat Sax” kicks off hard with rumbling bass, blown-out keyboards and Boi rapping something ferocious. From there, cut after cut soars. “General Patton” takes the page of Stankonia’s “Snappin’ and Trappin’,” riding a church choir, marching band riff and punishing snare taps before razing it to the ground. Stripper-pole anthem “Tangerine” ’s jungle beats and hazy guitar slide into a sleazy chorus with a synth lick that sounds like a Koji Kondo assist. And for the conclusion? An understated and all-too brief piano accompaniment that is rhythmic, unexpected and gorgeous, even. Moments like this abound on Left Foot – every idea, layer and verse excite. Hell, even the skits are lovable.

When the spotlight leaves Mr. Big, Left Foot occasionally loses its footing. “Follow Us” strides fine before a wonky chorus sung by rock poppers Vonnegutt hits it in the solar plexus. Jamie Foxx and Janelle Monáe showpieces “Hustle Blood” and “Be Still” are fine spots for both stars and Boi, but back-to-back, they stumble Left Foot’s sequence. Moments like these are minor complaints, but they do bare the disarray of an album suspended by extended gestation.

But a lack of focus is, if anything, impossible to knock here.

Track after track, Boi brings more than just great rapping and production. He succeeds in building inventive, whole songs, which impress and entertain in equal measure.

“Shine Blockas” is one of many standouts on the album. It’s a cousin to UGK’s glorious “International Playas Anthem,” another graduate of the southern school of ride-a-huge-sample-out-’til-it-sounds-even-huger. With the sweep of the Blue Notes’ burning quiet-storm classic “I Miss You” and the impeccable Gucci Mane in tow, Big Boi flies high and away with style. It feels like a soaring epitaph for southern rap and Teddy Pendergrass both. The album and the song are Boi’s time to … well, you know. Shine. Can’t wait for the smooth jazz rendition.

“/\/\ /\ Y /\” opens with “The Message,” a short track reproving the masses’ hyper-connectivity with the Internet, and then it careens into the squeal of saw blades on “Steppin Up.” Right away this album feels different from its predecessor, “Kala.” It’s darker and discordant, lacking anything resembling “Paper Planes ,” the catchy, Clash-indebted killer that turned M.I.A. into a household name.

The move to harsher sounds isn’t necessarily a bad one, but at times there’s just too much going on and the songs become muddled by noise. M.I.A. usually knows the right time to pull on the reigns and harness the clamor, but on songs like “Teqkilla” she tends to cram the meters and the music winds up sounding abrasive rather than textured.

That being said, “/\/\ /\ Y /\” does find moments of harmony, particularly (and surprisingly) on the tracks where M.I.A. swaps her trademark rap style for straight up singing. She may not be Aretha, but she’s not half-bad — there’s charisma in the vocals that’s nothing short of alluring. The first single, “XXXO,” and “Tell Me Why ” are perhaps the best examples, with both songs benefitting from the mesmeric pop-vox choruses. Then there’s the cover of “It Takes a Muscle,” an incredibly cheesy song by Netherlands’ equally cheesy Spectral Display, which M.I.A. dusts off, polishes up and makes cool through her breezy croon.

There’s really only one callback to previous work, the overtly political “Lovalot.” The song feels like classic M.I.A. in both the beats and the vocal delivery, but the lyrics, inspired by the deaths of a Russian/Islamic terrorist couple, expand her usual combativeness to new dimensions.

The subject matter of “Lovalot” will undoubtedly polarize listeners and the same goes for “/\/\ /\ Y /\” on the whole. M.I.A. is reaching for both her militant roots and her pop sensibilities, but while her prior efforts maintained a chaotic balance between the two, the latest turns into a farrago. It’s not that “/\/\ /\ Y /\” is a bad record, but it certainly lacks the same vision present on “Kala,” M.I.A.’s magnum opus.

2.5/4 Stars

‘Say Mel if you call your girlfriend a whore, threaten her with violence, and then take a rhetorical flamethrower to a wide swath of humanity does that help open a film?’

To hell with Mel Gibson though. I only bring him up because I was thinking about how much I ought to read/watch about M.I.A. before listening to the new album “Maya.” I really wanted to take in the much anticipated record on it’s own merits. It’s a challenge to say the least. The much talked about Mathangi Arulpragasam has been painted as everything from a terrorist sympathizer to just another rich girl with a taste for Truffle French Fries (whatever those are). I didn’t even watch the reportedly ultra violent video for “Born Free.” And so stewing happily in my self-imposed ignorance I found “Maya” an occasionally interesting, but mostly dopey mess.

The album opens with the “The Message,” which seems to be that the government controls us through the Internet. I’d like to think I’m not interesting and/or threatening enough to be bothered with, but perhaps I can understand why the daughter of a Sri Lankan Civil War combatant might feel as though the NSA reads our thoughts 140 characters at a time.

“Steppin Up” follows and is built literally with power tools and a brain bouncing thump. All that clamor obscures a throw away lyric. The new single “XXXO” is by contrast quite catchy, but fouled by the impossibly dumb line:

“A knock at the door
And then we hit the floor
And all I know is you leave me wanting more
I don’t let it show
But I think you know
‘Cause you tweeting me like tweety bird on your iPhone”

I thought she was smarter than that, but maybe not. “Teqkilla” goes on forever and says nothing either. In fact the lyrics could have been lifted from the annual report of liquor distiller Seagrams. M.I.A.’s boyfriend is the son of onetime Seagram’s’ CEO Edgar Bronfman and thus:

“When I met Seagram he sent Chivas down my spine”

Good God that’s irredeemable.

When all is said and done “Lovalot” will end up being the track to win M.I.A. the most ire. “I fight the ones that fight me” she monotones dropping everything from the Taliban to Unicef into the track. I’d like to say I could draw any meaning out of it, but it seems designed for misinterpretation.

“Story To Be Told” didn’t register for me, but M.I.A.’s cover of an obscure Danish new wave song “It Takes A Muscle” is a bit of fun. “It Iz What It Iz” seems to channel Bjork. The aforementioned “Born Free” is anchored on the proto-industrial throb of genre pioneers Suicide and their track “Ghost Rider.” Martin Rev’s synth pounding propels M.I.A. into a righteous snit and proves to be album’s standout track.

“Meds And Feds” rocks a bit too thanks to a pounding rhythm track and looped metal guitar stabs. I’m pretty sure it’s some sort of statement lyrically, but leaves me scratching my head. Ditto for “Tell Me Why.” She doesn’t know.

And so M.I.A. floats into “Space” amongst some squiggly gurgles sounding more like a kid dreamily singing to her stuffed animal collection.

In the end I think what M.I.A. might have been aiming for was some kind of rant on… ah the hell with it. I have no idea what she was on about on this often-disappointing record. I actually thought some of the sounds cooked up by the likes of Diplo, Blaqstarr etc gave the record some meat, or at least some cool sounds, but in the end this was hers to pull off and she just didn’t or couldn’t.

Hulsey — who hails from the same hometown as acoustic pop artist Christofer Drew Ingle of Never Shout Never — released “A Note In Your Pocket” on Ingle’s label Loveway Records June 22. The label exclusively housed Never Shout Never’s three full-lengths before Hulsey’s March single.

His wayfarers and skinny jeans give the 20-something acoustic rocker a set image from the start, marketing him as one of Vans Warped tour alternative artists who just so happens to be picking up speed on the top music charts. However, Hulsey’s music does leave a little to the imagination, keeping listeners engaged with the versatility of his voice and sometimes quirky, oftentimes-honest songs.

The tracks on “A Note In Your Pocket” come straight from the pages of Hulsey’s day-to-day journal. As he shared as a guest on Ingle’s “The Dick Johnson Show,” each song lets his life and personality shine through, drawing listeners in with the likeable acoustics and not too dressed-up or overdone lyrics.

He succeeds at keeping his music personal, hitting a home run with “Like a Bear,” which sticks out as the soul-searching track of the album. Using metaphors of a bear’s hibernation cut short, a captain kept from sea and a soldier stuck in an unjustifiable war, Hulsey comes to the conclusion that “we are sinners and saints, you and I.”

The title-track, “A Note In Your Pocket,” does best at showing off the folk side of this acoustic rocker, giving him an unexpected, but promising edge. With all the focus set on a defining twang in Hulsey’s voice, the song breaks away from his accepted image, and shows a welcomed side of the up-and-coming artist.

Hulsey’s biggest downfall is trying to ride the bandwagon, and his intentional or unintentional slip into the safe, and already-been-done act. The March single “Black & Blue” falls into a familiar trap for soft and slow love songs and resembles a blend of Death Cab for Cutie and the early Jack’s Mannequin, minus the dramatics. Clearly made for the mainstream, it speaks highly of Hulsey’s vocals but fails to break any new ground on the alternative front.

He strikes a nice balance, between the tried and true and the tailored-fit, with “Good Time,” which stays simple, but pulls it all in with that folk twang. And, the album comes to an end on the perfect note with “Aleda,” which quite literally tells the story of a Buddhist woman he met in a Laundromat.

“A Note In Your Pocket” definitely starts Hulsey off well, setting him up with the appeal of the guitar-toting acoustic sensation, while keeping a strong sense of originality intertwined. Inspired by artists like Neil Young, Tom Petty and Ryan Adams, Hulsey shows great potential and offers a certain edge to the acoustic rock world.

In the early ‘00s there was no better hip-hop group than Outkast. Their album “Stankonia” is arguably one of the best albums of the decade, and the song “Hey Ya” is still in near constant rotation in bars and on radio stations across the country.

However, since the demise of Outkast it has been André 3000, as he is more commonly known, who has been the more familiar creative voice to the masses. Big Boi’s (Patton) new album is a statement from the silent member of the group that he will not fall the way of Andrew Ridgeley (that other guy in Wham), and “Sir Lucious Left Foot: The Son of Chico Dusty” is a remarkable statement at that.

There is a creativity to “Sir Lucious” that is not common among hip-hop albums anymore. This year B.O.B. and Drake have dominated with their self-indulgent brand of hip-hop; their choruses bemoaning rap as an industry have been played out, and Big Boi is turning the tide with a return to creative and smart rap.

There is more substance in one song on “Sir Lucious” than any other song from 2010. Of course, Big Boi cannot avoid the hackneyed rap references to “bitches and hoes” and “Ricky Bobby” (whose ‘in vogue’ status is questionable at best).

However, when these tired references are employed it is few and far between, not so much as to detract from the quality of the album, or any song, as a whole.

Big Boi also balances his rap verses with those of his guest rappers very well on this album. Where B.O.B. and Drake have failed is in the overuse of the “featured rapper.” At times on “The Adventures of Bobby Ray” B.O.B. appears to be a guest rapper on his own album. “Sir Lucious” succeeds in establishing the album as Patton’s own, rather than his guest’s.

The best cameo on “Sir Lucious” is that of Janelle Monáe, whose smooth vocals give the R&B groove “Be Still” a truly charming aesthetic. Even B.O.B.’s verse on “Night Night” is endearing and smart, and his rap really adds to the song.

A big part of the charm “Sir Lucious” exudes comes from the sticky sweet synthesizers and original beats. Nothing on this album seems contrived to follow a trend – a bold statement in today’s hip-hop climate.

The production of the album has a lot to do with that, and the production certainly enhances the album. It seems no album today could be released without auto-tune, but it has never been less of a gimmick than when Big Boi uses it.

Producer Salaam Remi also incorporates several skits (à la Kayne’s “Late Registration”) into the beginning or end of certain songs. These add a certain unexpected quirky aesthetic to the album. Their offbeat nature make the strangest things (like the description of the sexual act called the “David Blaine”) much less off-putting, and even engaging.

All of these little factors combine to make “Sir Lucious” one of the best hip-hop albums, not only of the year, but of the past few years. Big Boi has made a bold statement with this album, and he has put the hip-hop world on notice that he will not go away quietly.

Most recently, writer Lynn Hirschberg portrayed the “Paper Planes” singer as a know-nothing hypocritical agitator in a New York Times profile. M.I.A. tweeted her reactionary rage online, and soon all facts were lost in the ensuing bitchfest.

It’s true that M.I.A. drifts toward the overly explosive. It’s true that Hirschberg unethically quoted and wrongly portrayed her subject. But mostly, it’s just ironic that an Internet-fueled fight proved so distracting from an intriguing album that deals with the ever-presence of technology.

Leaving the cyber-squabbles aside, the best thing going for /\/\/\Y/\ (techspeak for “Maya,” the singer’s given name) is its eclecticism. “Sound of a bomb blast, throw it in the bag,” M.I.A. pronounces above screeches of revving machines on “Steppin’ Up,” and she would. The track serves as M.I.A.’s manifesto: Beyond the repetitive and overconfident lyrics, she really can make music from surprising things.

The highlights of /\/\/\Y/\ find M.I.A. spinning in different directions. Heavy-hitting single “XXXO” grinds on thick percussion and blaring beeps, but it’s also one of the singer’s pop star-iest songs ever. “You want me be somebody who I’m really not,” M.I.A. chants. Closer to singing here than she usually treads, the Sri Lankan star proves that she has a competent voice as well as a killer accent. And, delivering the chorus, her split-second pause between the X’s makes the combined letters sound like “sex,” or maybe “excess,” or “success” — any of which, really, makes sense for M.I.A.

“Lovalot” is a complete turnaround, soft and shuffling over a Middle Eastern-sounding base. More enunciation tricks turn “I really love a lot” into “I really love Allah,” a clever twist of meaning furthered by lyrical images of Taliban truckers, burqas and bombs on Mecca.

Dubstep-inflected “Story To Be Told” uses echoey nonsense voices and morphing, layered beats for an air of center less nostalgia. Three minutes later, the techno-Caribbean groove of “It Takes A Muscle” lightens things up. And simple-minded mantra “Born Free” enters with a punch that it sustains all through the lo-fi whooping and creepy electronic pre-punk band-sampling, until its final yelp of “Bo- bo- bo- bo- bo- / Born free.” The common denominator between all the tracks is M.I.A.’s typical singsong repetitions of phrases that kind of make sense, plus tech references in both lyrics and music.

But although technology is supposedly the underlying theme of the album, the many appearances of computers, Twitter, etc. don’t actually seem to be saying anything about the hi-tech life. “My lines are down, you can’t call me / As I float around in space or the sea,” states glitch-y techno-popper “Space,” but when it ends, closing the album on a drugged-out note, it’s hard to tell if that’s a good or bad thing — ultimately, it’s empty.

So maybe M.I.A. needs The New York Times and all the hoopla that surrounds her. That punk-rebel attitude might very well hide ignorance, and her cool musical innovations could just be accidents. But whatever M.I.A. is saying, we certainly haven’t heard it before. And she yells it loud enough — and often enough — that it catches on fast.

The temptation when approaching any Devo product is to assume that what’s being presented is part of some larger theme. A new track like the vaguely doo wop “Please Baby Please” isn’t a crappy throwaway, but rather a sharp commentary on tramp stamps, Tweets, over sexualized Disney teens and/or fill in random cultural reference here. Or not. Devo at one time had enough goodwill saved up from the brilliance of their early output to enjoy a free pass. In my mind that expired with 1983’s “Shout” and the album’s rancid cover of Hendrix’s “Are You Experienced?” Devo seemingly agreed, and sat out the balance of the Reagan years.

And so I’ll take “Something For Everybody” at face value. “Watch Us Work It,” is a flaccid album opener, and was probably positioned there given its relative familiarity courtesy a 2007 Dell Computer commercial. The song sadly reminds me of the dross on disappointing reunion records “Total Devo” (1988) and “Smooth Noodle Maps” (1990). “Fresh” isn’t particularly, but has a useful enough hook for the closing credits of a never made 80’s movie. “Sumthin’” serves as a de-facto and forgettable title track.

The album doesn’t really get moving until “Don’t Shoot (I’m A Man)” if only for it’s brain slurrying synth hook and the two years overdue “Don’t Tase Me Bro” lyric. And just as quickly all hope in this album is abandoned. “Step Up” passes without notice, although if ESPN ever releases another edition of “Jock Rock” it could be of use. In fact the word “use” seems the key here in understanding just what the hell the point of a new Devo album in 2010 could possibly be. Bespectled Devo front man Mark Mothersbaugh has since the mid 80’s made his nut composing music for nothing but utility. Cartoons, movies, and commercials have all enjoyed his post ironic touch and the work no doubt has made him far more money than Devo itself. The whole of “Something For Everybody” seems designed for plug and play in more commercials, family friendly Wii Games, and feature length Nicktunes.

There was a time when Devo’s pop art served as a darkly humorous commentary on modern Western life, and songs like the propulsive “Freedom Of Choice” contained warnings against ceding critical thought to government, marketing, mass media, and public relations.

“I say it again in the land of the free/use your freedom of choice!”

And an indictment:

“Freedom of choice is what you’ve got. Freedom from choice is what you want.”

Devo had matching uniforms and a “Corporate Anthem.” They took the idea of voluntary conformity to it’s ridiculous extreme, and over time we did indeed culturally “devolve” just as they warned we would all those years ago. What wasn’t supposed to happen was for Devo to devolve right along with us.

The opening song, “Choir of Angels,” combines an old-rock electric guitar feel with the conviction of a piano playing hymn-like chords. McCauley’s voice strikes with a distinctive sense of trial. Tender with the scars of a harsh affair, he sings with a voice much older than his 24 years. The Tom Petty-esque style is tinged with despair as he calls for angels to sing him to sleep.

The next track showcases the full potential of the band with strong vocals, lyrics, and a melody that endures long past the end of the song. “Twenty Miles” begins with descending chords of a piano and guitar, each string picked as the beat sways closely to that of a footstep, following the singer as he nears closer to the place that offers him “one more chance now that time’s running thin.” McCauley’s voice becomes as much of an instrument as the guitar and piano, fading perfectly in without becoming a background to the track. The progression into the violin is fitting as his voice howls alongside, sending a sense of urgency within the telling of the song.

“Goodbye Dear Friend” slows down the pace with a piano ballad, the sparse chords echoing a drawn out farewell. McCauley’s ability to sing softly but achingly without having to scream above the instrument provides for the perfect touch to the song of how “some stories break your heart.”

The folksy sound of “Piece by Piece and Frame by Frame” serves to be more of a transition track, as McCauley slowly strums his acoustic guitar with the sound of a bitter lover singing “I love to tear apart your day.”

“The Sad Sun” brings a little variety with accompanying vocals from a female singer whose voice is light-hearted. The song is a classic sense of the album’s theme as he debates the purpose of life in light of the end, expressing annoyance in the line “never had your chance to live and it’s hard to forgive.”

Tom Petty’s influence is evident in “Mange” as the song’s old rock style builds towards a piano solo that leads well into a guitar solo. The album continues with “When She Comes Home,” a bluesy song of a discontented lover debating over whether or not to make his feelings known, and “Hand in My Hand,” a song you’d listen to on your porch while your mind wanders but your thoughts drift over theme of the lyrics. The rest of the songs follow closely to a similar tone, finishing with “Christ Jesus” as McCauley’s voice breaks on the last words of a song played on an old piano, begging the questions of uncertainty.

Deer Tick incorporates its folksy and blues sound with lyrics that are sung by a fitting voice of intimacy and heartbreak. A force to be reckoned with, the band proves in The Black Dirt Sessions that it’s worth skipping over bands Metric or AFI at Lollapalooza—drop by Deer Tick’s stage and hear the tales of a soul much older than just 24 years.

Aphrodite is 43 minutes of good, clean fun and big shock love. “Everything is Beautiful” and “Put Your Hands Up (If You Feel Love)” are just a few of her intriguing track titles, truly capturing the depth and creativity of Kylie’s lyricism. Her message of true love and blind optimism is consistent and heartfelt, if anything. Though, unless your name is Raffi or your brain is coursing with MDMA, this message is just a little hard to take seriously. It’s sugar, spice and everything nice but in the Age of Gaga, even Rihanna and Christina are taking up the leather bodysuit and throwing the boys around.

Angelic voices and pretty faces aren’t going to cut it anymore. The least Kylie could have done was jump on the techno bandwagon, but her generic disco-synth accompaniment is instead depressingly dated. Thus, not only did she once again strike out at the wrong time, she went into battle completely unarmed. I have faith in Kylie the Diva, but Kylie the Flower Child is no match for her contemporaries in the US, and she’s kind of boring.

Even when Stars ventures into catchier, pop territory, the vocals continue to bring depth to the tracks. Laced with wistfulness, the vocals mingle and intertwine to create an atmosphere of longing and reminiscence, not unlike that of sifting through memories one holds dear to the heart. These ghosts that linger in the backdrop are ghosts of feelings, memories, and secrets.

Hence, I found it quite fitting that Stars’ most recent album is entitled Five Ghosts. With all their heartfelt songs about hearts, memories, and lost lovers, I thought it’d only be a matter of time before they explicitly addressed the ghosts. There is a quiet morbidity to Stars that is often overshadowed by the solid vocals and lyrical narratives. However, Five Ghosts highlights this morbidity and creates something eerily beautiful and delicate from the dark recesses of the tone. While they wander off from their normal ballads about unrequited romance and lovelorn individuals, they are still able to retain their trademark style.

My personal favorite tracks are “Dead Hearts” and “Changes.” “Dead Hearts” follows the classic formula of Stars’ hit songs. Crooned phrases dissolve into upbeat catchy instrumentation, climaxing with strings. The lyrics are what really drew me to the song—there is an innocent curiosity with the ghosts.

“Changes,” a soft ballad, is more in the style of the Stars’ past albums back in 2005 and 2007. Millan takes her time in reassured and lilting croons. The bass and faint electro instrumentation could easily be swapped with acoustics. Although one can distinguish more of Stars’ original roots, they still show more maturity and growth since their last album. The simplicity of the instrumentation serves as a platform for the gorgeous vocals as Millan’s voice curls around the listener in a snug embrace.

On the other hand, “We Don’t Want Your Body” is snarky and tongue-in-cheek. Very much so on the extreme pop spectrum of Stars’ style, it deviates from the album’s haunted themes about those who dwell in the past. Millan lends her vocals to a coquettish singsong chant: ‘You tune into my frequency/That don’t mean a thing to me/ Cause I don’t want your body/ I don’t want your body’. The song easily conjures up a tasteless scorned lover, whose advances are rebuffed repeatedly.

There are those who claim that Stars only has two colors: ebullient pop songs and melancholy ballads epitomized by lovelorn croons. I’d argue that the most impressive thing about Stars is their nuance and spectrum of colors.

The-Dream’s Love King won’t let you forget. The third outing from North Carolina-born producer-songwriter Terius Nash has all the pomp and polish of a royal decree. Each of its twelve songs builds on the-Dream’s already impressive credentials; co-production on Rihanna’s “Umbrella” and Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies,” songwriting credits from Jamie Foxx to Katy Perry and a grand-slam solo success with 2009’s Love Vs. Money. Nash’s Atlanta snap pop is detailed, high-gloss and tailor-made for decimating car stereos. And with a mere two cameos, Love King is a slick, focused collection of chest-thumping, ego-driven cocksmanship. The end result is filled with delirious highlights even when songs drag, hooks fail to impress and the occasional lyrical face-plant adds a little jank to Nash’s smooth mid-tempo sex thump.

The-Dream wastes no time in spelling things out for you. The leadoff title track recites every girl, every continent and every ass Nash has touched or wanted to. Over soaring, skipping piano stabs, Nash chants, “You don’t know me like that,” as if the song didn’t make it impossible not to. On this and most of the songs, he’s the invincibly wealthy Casanova — commanding shorties like soldiers and continuing his quest to make “Patronin’” a standard verb. The sun never sets on the-Dream’s empire. His kingly advice on pacifying an upset boo? “Drop five stacks on the makeup bag.” He’s humbly “sex intelligent,” making other brothas “irrelevant.”

Following “Sex Intelligent?” A remix of the same song. The-Dream’s ego bows to none.

When he’s not sculpting his image in marble, Nash makes the toughest move a king can make: He shows vulnerability. There is a subdued sense of anguish in songs like “Nikki, Pt. 2” and “February Love,” where boasting gives way to simple confessions of longing and loss. “Me and my new girl is cool / But now I’m having doubts,” Nash croons, pulling out of the rhyme before a sludgy, filtered keyboard hook leads to some cathartic electric guitar. Old relationships, voicemails and tweets haunt him like the Ides of March. Even while lashing out in “Abyss,” Nash seems unsure — “Cry ’til you drown your face / And bitch, I give a damn how harsh this may… seem” pausing a few beats, as if regret stops him in his tracks.

Aside from Nash’s sometimes gripping, sometimes vacuous presence, Love King’s asset is its production. Layered harmonies, syrupy keyboard arrangements, drum-line percussion — the polish and command of these tunes intoxicate. “Make Up Bag” pounds on bass and keyboards that bristle and bounce. “Turnt Out” rides a paisley guitar loop and pillows Nash’s smoothest falsetto to maximum panty-wetting effect. And while the grace of each track’s detail lends itself to repeat listens, extended vamps and uninspired spots spoil the fun. For every brilliant hook, a mediocre one may follow. For every charming couplet, you’re treated to a stinker like, “It’s like trying to rob me with a BB gun / but my love gets it poppin’ like the Taliban.”

Love King finds its crown jewel in “Yamaha,” which finds Nash updating Prince’s “Little Red Corvette.” Beginning as a simmering ode to ass, “Yamaha” builds into so much more. It’s about the girl he can never forget, the shorty that broke his mold. He’s still got her name tattooed on his back. R&B’s crown monarch defined himself by writing sex jams that were also vulnerable.

Where Nash’s royal backing tracks meet his humility and bombast, they soar. Otherwise, they’ll continue to serve the talents of brighter stars.

When the-Dream finds his balance, history (and the charts) should smile upon his name. But even until then, all hail.

Wolf Parade puts forth a nice effort on their third album “Expo 86,” but the Canadian quintet can’t seem to match the distinctively zesty rock it produced on the first two albums. Unlike past efforts, the album fails to contain the signature standout songs that make Wolf Parade’s albums memorable. Instead, the band trades in its impressive, percussion-fueled songs for more conventional-sounding rock. “Expo” is a less cohesive entry in Parade’s catalog, and the tracks may leave listeners pining for the unforgettable drumbeat of “I’ll Believe in Anything” or the sleekness of “California Dreamer.”

C

Matthew Jacobs

Jackie Greene, “Till The Light Comes”
429 Records

Jackie Greene, who gained national recognition after touring with Phil Lesh and Friends, released this week his sixth full-length album, “Till The Light Comes.” The nearly 50-minute album departs from the ample comparisons of Greene’s early work to Bob Dylan’s style and uses slower-toned blues instrumentation coupled with often floating, Floyd-esqe vocals. Greene nails the upbeat tracks, including the album’s first single “Medicine,” and other songs including “Spooky Tina” and the title track, but the slow-paced ballads can disrupt the album’s pop-blues feel and pace. “Till The Light Comes,” though an enjoyable album, doesn’t quite hit the level of Greene’s previous albums.

B-

Nicholas Persac

Kele, “The Boxer”
Glassnote Records

Bloc Party front man Kele Okereke’s first solo album “The Boxer” is a full leap into the harsh sounds of electronic, house and dubstep dance music. Fans of Bloc Party will find the album different from the spiky post-punk and ambitious anthemics of the band’s best-known work. While the album is excellently produced and the sound meshes well with Kele’s agile vocals, the individual tracks feel less than coherent, lacking the thrilling hooks that he is capable of writing. “The Boxer” is a forceful and aggressive statement, but it is ultimately an interesting, if uneven, opening salvo for Kele.

C+

Chris Abrshire

Flo Rida, “Club Can’t Handle Me” (Single)
Atlantic Records

“Club Can’t Handle Me” is the single from “Step Up 3D,” which arrives in theaters Aug. 6. The single has more of a pop flavor than the hip-hop sound of Flo Rida’s latest CD. The song has a club sound, but the chorus slows down a bit. Overall, the song is catchy, and the radio will likely overplay it to death.

B

Celeste Ansley

Christina Aguilera, “Bionic”
RCA

Look who’s jumping on the “it’s an electro-rap, dance-craze comeback” bandwagon. Hitting numerous birds with one 18-track stone, Christina Aguilera sounds almost nothing like her late ‘90s pop star self. With her latest release “Bionic,” she’s been drawing comparisons to other famous ladies like M.I.A. and Sia Furler (both of whom worked on the album with her). All in all, the album is very satisfying but very much feels like listening to songs by other artists with Aguilera screaming with her church gospel vocals in the background. Good, but definitely not great.

C

Julian Tate

Herbie Hancock, “The Imagine Project”
Hancock Records

Anyone who’s taken the University’s Jazz 1001 course is probably familiar with Herbie Hancock as one of the all-time great jazz pianists. Nearly 50 years later Hancock is still cranking out quality submissions, and his latest offering, “The Imagine Project” is no different. Hancock invites a who’s-who of acclaimed artists to help him cover 10 well-known tracks from music lore. Here you can find Pink, Seal and Jeff Beck belting out John Lennon’s “Imagine” over Hancock’s lovely piano. The album covers the full spectrum, from Susan Tedschi’s ridiculously soulful version of Joe Cocker’s “Space Captain” to Hancock’s jam-tastic rendering of The Beatles’ “Tomorrow Never Knows,” complete with a cameo by the King of Jam, Dave Matthews. Half the fun of the album is finding out how Hancock approaches so many famous songs, and he doesn’t disappoint, doing complete justice to entries from the Bob Dylan, Bob Marley and Sam Cooke songbooks, as well as others.

A

On their new release, Laws of Power, Triple Six take “Shots after Shots” of liquor, watch intoxicated women “Shake It” and still run with that “lil’ freak in Hollywood/ Sucks on dick/ Does it real good” that they mentioned in a previous, memorable hit, “Slob On My Knob.”

It would be fairly easy to nitpick Laws of Power for reused tropes from Three 6 Mafia’s previous work, but I prefer to think that these Tennessee good ol’ boys are perfecting their art.

On tracks like “Lil Freak (Ugh Ugh Ugh)” and “Medicine” (which, surprisingly, is not about a sticky herbal remedy), the beats are slow and typically Dirty South, layered with rapid hi-hat percussion and dramatic synthesizer riffs. DJ Paul, reportedly responsible for most of the production, seems to channel party anthems like Unk’s “Walk it Out” and Juvenile’s “Back that Ass Up.”

However, Laws is not all Southern fare. House music extraordinaire DJ Tiesto pumps up a staccato electronica beat on “Feel It,” previously released as a single, along with radio starlets Sean Kingston and Flo Rida joining Three 6 on the effects-laden vocals.

Three 6 Mafia may be a long way from their horrorcore beginnings (probably for the best; think Insane Clown Posse). Hell, they’ve even quit making claims to their “streetness.” But you don’t have to take them seriously in order to shake your ass on the dance floor, which is exactly what they want you to do.

This curious tiptoer of a track hardly opens the album with a bang. Rather, How I Got Over slithers into listeners’ eardrums slowly, mysteriously, coiling round and not releasing its audience until the final Auto Tuned baby wail of Major Lazer-sampling “Hustla.” But then again, who would expect any less of the eclectic and always-pioneering Legendary Roots Crew?

How I Got Over is the Roots’ first studio album since taking up residence on “Late Night With Jimmy Fallon.” The band proved itself on the show, going beyond simply supporting Fallon to anchor and sometimes star in jokes and bits like “Freestylin’ With The Roots.” But a move to the late-night circuit seems suspiciously like settling down, which would spell disaster for a group so inherently unsettling.

The thing is, the Roots at their best are deep, cynical, even frightening. And it’s not just the lyrics — the creeping ascending bass line of Game Theory’s “In The Music,” ?uestlove’s threateningly methodic drumming of Rising Down’s “The Show” — nothing on Over even comes close to the dark, deep and dense atmosphere this group can create.

Instead, for their ninth studio album the Roots opted for positivity with a vague sense of unease. It’s subtle, and markedly different from its immediate predecessors, but it’s the perfect conclusion.

Over’s first five tracks smoothly transition for an uninterrupted flow right into first single “How I Got Over.” These songs epitomize the Roots’ new stance: “Walk Alone,” anchored by mournful soul wailing and piano, is less menacing, more accepting of its fate, as the chorus admits: “I always been on my own, ever since the day I was born / So I don’t mind walking alone.”

Likewise, album highlight “Dear God 2.0” adds to a poignant plea by super group Monsters of Folk a conflicting sense of urgency and helplessness. After the first verse’s marching list of world woes, rapper Black Thought gets personal about his job and life in a depressive present-tense preclude to an future-leaning album.

“How I Got Over” is the first instant upper on Over — and really, the first Roots mood-raiser in a long time. Its upbeat style and poppy chorus are a little jarring at first, but its stark buoyancy balances Over’s overall mood, and introduces the much more hopeful second half.

“Even the three-legged dog got three good legs to lose,” Phonte reminds us on “The Day,” a smile-through-the-tears ode to the daily grind, and it seems to be the theme of the album. Past back-to-back John Legend collaborations “Doin’ It Again” and “The Fire,” on into playful closer “Web 20/20,” the Roots sound like a band trapped on a desert island but enjoying the sun.

The Roots have cited the Obama message as a partial influencer for the new album, and it shows — not just the hope-and-change mantra, but the confusion and contradiction that come with. Of course, Over is still a suicide letter compared to the typical happy-go-lucky pop song. But what makes it great is that even in looking forward, it still considers the trauma of the past.

And in doing so, the album manages to stay far from the too-settled realm foreboded by its Fallon day job (or late-night job, as it were). But what’s more, it provides a fuller commentary on what it means to be living in America in the Obama age, where the reality of hope and change isn’t so easy.

With How I Got Over, the Roots have created something that stands out not only in their extensive repertoire but also in terms of the broader American outlook today.

It captures the atmosphere of the late ’00s but also pinpoints a distinct — and rarely pinpointed — feeling of yin-yang optimism. Not so bad for a late-night house band.

Enter Wolf Parade.

The group’s new album Expo 86 has moxie to spare. Bedroom kids will be burning out nightlights and callusing their fingers to the new release in no time at all, pressing its chords into their brains and muscle memory.

The Montreal-based foursome isn’t reinventing the wheel, but they’re certainly kicking it down the hill with a fair amount of force. All starry-eyed sonic youngsters are just products of the young before them, including those individuals we’ve rightfully christened as gods. Thievery makes for good music, after all, and although not quite in the same echelon as your Zeppelins or your Husker Dus, Wolf Parade is adept enough at emulating the noisemakers they love to warrant any and all attention it receives.

Wolf Parade’s debut, Apologies to the Queen Marie, was pointed, noisy and meaty enough to kink a neck in all the right places. The follow-up, At Mount Zoomer, seemingly separating the disparate personalities of its principal songwriters Spencer Krug and Dan Boeckner, was less focused but still potent. Things get tight again on Expo 86.

For the first few tracks, however, that tightness is not immediately apparent. The first song, “Cloud Shadow On The Mountain,” is an unmistakably Krug-penned epic, and the second, “Palm Road,” is undoubtedly a Boeckner rocker. Upon first listen the major problem with the band’s second album — the evident Krug or Boeckner trade-off from song to song — has returned. Why is this such a problem?

Krug and Boeckner are shockingly prolific creators, and both have — or have had — very successful solo and side projects. Krug is a former member of Fifths of Seven and Frog Eyes, a current member of Swan Lake (with Frog Eyes’ Carey Mercer) and Sunset Rubdown, and the sole member of his Moonface project. Boeckner, a former member of Atlas Strategic — which was almost signed to Sub Pop, Wolf Parade’s current label — is the lead singer and guitarist of the Handsome Furs, an excellent synth-punk duo also signed to Sub Pop. There is no shortage of material that showcases the talent and style of Wolf Parade’s two-man nucleus. The other side of that awesomely prolific coin is that it will become very clear very fast if Wolf Parade becomes an arena for the two to pitch their solo ideas.

This is the fear heading into the third track on Expo 86, but in what can only be described as a modern miracle of synergy, “What Did My Lover Say? (It Always Had To Go This Way)” gels. And it’s fantastic. It truly sounds like an amalgamation of the long list of Wolf Parade-associated works. Yeah, it’s a Krug-track with very Krug-vocals and with withdrawn, but still evident Krug-esque lyrics. But Boeckner brings in a very Boeckner-y riff, and about halfway through the song, listeners will stop caring which of the two was calling the shots. For the first time since the group’s debut, a Wolf Parade song can be described without bending members’ names into adjectives. This song just rocks.

Credit is due, in no small part, to multi-instrumentalist Dante DeCaro and drummer Arlen Thompson for filling in for everything that Krug and Boeckner choose not to do.

While there’s too much going on here to nitpick any of DeCaro’s contributions, Thompson does leave something to be desired. He feels very restrained here, and unlike his work with Arcade Fire, the drums don’t greatly augment the experience. Thompson is capable of much more and certainly he’ll bring heavier sticks and a little swagger to these songs on the road. Get excited to burst some eardrums to the sound of “Ghost Pressure.”

They’re not rock gods (yet), but these four music geeks swinging their instruments around have managed to make good ol’ fashioned garage-born racket, with ace production to boot. Expo 86 is a crowning example of rock done best by those who do rock best, nerds! If they keep it up, they’ll be donning dorm walls in no less than 20 years, and the resident cool kid will be saying, “They don’t make them like they used to.”

You’re probably right, cool kid. But they do come awfully close.

My first exposure to the “Twilight” franchise occurred at a fateful “girls’ night in” last summer. After dutifully baking brownies and painting toenails, my friends and I settled down on a periwinkle futon with the original “Twilight” DVD in the player. A full two hours later, we emerged from a horrified stupor.

Now, I know lots of people pretend to loathe “Twilight” but secretly devour every novel and spinoff. I am not one of those people.

I abhorred the way Bella treated her dad when she fled Forks with the Cullens — even if James was out to suck her blood, she was unnecessarily cruel, and I’d have been grounded before you can say “Phoenix.” I cringed at Bella’s antisocial tendencies and her “dicks over chicks” mentality. I sharply frowned at her sexist portrayal in the film, and the old-time morals it seemed to be preaching. But mostly, as a lover and reviewer of music, I was totally freaked out by the awesome “Twilight” soundtrack.

Over the years, some of my prized artists have donated their music and even — God forbid! — written original tracks to support the “Twilight” films. I’m cool with the added exposure — Thom Yorke probably doesn’t need the money, but Zero 7’s Sia might. I was appalled, however, to find these forward-thinking artists supporting the backwards, dependent and kinda anti-woman philosophy behind “Twilight.”

I decided to read the first “Twilight” book to better understand where my indie darlings were coming from, but it only got worse. Now, I’m no bra-busting militant feminist, but I balked at Bella’s ritual of cooking dinner every night for her dad. Even when going out for the night, she has to leave cold cuts so the poor guy can make himself a sandwich.

Transfixed by Edward’s initial assholery toward her, Bella painfully and unrequitedly obsesses from early on. And when Edward kisses her, Bella reacts like any other smitten girl: She gives in and goes with it.

“I sighed, and my lips parted. He staggered back, breaking my grip effortlessly. ‘Damn it Bella!’ he broke off, gasping. ‘You’ll be the death of me, I swear you will.’ ”

It’s a constant “Twilight” pattern: Bella entices, Edward tries in vain to resist. The theme is emphasized by the cover picture, as delicate white hands offer up a bright red apple, Genesis-style. Eve the temptress, only this time there’s vampires.

But as I sat reading, mildly irked, I turned to the Internet. How, I asked it, did “Twilight” beckon Beck, muster Muse and feature fuckin’ Florence Welch, of Florence and the Machine?

And Google gave me Alexandra Patsavas, a normal-looking Midwesterner of probable Greek origin.

Once a rock promoter in Illinois, Patsavas moved to screen work and soon made an art out of sound tracking. She’s the brains behind the music of “The O.C.,” “Grey’s Anatomy,” “Mad Men”… the list goes on, but those are my picks. And she’s how I got into Spoon, though I blush to admit it.

Billboard called Patsavas a Top Woman in Music, and she’s been profiled countless times — by Glamour and Elle, sure, but also The Chicago Tribune, The New York Times, CNBC and more. Patsavas’s company, Chop Shop Music Supervision, has handled all three “Twilight” soundtracks, and even got a Grammy out of it.

So maybe it’s OK. I mean, “Twilight” is still shit. It’s badly written, badly acted, just utter shit.

But for all the “Twilight” sexism — impressive considering its notable lack of actual sex, or even sex appeal, for that matter — it’s nice to know that Stephenie Meyer (seriously, Steph?

You had to spell it that way?) let a woman handle the sonic side of things, and that this wildly successful rock chick is the one responsible for securing contributions from Iron & Wine, Grizzly Bear and all our now-big friends.

I won’t feel guilty listening to “Heavy In Your Arms” on the “Twilight: Eclipse” soundtrack that might surreptitiously make its way onto my New Music playlist this month. It’s a gorgeously echoing track, lovely in its depressiveness. And what’s more, Alexandra Patsavas picked it out for me.

With its newest release, Expo 86, Wolf Parade does not disappoint. The album still maintains the band’s despondent vibrancy while also picking up inspiration from various intervals of rock ‘n’ roll to convey its sound. Some songs, such as the album’s opener “Cloud Shadow on the Mountain,” go into thrashy fits of embellished angst while other tracks gain inspiration from ’80s-style synth arrangements. The band even adds a slight amount of pop, which keeps the album from sounding monotonous. The release is also reminiscent of the noise-rock power of groups like My Bloody Valentine, but adding a more polished sound masks such references. The guitars and drums are spot-on at all times, giving the listener a more polished and cohesive glimpse into this band’s musical forte.

What makes this an interesting release is that although it deals with heavy-sounding arrangements without the slightest hint of a happy ending, the album never appears to be sad. “Palm Road,” “Little Golden Age,” “Ghost Pressure” and “Oh You, Old Thing” are the poppiest songs on the album, but they never reach a point where they are fully blissful or joyous. Then the realization comes that sentiment is not what Wolf Parade is trying to convey.

The only epic moment on the album came in the song “Yulia.” With an upbeat sound reminiscent of The Jesus and Mary Chain, the lyrics still play on their somber aesthetic. Lyrics such as, “I’m standing here, drifting alone. And my heart beats slow. And I hope they bring my body back, Yulia,” make the listener immediately sympathetic of the situation happening in the song, but it is impossible not to become engrossed in the music surrounding these sad words.

While Expo 86 was well worth the wait, some may not be able to help but scratch their heads and wonder how they should feel after listening to it.

It’s hard to take the news seriously, as artists these days tend to do and say anything for media attention, and fans should hope for another exit album if they want The-Dream to go out the right way — with a bang.

Love King is the last part of a trilogy of albums from the artist, following 2007’s Love/Hate and 2009’s Love vs. Money. But unlike its predecessors, it fails to deliver anything extraordinary.

Though Love King features some of the elements that led The-Dream to stardom, such as his glossy falsettos and sex-oozing beat, it’s a repetitive production.

The album’s only standout track is “Yamaha”; the poppy vibe of the hit intertwined with shrill synthesizing and fast beats is oddly akin to Prince’s Purple Rain. However, it stands out for its own charm.

Overall, Love King is subpar, with cliché, juvenile verses about sex and money, laid over percussive rhythms reminiscent of his old hits that become tiresome after listening to only a few tracks. The album will most likely get some love for its hyped beats as well as for a few Billboard-worthy singles such as “Yamaha” and “Make Up Bag,” which features rapper T.I.

Maybe the blame for the letdown can be attributed to the fact that The-Dream spent only four months on the LP, or maybe that he spent so much more time producing material for other R&B artists, including Mariah Carey, Brandy and P. Diddy. Whether The-Dream decides to put out another solo album or remain a star behind the scenes, Love King will not be the last of him.

After 18 months of work on the original third album, the band scrapped the project and teamed up with executive producer-songwriter Stuart Price for work on Night Work, which lead singer Jake Shears described as “super-sexual and sleazy.”

He’s right, and hearing just two songs will have a listener screaming, “Whoo, girl!” The group has pushed its glam-rock sound and image much further with this collection and contrast of 2010 pop music with dance synths from the 1980s. Disco strings and danceable guitar syncopations shine as the band puts forth its best effort for another Grammy nomination.

“Fire With Fire,” the lead single and the album’s best song, is an instant hit. Shears’ catchy vocals float over epic chord progressions, while heels begin to stomp at this romper of a track. An excellent middle-eight section with an ample amount of build highlights warm acoustic feelings and ’70s violin trills, before syncopated neon shimmers create a sound previously unexplored by the band.

Interestingly, “Invisible Light,” the promotional single and last album track, is part electro ballad, part trendy dance song and part interstellar space message from Sir Ian McKellen. This fantastically diverse approach to style breaks loose though Shears’ screechy falsetto, McKellen’s warm yet unsettling spoken build and Price’s expertly crafted synth production.

Shears’ “sleaze” is found in tracks such as “Any Which Way” and “Skin Tight,” with sexy lyrics, slurred words and heavy, upbeat guitar riffs that are enough to make your grandmother raise her eyebrows and leave the room. These tracks drive forward with their new attention to off-beats and stellar electronic sounds.

Price’s production on top of the band’s characteristic sound creates an entirely new level of intensity and danceability. This album will have you feeling like you’re walking through a bright-light night in neon ’80s Vegas, with a whole lot of chances for hot promiscuity.

At first listen, I was disappointed to find that Miniature Tigers had abandoned the simple melodies found in Tell It to the Volcano to experiment with an array of different instruments in Fortress. For “Goldskull,” the first single off Fortress, the boys teamed up with Texas’ own Alan Palomo of Neon Indian to produce a song that is truer to Palomo’s popular electronic style than the band’s own signature sound. Still, the song is catchy and, unlike their old songs, worth dancing to — revealing the band’s widened range.

Fortunately, the rest of the album is only moderately influenced by the band’s newfound style and does a better job of weaving in new elements with its original steel guitar and drum sounds.

Songs such as “Bullfighter Jacket” and “Japanese Woman Living in My Closet” draw the listener in from the get-go by planting hooks in the beginning of the song. Yet, they continue to captivate the audience with their peculiar, but unfortunately shallow, lyrics.

The true gem of Fortress proves to be the song “Egyptian Robe,” which, unsurprisingly, recalls the sound of the band’s previous album the most. “Egyptian Robe” is a soft tune that relies on the captivating voice of front man Charlie Brand rather than the complexities of Miniature Tigers’ new sound. The lyrics dreamily compare a former summer fling to an ancient Egyptian love affair, describing a lover as “she descends from the stairs of an ancient lair with two cats on her feet.” The song continues by repeating the line, “How could you not realize it was me, all of the turquoise jewelry you’ve received?” The repetition creates a trance-like and infectious melody that is impossible not to sing along with.

Fortress is a solid 40 minutes of upbeat pop and catchy lyrics. But still, the album is missing the charm of Miniature Tigers’ original album, and although it contains a more mature sound, it lacks the depth to be more than just a good summer album.

But on her baby’s due date, Arulpragasm found herself in a much different environment than the one she swore by. Surrounded by four of music’s biggest aristocrats and donning a Henry Holland polka-dot dress, M.I.A.—as her fans know her—performed “Swagga Like Us” to a nationally televised audience.

Brushing elbows with T.I., Kanye West, Li’l Wayne and Jay-Z, M.I.A. didn’t seem so hostile. She was a pop starlet, no more or less accessible than, say, Rihanna. And that’s what M.I.A. has become. She’s no longer the militant provocateur she was on her early albums, but another cog in the wheel of western pop music. And that’s what we’re dealing with on her feverishly anticipated follow-up, /\/\/\Y/\. The persona she projects as M.I.A. and the life she lives as Arulpragasm are no longer one in the same, and that unresolved dichotomy tests our patience as listeners and ultimately stifles much of /\/\/\Y/\’s effect.

M.I.A. wastes no time making enemies. Album opener “The Message” calls out Google and the Internet as a whole as government pawns—inevitable contaminants tied to our anatomy. But without the Internet, how many of us would have heard of M.I.A. in the first place? And that’s where /\/\/\Y/\ loses touch—M.I.A. is picking fights for no good reason, and the longer she wages a war against this nameless, faceless enemy, the harder it is to tell the difference between the two sides.

It would be easy to think she made the same mistake a few times herself. After collaborating with Diplo for the majority of her most successful tracks, the two’s falling out as a couple put a hold on their creative output as well. And while Diplo continues to make infectious ethnic beats with The Very Best, M.I.A.’s new cohort, Rusko, trips over himself repeatedly. “XXXO” sounds like Lou Pearlman-run digitalized tribalism, and the squeaks and bloops on “Space” sound more like the Misadventures of ShamWow than any atmospheric odyssey. Although “Meds and Feds” does considerably improve the linear hook on N.E.E.T. label mates Sleigh Bells’ recent debut, it does nothing innovative enough to separate it from any of the other remixes flooding the Internet by the day. Even “Tell Me Why,” the most immediately arresting hook on the album, is too thin, too redundant to sustain repeated exposure.

But “Tell Me Why” is important because it showcases her voice as delicate and vulnerable, even while the production falls over behind it. She doesn’t punch through beats; she airs out her vocals and lets the beat quake beneath her. The truth is, as abrasive as M.I.A. is, she is at her best as an artist when she allows herself to be weightless, navigating her songs through aerial projection instead of terrestrial bulldozing.

M.I.A. might be a ferocious pop monster who denounces imperialism and writes hit songs as easily as she brushes her teeth, but Maya Arulpragasm is a mother-in-training who lives in a mansion in Los Angeles; and that’s the person this album is named after. So she had her baby in a hospital while receiving all the attentive care a millionaire can afford; is that really such a crime? Pop music doesn’t need to be hard-hitting or aggressive, it just needs to have enough sustenance not to crumble under scrutiny. We listeners might be tapped into the Internet, but we’re doing so with headphones, not hammers. And the sooner Maya Arulpragasm figures that out, the sooner we’ll have something that’s less painful to listen through.

It’s hard to assess M.I.A.’s music without considering how annoying she is in everyday life. Her Twitter account is written IN ALL CAPS, she threw a temper tantrum when journalist Lynn Hirschberg accused her of loving truffle French-fries and, if Hirschberg’s profile is to be believed, M.I.A.’s blind endorsement of the Tamil Tigers actually worsened civil war tensions in Sri Lanka. And yet, she always finds a way to transform this into song. On “Born Free,” which consists of a sneering bass sample and bone-headed drum thrashing, she sings, “I throw this shit in your face, cuz I got something to say.” The music video, which depicts ginger genocide, provides no answers as to what “this shit” might be, or what exactly she’s “saying.” At least she elaborates on later tracks.

“You told me this was a free country,” she protests on “Lovalot.” “Now it feels like a chicken factory.” Notice that M.I.A. has just rhymed “free country” with “chicken factory.” But then Diplo reels in some shakers and tribal rhythms and M.I.A dips into a languid rap ramble with her signature “laka laka li” made-up words. Here, her babbling is palatable because it’s rendered incomprehensible by the jungle beat.

In these rare moments, the listener is free to enjoy the undeniably cool “concept” of M.I.A., a feverish five-foot-tall, throw-shit-in-your-face rebel. The music soon returns to the background and we hear the album’s most honest sentiment: “I fight the ones that fight me / I really love a lot / I love the ones that fight me.” M.I.A. needs conflict to exist, even if this means living in “Google connects to the government” delusion.

At least Diplo seems to be making the best of the situation. “Teqkilla” notably buries M.I.A.’s voice in a digital spasm of slugging bass notes, squawks and blaring synthesizer; when it drags on for another frantic two minutes, you can practically hear her instructions: “Yes, yes, make this one sound even more pissed off.”

She definitely shows her skill as a curator of other people’s sounds; on the (presumable) Sleigh Bells collaboration “Meds & Feds,” her voice is diced up and we are treated to fist-pumping, jock-rock, jam-guitar action. In the end, she has something to say, but her music is most enjoyable when you can put your head on auto-nod and ignore what she’s saying.

On “Pain,” Iggy Pop makes you feel like you’ve sliced your chest and the bleeding will never stop. There are too many orchestral trills for the song to recall darker, puking-in-the-bar-with-Bowie Iggy Pop, but his moans and pronunciations of “I’ll always be in pain” are pretty wretched under a full jacket of feedback. Julian Casablancas of The Strokes tackles a less tactile pain in “Little Girl”; he’s “lost in the relationship,” wondering, “where did all the wine go?”

Jason Lytle of Grandaddy stumbles through a similar alcoholic stupor in “Everytime I’m With You.” The track chronicles a liquor-dazed man who, right before falling asleep, recognizes the doomed state of his relationship and attempts to have a serious conversation with himself or his lover. The entire album is just as desperate and pleading — not needles in the vein, but arrows through the heart. The thing is, the vocalists can’t tell whether the wound is self-inflicted. They just sit in the church pews (the album is bookended by the sound of cathedral bells), feel their soul sucked up by vast emptiness and flickering candles and secretly sip from a flask.

Now that Mark Linkous has committed suicide, it’s tempting to see the album’s violent lyrical excursions as a cry for help. Frankly, there are far too many references to suicide and destruction for the connection to be only conjecture; “take me to the noose” in “Just War,” “this is where I’m jumping off” in the otherwise disappointingly Nickelback-sounding collaboration with Pixies front man Frank Black. In the last half of the album, Danger Mouse goes overboard in the attempt to evoke such chaotic imagery.

Fortunately, second-half standout “Daddy’s Gone” sticks like a smile with Linkous on lead vocals, leaving the listener optimistic with exhortations to “close your eyes until your dreams arrive.”

A vibrantly crafted album, The Sellout features Gray’s unique voice in every song. While some tracks seem reminiscent of past hits, fans will not be disappointed by the growth she exhibits in this album.

The album name was initially penned to be The Gray Life, but for Gray, the track “The Sellout” represented a complete summary of the album and became a more fitting title. The track draws from the emotions Gray felt when recording her earlier work. Gray reflects on her willingness to conform to the demands of her record label.

The release of her 2007 album, Big, brought both economic and emotional failure, and “The Sellout” alludes to that experience. She sings, “And I’m out on a limb
/ I’m giving in /
I’m selling out to the pay, to the show
/ This is my gimmick and I wanna win it /
I’m selling out.”

The remainder of the album showcases Gray’s new outlook in a variety of ways. The song “Kissed It” hints at the rock album Gray aspires to create, featuring the instrumental talent of Velvet Revolver. The verses powerfully build to a rock ‘n’ roll chorus, making it the standout track on the album.

Gray accesses her soulful side in a handful of tracks on The Sellout. “Let You Win” is a soulful blend of guitar and drums, perfect for a rainy day. Gray collaborates with Bobby Brown on the track “Real Love.” Most eligible for radio airplay, this song creates an old school feel backed by strong harmonies. In “Help Me,” Gray produces an edgy track by fusing ’60s-style soul with gospel.

While this album did not debut at number one on the Billboard Charts, it is a steady comeback for Gray. The immense variety on the record makes it clear Gray worked hard to record a respectable album. Trying to top her early success as a five-time Grammy nominated artist is difficult, but as she announces in the track, “The Comeback,” “Hey big world / It’s me again / I’m coming way back to be big again.”

But of course Miley wasn’t going to stop there. She had already taken over children’s television sets. Her past music success took over house party playlists. With her newest album, Can’t Be Tamed, the only thing left for Cyrus is to take over the world. And if her new music is any indication, her reign will mark a terrible, dark time upon this earth.

As the controversial “Can’t Be Tamed” music video indicates, this album is the product of a Lady GaGa wannabe. Now that she is entering womanhood, Cyrus wants to transition from precocious teen to artist. Or, in layman’s terms, from TV tot to trollop. Apparently, that involves blatantly ripping off Ms. GaGa’s dance beats and, for lack of a better term, performance art. Additionally, and somewhat more confusingly, it also means cribbing from Three Doors Down, whose “Here Without You Baby” sounds eerily similar to Cyrus’ “Scars.” And as if to prove that she’ll openly rip off any terrible Top 40 act, Cyrus’ “Permanent December” is basically a Ke$ha song, complete with Valley Girl sing-speaking.

The copycat singles are so bountiful it brings into question whether Cyrus even realizes her music’s lack of originality at all. She certainly doesn’t have any idea that many of her songs are absolutely ridiculous. It is hard to fathom just how anybody could sing lyrics like, “The only thing our hearts are made of / are the acts of forgiveness and love” without cracking up or expressing at least a hint of irony, unless they were a Sunday school teacher for five-year-olds.

As for the “Can’t Be Tamed” Lil’ Jon remix, it almost seems as if someone at Hollywood Records tried to think of the most ludicrous collaboration Cyrus could make, then slid it on the album as a joke. Of course, it could be possible that Little Miss Miley actually has a sense of humor. Could something this ridiculous possibly be put on this album with Hannah Montana herself in on the joke? Or does she have absolutely no self-awareness whatsoever? Probably the latter.

However, even the more original songs, which are still bland and lifeless, are annoying at best and downright sadistic at their worst. Miley’s songs tend to wear out their welcome pretty quickly, so when songs like “Stay” and “Liberty Walk” stick around for four minutes when they shouldn’t be much longer than two, it’s enough to make you want to drown yourself in wine and liquor. Then, after that fails, it will make you want to pick up the corkscrew you used to open the wine and stab it in your eardrums to bring the pain to a merciful end.

But the vapidity of the Church of Miley is never exemplified better than in Cyrus’ cover of the ‘80s power ballad “Every Rose Has Its Thorn.” The original Poison song is hardly a masterpiece, but it’s still a solid (albeit incredibly cheesy) track thanks to the metric shit-ton of earnestness that is packed into all the most enjoyable glam rock. Cyrus’ version has absolutely none of that. It is an emotionally vacant manufactured husk, much like Cyrus’ soul.

Ultimately, it is time for all of us to face the music, or whatever you would call the auditory noise on Cyrus’ album. It is Miley’s world, and we just live in it—wallowing in the filth that the All Powerful Lord Miley provides us.

Stars have always been known for their ability to elegantly wallow in their own misery. Vocalist-guitarist Amy Millan sings heartbreak as painfully and as beautifully as ever, which is one of the album’s few redeeming qualities. For the first time, Millan has a major role as a voice for Stars, which is all the better considering Torquil Campbell, the usual lead vocalist, was beginning to sound like an ’80s pop star past his prime but begging for a twenty-first century comeback. This is especially apparent in the chorus of “He Dreams He’s Awake,” where Campbell breathily croons over a synth bass line, “When will the night be gone/It won’t let me go.”

Although The Five Ghosts lacks the catchiness of Set Yourself On Fire, it does retain the melodramatic angst that has made Stars popular from the start: their lyrics are still poetic in retelling romantic letdowns. Overall, the album is a lapse in creativity by the band’s standards, and while the music stays true to the electro-pop that has kept Stars so accessible since their debut in 2001, The Five Ghosts will haunt the band for years to come.

Known for her talk-rap style, Uffie has created an album full of surprising melodies and soft-sweet harmonies, the disparate tracks establishing ample stylistic range and appeal, as especially evidenced in “ADD SUV” and “Difficult.” The use of Auto-Tune isn’t the stuff of hackneyed contemporaries, accentuating a honeyed robo-electronic dance sound.

The album, though years in the making, doesn’t speak to experience, but rather to a new-but-not-quite-wunderkind feel: Uffie, it’s clear, is still figuring out what can pass as bankable music and what cannot, with either truly bad or mocking lyrics that verge on – and reach – the laughable. The album is rife with on-the-offense disclaimers: “Let me clarify a few things/I never claimed to be an artist/I can’t even sing.” This and constant references to her popularity, as well as in-jokes as choruses, speak to a certain smugness.

To meditate on Sex Dreams is to meditate on Uffie’s legitimacy as an artist, though it’s difficult to parse through the layers of self-consciousness, bad lyrics and fake British accents to discern the sincerity of her music. Her ill-prepared, chance foray into music initiated her into a new brand of white, female rappers along with Ke$ha, though one might more appropriately liken her to Thierry Guetta – of “Exit Through the Gift Shop” fame – who she joins in the realm of part phenom, part fake. The sense that you get with Uffie is that a lot of her art consists of being in the scene. She identifies as an “entertainer, not a lyricist,” and one might suspect, part comedienne – because the album plays as half an ironic joke, seeing who’s scene enough to get tricked into buying in.

After setting his backing band, the Heartbreakers, aside for his 2006 solo release, Highway Companion, Petty, a Florida native, has rejoined them for his latest release, Mojo. The return to the comfort and mesh with his longtime playing partners does not disappoint.

Petty, who’ll be turning 60 this fall, has yet to lose grip on what is quintessential heartland rock: guitar-laden music that plays to its environment. Astoundingly, he hasn’t lost a bit of the charm of that desperate vocal tone we have come to love; he sounds just as fresh as he did belting out the chorus on “American Girl” circa ’77.

And while those quintessential Petty traits stick around, his music continues to evolve. Where Highway Companion took on a persona of the classic American road trip, Mojo, implementing a loose and effortless blues style, examines the nooks and crannies of the South, The album is not as polished as some of Petty’s other records, but perhaps this was a purposeful decision, because the lack of polish works. It’s as if the band has let loose, playing no-frills rock ’n’ roll music.

After a stellar opening track, the album moves back and forth from electric blues to softer ballads, evoking a certain sentiment of prospect and reflection. The middle of the album, tracks seven and eight, comprise some of the best tonal Petty ever recorded. “I Should Have Known It” and “U.S. 41” form a sort of collaborative medley, as “U.S. 41” picks up immediately where the former leaves off. Here, we get some badass and bluesy Petty after a brief hiatus from the sound of the opening track.

The blues in “I Should Have Known It” are simple and straightforward, but have a real kick to them; enunciated by Petty in the go-to line of the song, “It’s the last time you’re gonna hurt me,” ensuring his survival of yet another relationship that went awry. When the acoustics pick up at the beginning of track eight, Petty fades into the tune, crooning like Son House or some delta blues singer of the seemingly ancient past. Shortly after his vocals arrive, an ultra twangy set of blues guitars manifests and the vocals continue a lo-fi triumph through the track. Noting the delta style of the song, the lyrics fit perfectly: a story of the old U.S. highway system, its association to crime and people running from it.

The other standout track of the album is “Don’t Pull Me Over.” Ringing with guitar sounds that resemble Bob Marley dub, the boys cook their own recipe for reggae and fold it seamlessly into their traditional rock sound. The motif of the law and aversion to it is resurrected here again, but instead of telling a story, the lyrics take on a direct communication to law enforcement. Petty sings, “Don’t pull me over, mister policeman” rebelliously, pairing it with a perfect choice of the Jamaican guitar. As a rock ’n’ roll front man, Petty is no stranger to marijuana; and though songs like “You Don’t Know How It Feels” address the ritual of smoking pot, he gets more political about the drug in this song, sneaking in the line, “Don’t pull me over / Should be legalized”—a perfect disposition for the sound of the song.

So, what can be said of this album? What does it do for the legacy of Tom Petty? As usual, the grace of his lyrics lies in their simplicity. Regardless of musical tone, each song serves a purpose with their words: colloquial but provocative. With songs ranging from varying takes on blues to the softer, sweeter, sadder ones, Petty dances between themes of salvation, survival and the proletariat, all carried by an underlying faith in nostalgia. Despite some slow spots, Mojo reaffirms Petty as one of the era’s preeminent artists and certainly one of its most prolific. His range and his perseverance in experimenting with new styles is a testament to his art, even at the ripe age of 59.

“Late Night With Jimmy Fallon” aired its first episode on March 2 and showcased Black Thought (Vocals), ?uestlove (Drummer) and company. Shortly after that, ?uestlove announced on his Twitter account that The legendary Roots crew would indeed release their ninth studio album (third album on Def Jam Records), “How I Got Over.”

After several delays, “How I Got Over” finally hit the shelves. The group’s latest effort showcases a much more optimistic sound than their previous two records, which had bleak, political subject material. “How I Got Over” is the Philadelphia band’s triumph, directly influenced by the end of the Bush Administration and the election of Barack Obama.

The piano driven opener, “Walk Alone” is a very different sound from the synth-driven “Rising Down.” “Dear God 2.0″ features a sample from Jim James and Monsters of Folk, and Black Thought delivers some of the most introspective lyrics of his career. In the song, Black Thought asks, “Why is the world ugly when it’s made in your image and why is living life such a fight to the finish?” The title track and first single from the album has a much different feel to it than any of their previous efforts, as Black Thought sings two verses on the songs. 

On “Now or Never,” Thought declares that he is “thinking of making a change, finally breaking the chains” and that he’s “ready for the next chapter and page.” The positive inspiration messages continue with songs like “The Day” and “The Fire,” in which John Legend makes a guest appearance and sings, “You don’t say good luck, you say don’t give up.” 

“How I Got Over” is unquestionably in the top tier of Roots records over their storied 17-year career. The album consists of flawless sequencing and transitions making the 14-track album sound like one piece of musical brilliance. The Legendary Roots Crew has successfully made it from hip-hop to 30 Rock, without missing a beat along the way. Through all the label problems, the lack of mainstream attention and poor record sales, with a little help from Jimmy Fallon, The Roots have finally “Made it Over.”

Fans of his more eccentric roles, however, are more likely to enjoy his latest comedy album, “Bigger and Blackerer,” than those who know him from his blockbusters. A sentiment the title alone could convey.

Cross delivers a wonderful mix of highbrow and lowbrow humor throughout the album, while managing to offend almost every demographic possible along the way.

In the hour of comedy Cross is able to poke fun at Jews, African Americans, date-rape victims, right-wing political activists, Christians (especially Catholics), Scientologists, Mormons, waiters, pedophiles, and racists—to name a few groups.

He compares Whole Foods-brand plastic wrap to a Jewish mother in one of the classier moments, and follows up with a description of a time he lost control of his bowels while walking his dog. An exemplary cross-section of an album that can induce laughs and groans with equal gusto.

One of the main components of Cross’ humor on “Bigger and Blackerer” is his description of drugs and his drug use.

What strikes me about this component of his material is that he does appear to pander to the lowest common denominator among his fan base.

While his self-depreciating drug humor is still more sophisticated than the fart jokes of Larry the Cable Guy (who Cross has famously berated for his material), it does not compare to his jabs at religion and race relations.

There’s a reason those jokes do not compare, and it’s simply that Cross’ genius shines when he discusses his favorite topics. One of the albums more uproarious moments comes when the comedian suggests he get a Martin Luther King honorary license plate with the letters “NGR LVR.”

Unfortunately for fans of Cross’ previous albums, his political commentary is not as prominent and nowhere near as cutting as it is on previous albums. Perhaps the passing of the Bush administration took the wind from the comedian’s sails, but the acerbic edge that delighted fans is conspicuously absent.

Another unfortunate part of Cross’ comedy is that it is tailored for the audience he has already carved out for himself. That young, cynical hipster set that probably own all three “Arrested Development” seasons are sure to love this album.

His polarizing nature, however, is destined to turn new fans away from “Bigger and Blackerer.” I’m not entirely certain that he wants those people as fans though: his intelligent jokes aren’t meant for the faint of heart, and if someone doesn’t love Cross’ jokes, they’re welcome to stop listening.

Had Stars released this disc in 2001 instead of 2010, it might actually be relevant in the wide scope of creative, evolutionary musicianship.

The Five Ghosts, Stars’s fifth album, is the essence of mediocrity. Lyrically, these 11 tracks come off as completely unimaginative, and sometimes even verge on absurdly forced and overly contrived to the point of being laughable. On the LP’s second track, “Wasted Daylight,” Amy Millan’s airy vocals soar over synthesized drums and ballroom sized keyboards as she sings, “I don’t mind this wasted, shaded daylight.” Though within the context of the song this line makes some semblance of sense, it also begs a further look into the realm of musical mediocrity. It’s Stars’s admittance as a second-tier outfit — one creating in the shadows, and in the exact same vein as great musicians passed, all too contentedly. With grandiose and florid electronic instrumentation, Stars is attempting to place itself on a pedestal with the likes of Death Cab For Cutie, only to come off as a remedially trained apprentice.

Despite an obvious affinity for overly orchestral songs, Stars does display a technical proficiency for writing pop music. On the stripped-down, ’50s-feeling album highlight “Changes,” Milan delivers a truly classic chorus. It’s one unlike anything else heard on Ghosts, as she gorgeously exhales, “Changes / I’ve never been good with change / I hate it when it all stays the same,” with the feel of satin-voiced girl groups of days gone by. That being said, this overwrought production, as a whole, is like a typical pop album, which leaves Ghosts to teeter on the fringe rather than becoming a straight-up success.

The fact of the matter is, Stars has created a decade-late re-imagining of the golden days of electro-indie pop without offering anything new to the table. As Milan and male vocalist Torquil Campbell share the chorus to the driving “I Died So I Could Haunt You,” their lackluster harmonies can’t help but echo the question — did you really?

Thank Me Later isn’t the best rap record of the year, as was expected from some, but Drake has accomplished something here rarely seen from this side of the music industry. He’s provided a blueprint for how to accomplish moody “bummer rap” successfully and in the process has delivered a supremely listenable album from start to finish. The softer, relaxed side of rap is definitely much preferred to the alternative of how this album could have turned out, with the undue pressure put on Drake’s shoulders to produce something spectacular.

From the opening track “Fireworks,” featuring Alicia Keys, it’s apparent Drake has no intention of giving us anything less than a relaxed take on how to make a rap album. From the beginning, he sets a high bar and the inventive background combines with Keys’ soaring vocals to create a song much more likely to be heard in a Starbucks than on Top 40 radio.

Other highlights include the ultra-chill “Shut It Down” and the Lil’ Wayne collaboration “Miss Me,” which is the best Wayne has been in any supporting role this year. With lines like:

“It’s Blood-gang-sign but I party with Snoop / Turn you into a vegetable / like you lying in soup,”

It’s clear that Wayne put more than a little thought into his role on this particular album.

More importantly than the individual parts of Thank Me Later, is what it means to the hip-hop and rap communities. It’s not the best album out today, but it proves that there is room for variation beyond gangster guns and money. Make no mistake: five years ago this album would have had a very difficult time making it to production, but this is what makes Thank Me Later different. It’s the evolution of rap from a hurting genre into a surviving one.

As he reminded us in “Renegade,” his now-mythical duet with Jay-Z, “We as a people decide if Shady’s as bad as we say he is.” Eminem has continually given himself over to us on a platter. “I am whatever you say I am / If I wasn’t then why would I say I am,” he again reminded us on the moody masterpiece “The Way I Am.” Ladies and gentlemen, the recovery of our dear Slim Shady is, indeed, in our hands.

He’s not the pop genius that Lil’ Wayne is, nor is he the entrepreneurial genius that Jay-Z is. That being said, Weezy and Hova are not the mad lyrical geniuses that “Recovery” reminds us that Eminem is.

Em again unleashes the intellectual dexterity that has made us unable to hate him, no matter how tasteless and/or perverted his raps are — they are just too damn clever. In “Recovery” his lines are as witty as they are moronic.

Take, for example, his duet with fellow early-oughts pseudo-badass Pink in “Won’t Back Down,” which is not a Tom Petty sample and is somehow a lot better than you’d imagine: “Shake that ass / like a donkey with Parkinson’s” or “I don’t need the [expletive] swine flu / to be a sick pig.”

Ah yes, even in his ripe 37 years, Slim has not lost his youthful snottiness. “Cold Wind Blows” contains the same brand of “na na na” immaturity that made him famous with his monumental introduction to the world “My Name Is.” “On Fire,” however, shows that he has upped his sophistication, with an (intentional or not) ultra post-modern aside: “I wrote a [expletive] hook in between two long-ass verses and you mistook it for a song.”

Although it is indeed an improvement from his last couple pill-ridden efforts, “Recovery” is, alas, not a full recovery. The man does come off as anxious for our approval. He even admits in “Talkin’ 2 Myself” that he considered releasing a diss record on Lil’ Wayne in the height of his drug-induced despair and — frankly — jealousy.

Now, he is desperate for our attention and re-establishing his super-stardom. However, simply announcing, “I’m back,” does not in fact mean you are back. Just ask Mase .

The reserved singing of “I’m going through changes” in the aptly titled “Going Through Changes” is reflective of his desperate disposition. It’s not just you, Em — this is not the same world that literally almost loved you to death in 2000. With “Recovery,” the wily, puckish emcee gives us reason to love him again, but not enough to overdo it.

2.5 out of 4 stars

Devo’s ninth release, “Something for Everybody,” marks the band’s first full-length release in more than 20 years.

For those new to Devo, “Something for Everybody” may sound like another over-produced, up-tempo pop album, but for those familiar with the history and philosophy of Devo, it is the sad fulfillment of the bands own prophecy.

“Devolution,” for which the band is named, is Devo’s theory of the dumbing-down process that occurs as a result of technology and pop culture. Unfortunately, “Something for Everybody” is evidence to support their theory.

The innovative musical style and ironic social commentary that put Devo on the pop culture map has been in steady decline since the 80s and continues to wane with their new album.

Despite its infectious chant-like singing and its catchy beat, “Something for Everybody” fails to live up to its ambitious title. The lyrical topics are positive and straightforward but seem contrived among its dance-laden beats.

“Something for Everybody” can be summed up by the lyrics in the song “What We Do.” “What we do is what we do, it’s the same. There is nothing new.”

Grade C+

Ratatat “LP4”

Recorded during the same time as 2008’s “LP3,” Ratatat’s new album “LP4” may sound awfully similar to their previous endeavors.

The album is entirely instrumental except for a few short samples of people talking in German and English. The opening song, “Bilar,” starts the album off with a slow, dark, electronic beat. The album veers in a much more light and upbeat mood thereafter.

Taken individually the songs on “LP4” are lush and dynamic. Ratatat incorporates a wide variety of instrumentation with Didgeridoos, strings, percussion, organs and bird noises, giving “LP4” a slight world music sensibility.

The layers of programmed drums are enough to keep your head bobbing throughout the futuristic 42-minute album. At times, a dreamy guitar evokes an island feel that seems appropriate for summer. If King Crimson and Daft Punk had an illegitimate child, it would be Ratatat.

Although the individual songs on “LP4” are interesting on their own, as a collection, the songs have little to do with each other. There is no narrative arc, and LP4, sounding too much like its predecessor, is lacking in concept.

Grade: B

Against Me “White Crosses”

If you ever listened to Against Me! prior to “White Crosses,” you will probably hate this album.

Against Me!, who have now been on major record label Sire Records for their past two releases, continue to slough off their anarchist punk roots to The Man with their latest release.

With his songwriting ability still in tact, Tom Gabel’s lyrics acknowledge this change and address it head-on in the song “I Was a Teenage Anarchist.”

“The scene got too rigid/ it was mob mentality…/You want me to surrender my identity/ I was a teenage anarchist/ The revolution was a lie.”

Though honest, Gabel’s lyrics are upsetting and unfortunate, marking the end of the band’s punk mentality. Matched with over-produced melodies and cheesy alt-rock chord progressions, songs like “Suffocation” and “We’re Breaking Up” are ready for the radio but will continue to alienate longtime fans. Punks who longed for Against Me!’s to return to form after “New Wave” will sadly not find it here.

Grade: C

Gaslight Anthem “American Slang”

“American Slang” reinforces The Gaslight Anthem’s Americana sound but doesn’t compare to their last two albums.

The Gaslight Anthem came onto the scene in 2007 with a fusion of Bruce Springsteen rock n’ roll and New Jersey punk, paying homage to their east coast origins. The band stays true to their distinctive sound, but something is missing among the ten tracks. “Stay Lucky” is the only song that really stands out, with the others falling short.

“The Diamond Church Street Choir” starts out promising, but Brian Fallon’s off-key wooing and screeching is confusing and unnecessary. “American Slang” sounds more like a compilation of boring tracks that never made it onto the band’s older albums. Save your money and listen to “Sink or Swim” and 2008’s well-received “The ’59 Sound” instead.

Grade: B-

The album begins with “Pop the Glock,” setting a relaxing precedent. While the lyrics speak of rocking parties and “busting nuts,” the beat is laid-back enough that listeners don’t feel bombarded by the wild anthem’s drunken slurs.

The tempo picks up with the album’s third track, “ADD SUV,” featuring Pharrell Williams. The synthesizers coincide perfectly with the vocals, creating a hybrid human-robotic voice that’s complemented by Williams’ raps. Uffie’s latest single, “MC’s Can Kiss,” starts with Uffie letting her audience know she’s more of a pop princess than an introspective musician. On the track, she raps, “I’m an entertainer, not a lyricist/I’m so far from all you cats out there/If I get popular, I know that ain’t fair.”

The title track of the album samples The Velvet Underground’s “Rock & Roll” and pushes the album into a more retrospective direction, recalling Uffie’s old days and old ways. The song also has Uffie showing off her singing chops, which are enhanced by the electric guitar riffs as well as the layered vocals in the chorus. Unfortunately, after this track, the album starts to lose some of its momentum, as the next three songs are slower, retro takes on love and relationships.

She decides to show her love for ‘80s pop by taking on “Hong Kong Garden,” originally performed by Siouxsie and the Banshees. By sampling the original song, Uffie’s cover doesn’t stray too far from the formula of the original, just adding a modern twist to it; however, Uffie’s vocals do not carry the strength of Siouxsie’s, which is partly what made the original version such a hit.

For a debut album, Sex Dreams and Denim Jeans is strong and has swagger. It will certainly make fans more interested to see what else this European electro-pop queen has up her sleeves.

However, The Roots continue to separate themselves from their peers in the music industry by making socially conscious hip-hop. How I Got Over is a prime example of the band staying current with the times and discussing social and political issues that affect society today. The album is almost like a narrative of the transition between the Bush administration and Obama’s presidency.

In the motivational song “Now or Never,” the chorus repeats, “Everything’s changing around me/And I want to change too/’Cause one thing I know/It ain’t cool being no fool.” The group also doesn’t shy away from critically analyzing our nation. In “Dear God 2.0,” Black Thought raps, “If everything is made in China, are we Chinese?/And why do haters separate us like we Siamese?/Technology turning the planet into zombies/Everybody all in everybody’s dirty laundry.”

Despite the significance of the lyrics, the album’s sound is nothing new. It seems as though The Roots’ formula for creating hooks and melodies has remained somewhat stagnant throughout their evolution as a band. The songs are still catchy and enjoyable, but for longtime fans of the band, the musical innovation just is not there.

How I Got Over is worth listening to, if only because it encourages social responsibility and awareness, and The Roots are one of the few hip-hop acts out there that bother to do it.

Tamed seems like a rushed attempt to sell Cyrus as a dark, brooding diva on par with Lady Gaga or Ke$ha. The album is an amateur effort that, instead of cementing Cyrus as a mature seductress, leaves listeners wondering if Cyrus even wanted to change her musical persona.

The opening track, “Liberty Walk,” shows Cyrus’ incompatibility with sexed-up beats. Though the track is catchy and has a hip-moving backbeat, it’s impossible to keep the groove with Cyrus’ constant stuttering: “It’s a liberty, liberty, li-li-liberty, li-li-liberty/It’s a liberty walk.”

Similarly, “Who Owns My Heart” is backed by energetic, dance-club instrumentals, but it’s hard not to laugh at the song’s chorus, when Cyrus introspectively asks, “Who owns my heart?/Is it love or is it art?”

The album isn’t without its gems, though, as Cyrus performs a soulful rendition of Poison’s “Every Rose Has Its Thorns,” in which she successfully appropriates the epic power ballad for a new generation. “Permanent December” is by far Cyrus’ best-executed attempt at competing with Ke$ha, as it’s easy to dance to and bereft of Cyrus’ typically annoying hooks.

Cyrus does attempt to get back to the soulful roots she displayed on her 2008 album Breakout in Tamed’s most eloquent and mature tracks, “Forgiveness and Love” and “Stay,” but both songs falter in over-dubbed studio instrumentals.

Can’t Be Tamed is evidence of Cyrus’ crusade to go from Hannah Montana to Lady Gaga, but Cyrus forgot to mature before she decided to grow up. Tamed may please her most devout fans, but for listeners seeking a little more musical depth, jump off the Miley Cyrus ship!

Thank Me Later is a good, near-great hip-hop debut, and Drake is probably the best “emerging” rapper who is currently putting out actual, official releases (I’m looking at you, Jay Electronica).

So Thank Me Later arrives with a not-unreasonable amount of hype, considering. The week before the album’s release, The New York Times’s Arts section even decided to bury the usual “Gender Issues Explored on Broadway” (or whatever) headline to make room for Drake’s very own story-so-far bio-piece on Page One. All of which makes more inexplicable the baffling, Jim Joycean fuck-up that is the album’s sequencing. Why, oh why are the first three tracks the first three tracks? I’m still trying to reason it out.

Hip hop is in a weird place right now: Weezy is locked up, Auto-Tune fever has subsided and Jay-Z will probably just write New York City PSAs for the rest of his waning career. It’s Drake’s debut that is supposed to offer us the first inkling of what the future of hip-hop might sound like. So if Drake’s album is truly the beginning of a new era, then it’s unfortunate that, contrary to both physics and Eliot, it all starts with a whimper.

“Fireworks,” “Karaoke” and “The Resistance” — the album’s much-bemoaned openers — are all fine songs in their own right. But they’re soft, delicate, and they find Drake treading in the same sedated marsh he first visited on So Far Gone’s “Successful” and “Houstatlantavegas.” Y’know the sound: a shimmery sea of synth washes and rock-a-bye drum loops into which Drake launches super-smooth, echoey R&B hooks and detached verses comprised of witty couplets. This form (which he also uses in a strictly R&B sense alongside the-Dream on “Shut it Down”) has the effect of making Drake sound deep and sincere and filled with not-your-average-rapper’s emotions. But it also sacrifices a great deal of rawness and tenacity, features that are major contributors to what makes hip hop both a fun and supremely powerful art form in the first place. Three of these songs in a row is a real test — during the first 13 minutes of Thank Me Later, you can’t rock your head to the beat without looking like you’re in a mechanized struggle to keep from nodding off.

Finally and mercifully, first single “Over” thunders in with its twisted guitar leads, and the change of pace is so shocking and welcome that the song nearly topples you over and suddenly you remember you’re listening to the same ex-“Degrassi” star who was responsible for last summer’s absolute monster, “Best I Ever Had.”

“Over” marks the point where the album really opens up, with song after song that could each become the next single and Drake working his coming-to-terms-with-fame rap that never seems to get old because (a) he really means it, and (b) it’s chock-full of insight into a lifestyle 99.9 percent of us will never experience.

To elaborate on the latter point, Drake seems to really want to be relatable. It’s this conceit that embodies a new movement in hip hop, whereby rappers are less interested in selling themselves than they are in communicating something personal and connecting on an emotional level with their listeners. That’s not to say Drake isn’t cocky; he still can boast with the best of them. But that’s just peripheral.

The album’s guests — Young Jeezy, T.I., Jay-Z and Drake’s professional grand-pep Lil Wayne, among others — all perform ably and help further highlight the new direction Drake is taking (especially on “Unforgettable,” in which, next to Jeezy’s aggressive bellowing, Drake sounds something like a hip-hop James Taylor).

Production credit is dominated by fellow Canadian 40, whose ethereal, lightweight beats allow Drake room to unleash his hook-making charm. And Kanye’s beat on “Show Me A Good Time” is better than anything on 808s And Heartbreak.

By the time the album wraps up, the opening sequencing debacle is all but forgotten and Drake really has justified the hoopla. Thank Me Later is not surprising, dynamic nor all that exciting. Yet somehow, with all the glossy hooks and sincere wordplay, Drake has made a very solid album. Although … consider listening to it on shuffle.

Produced by Brian Deck, a veteran of the business whose credits include indie legends Modest Mouse and Iron & Wine, Memory employs elements of folk and Americana along with bluegrass and gospel. The album was recorded with his band (formerly called The Wheel), which includes members of the electronically moody Bela Karoli.

Memory is beautifully sparse, combining acoustic guitar with piano, strings, and vocal harmonies. It has a soft, dark, yearning quality made for rainy evenings and a bottle of whiskey. But Nathaniel Rateliff’s voice is the defining element. One can’t help but compare him to legends like Leonard Cohen and Tom Waits with a voice that is world-weary, honest, and every bit as commanding on the record as it is in person.

In the tradition of Johnny Cash, this singer-songwriter has the capacity to win over even the most die-hard punk fans with songs like “Early Spring Till,” one of the standout tracks on the album. It begins minimally and lilting, with lyrics like: “I’ve been the bum who’s underfed / I’ve been the one who should’ve said / maybe I’m wrong and I’ve always been that way.” It finishes with soaring harmonies, a driving kick drum, and unexpected guitar distortion.

With Memory, Rateliff has brought Denver into the national spotlight and shown us what this city is capable of producing.

Grade: A

The much anticipated, fourth full-length from the pop star teased with the promise of interesting collaborators for years before its release.
Unfortunately, while a few top-notch tracks make the album not entirely a waste, there are too many bland duds that clog up the system.

The album is filled to the brim with electronic beats and glitchy digital effects that get in the way of Aguilera’s powerful pipes. While “Elastic Love,” co-written by M.I.A., establishes itself as a catchy and minimalist electro song, the overuse of tremolo sounds a little too “ga-ga-oh-ah-ah-ah.”

Some of the tracks, though, are downright boring. The bratty “Woohoo” is basically just a rewrite of Kelis’s “Milkshake” with more focus on oral sex, and “Glam” is a tepid track about fashion that doesn’t really say much beyond “fashion is fun.”

Aguilera turns introspective on “Lift Me Up,” by “Beautiful” writer Linda Perry. The song is a standard we-can-get-through-this-together ballad, but redeems itself by allowing Aguilera’s vocals to shine without a barrage of digital effects.

While it has its moments, Bionic mostly comes off, well, bionic. Aguilera put too much thought into making her album a well-oiled machine. And while that process can produce a few catchy hits, it comes off devoid of any genuine emotion.

His latest album, “Recovery” refers to his newfound sobriety, although it would seem the title has a duel meaning. His health isn’t the only thing that’s recovered with his forthcoming title, but he’s also reclaiming his throne at the top of hip-hop.

What makes “Recovery” special is Eminem’s new approach — leaving behind the excessive shock value, and more importantly, the annoying accents. Every single one of the 17 songs on “Recovery” sounds well thought-out, and Eminem’s delivery is the best it’s been in years.

“Recovery” is refreshing because of its honesty and its humility. Eminem admits multiple times that he let fans down with his previous releases, one time in which he says, “Hit my bottom so hard I bounced twice. Suffice this time around it’s different, them last two albums didn’t count — ’Encore’ I was on drugs, ‘Relapse’ I was flushing ‘em out. I’ve got something to prove to fans, I feel like I let ‘em down. So please accept my apology. I finally feel like I’m back to normal.”

He refers to his self-proclaimed rock bottom on multiple tracks, but the honesty extends outside of that idea. In “Talkin’ 2 Myself” he also discusses how he once considered going after Lil’ Wayne and Kanye West simply because he was jealous.

It’s Eminem’s exchanging of arrogant attacks for honesty that allows him to open up and tap unexplored material, paradoxically returning him to the top of hip-hop with this effort.

His return to impeccable delivery shouldn’t be as much of a surprise, as he stole the spotlight in various appearances he’s made on other artists’ songs such as Drake’s “Forever” and Lil’ Wayne’s “Drop the World.”

Additionally, Eminem’s incorporation of various guest artists and an array of samples make for his best refrains to date. In the past, many of his choruses were simply half-hearted singing attempts by Mathers himself, used solely to connect one verse to the next. On “Recovery,” he samples artists like Ozzy Osborne, and allows for guest appearances from the likes of Lil’ Wayne and Rihanna.

The album’s highlight comes on the song “No Love” featuring Lil’ Wayne, and samples Haddaway’s “What is Love” of “A Night at the Roxbury” fame. The track finds the two artists contemplating their place in life and hip-hop culture.

This theme is extended into the song “25 to Life,” as Eminem raps for the entire song about a damaged relationship and threatens divorce, only to reveal at the end, the relationship to which he was referring was with rap itself. The final verse of the song is Eminem’s best verse since his appearance on 50 Cent’s “Patiently Waiting.”

It’s often a bold and exaggerated claim to state than an album is an artist’s best work, but denying “Recovery” of such a status would be irresponsible. Never before has Eminem made himself so vulnerable, just as he has never before seamlessly streamed together line after line while attacking fresh issues. “Recovery” will not only win back fans that had been pushed away by his less-than-stellar releases of late, but will also bring in new ones.

Recovery is slated to be in stores on June 22.

Unfortunately, their new album, Mojo, is missing some of whatever it is that makes the Heartbreakers’ music the ultimate retort to anyone who hates on basic guitar-driven rock. No, I wouldn’t go so far as to say the ageless-sounding Petty has lost his mojo but the work is definitely hit-or-miss.

At points, Petty and band try to mix things up with some bluesy accents and the result is snoozeville, for lack of a better word. While almost all of the tracks are certainly listenable and by no stretch offensively bad, at least one by the name of “Candy” is a boring honky-tonk ditty that – trust me – you’ll want to skip. And the jury’s still out regarding a pseudo-reggae/ rock fusion number called “Don’t Pull Me Over.” It’s not as bad as you’d think, but it’s no “Free Fallin’.”

On the other hand, though, a few of the songs are good. Like, good in the way that will make you want to listen to them on repeat while rolling down a dark, lonely highway along the coast. “The Trip to Pirate’s Cove” may sound like a Disneyland ride knock-off, but the slow road ballad is truly sincere. And whereas some of the other bright spots on the album are dogged by lackluster lyrics (see: “Something Good Coming”), “Pirate’s Cove” is a verbal tour of California featuring some world-weary zingers like, “She was a part of my heart/ now she’s just a line in my face.” Ah, that’s more like it.

The problem with Devo is that despite their general recognition as an “experimental” group, they pretty much gave up on experimentation two years into their studio career. Going from new-wave weirdoes to MTV sensations with the crack of a whip seemed good enough reason to stick to synthpop formula. If it ain’t broke blah blah blah.

Something For Everybody is Devo’s first release since 1990 and their first worth listening to in 29 years, which means they’ve had plenty of time to experiment. A look at the album’s title and a listen to its contents make it clear this isn’t what they set out to do.

They set out to remake their most publicly recognized record “Freedom of Choice” (Swiffer! Swiff it good!) for the 21st century. Modern technology gives the album’s best songs, “Please Baby Please” and “Don’t Shoot (I’m a Man),” a glitchy, contemporary electronic feel, but it’s unlikely the album will pull any non-believers into the Devo camp. It’s a fun listen until the novelty of a new Devo release wears off in the album’s shaky final third (note to Devo: Give up on slow songs, please), and won’t earn many replays by anyone without their own energy dome (read: red flower pot hat) sitting in their closet.

Which means that … sigh … this is a successful return to form, but at best is just a reminder of how good the band once was. Damn.

The Gaslight Anthem is well-known for their focus on the working-class ethos, particularly as it pertains to the inability to achieve the American Dream. This sensibility is apparent in American Slang, where each track is devoted to the reconciliation of failure and ambition. The album’s strength comes from the poignant lyrics that describe the realization that nothing turns out according to plan. In their track “Old Haunts,” Fallon sings:
“And shame, shame, shame, shame on you/You kept your mind and heart and youth/Just like a tomb.”

American Slang is largely similar to the band’s previous album, The ’59 Sound, which also followed the Springsteen playbook, and a focus on the frustration everyday people.

The theme of age and youth does get somewhat repetitive (the title of the final track is “We Did It When We Were Young”), but the Gaslight Anthem should be commended for serving as a reminder, both in musical and lyrical style, of a desire for the innocence of youth and the dignity of a hard day’s struggle.

It does indeed seem like an eternity since a fairly successful Canadian rapper released a mix tape that featured a little song called “Best I Ever Had,” rocketing the aforementioned rapper into the upper echelons of the hip-hop community. At the very least, it’s hard to imagine Drake, born Aubrey Graham, toiling away on demos and on the set of Degrassi: The Next Generation now that he’s become a superstar, mugging it up in advertisements and rolling with Lil’ Wayne’s prodigious Young Money crew. Until now, followers of Drake from before and after his explosion on the scene have been left only to wonder about the particulars of his astronomical rise to stardom.

According to his new official debut album, Thank Me Later, things were confusing as hell. Unsurprisingly, it appears that issues arose from his drastic change in lifestyle — issues that subverted friendships, family ties and business relationships. Drake seems willing to reveal these hardships in clear-cut honesty, perhaps finding some solace in the relief afforded by owning up to personal shortcomings. And the songs that expose the rapper’s vulnerable side — the Aubrey Graham side of things, if you will — really work. It’s hard not to feel a twinge of heartache when you hear lines like I tried to keep us together, you were busy keeping secrets / Secrets you were telling everybody but me: Don’t be fooled by the money, I’m still young and unlucky, which he flows on “Karaoke.”

In some ways, the Aubrey Graham persona that Drake adopts here and there on the album is like the Kanye West that listeners heard in 2008’s 808s & Heartbreak: a man struggling to find good intention in an unforgiving landscape that more often than not rewards those who use their heads, not their hearts.

Thank Me Later’s first two tracks are quietly brilliant examples of this ethos — “Fireworks,” featuring a melancholy chorus showcasing Drake’s sweetly capable singing voice paired with Alicia Keys’ gorgeous alto, and the aforementioned “Karaoke,” a track undeniably reminiscent of something off West’s 808s in the best way possible. The tracks blend the struggle of a new life in the spotlight with the swagger of success in a perfect harmony, sounding somber but hopeful.

Then comes the third track, “The Resistance” and the album takes a turn for the — well, bipolar. As a listener, it’s hard to tell what Drake is trying to say in this song. Unlike with the previous tracks, which hit a logical balance between boasts and fears, “The Resistance” is sheer ambivalence in action. In one moment, he wallows in disappointment (I heard they just moved my grandmother to a nursing home / And I’ll be acting like I don’t know how to work a phone) and less than 10 lines later executes a 180 back to reaffirming how good he has it (Nothing really comes as a surprise right now / ’Cause we havin’ the time of our lives right now).

It’s this ambivalence that shows up around the album that keeps it from ever coalescing into a progressive album that makes sense. In one song Drake will brag about his multiple conquests while in another he takes the one-on-one romance up to 11. Somewhere else he’ll mention that he’s never going to change even with fame, even though earlier in the album he bemoaned how he treats people differently now. It all feels a little jumbled up — maybe the life Drake lived really was like this, but regardless it makes listening to Thank Me Later a two-faced experience. Maybe it is more than fitting that Drake changes his mind about the whole matter and, on the final track, asks that we “thank him now.”

It doesn’t help that the album is lacking at times from a musical standpoint. There are a few tracks with outstanding background compositions — the lead single “Over” is one such example, featuring a frenetically layered mix of crackling snare, bells, horns and a triumphant string section. The Kanye West produced “Find Your Love” is similarly successful in combining alluring synthesizers and piano with a driving, electro four-on-the-floor beat.

Drake demonstrates his uncanny abilities of wordplay and rhyme, especially when he mixes up the tempo of his words (“Show Me a Good Time”). However, too many of the songs slow down in legato orchestral compositions that all end up sounding similar in one way or another. This doesn’t necessarily mean that the songs are bad, but it does make the album tricky to sit through. The way that Drake raps can become a bother too — his constant-flow delivery of lines, dropping words like sixteenth notes, begins to sound machine-like after a while and become almost monotonous to listen to.

Yet, all is not lost. The album is an honest achievement and a work in transition for a young and developing artist, one that shows room for improvement but also displays tenacity and talent. There are a few gems on the record, and some well-timed and well-executed guest appearances turn otherwise merely decent pieces into worthwhile numbers (Nicki Minaj’s appearance on “Up All Night,” to name one).

Thank Me Later probably isn’t the best that Drake could’ve produced, but it’s definitely a good starting point. With a little luck, we actually will be thanking him later.

Enter 31-year-old Swedish pop icon Robyn. Having cracked her native country’s Top 10 with all four of her albums and recorded a #1 hit in the UK (“With Every Heartbeat” in 2007), Robyn is the best purveyor of true pop music that America has never even heard.

With a career spanning 15 years, and a 2008 Swedish Grammy for Best Live Act, Robyn is a platinum-blonde femme fatale with a calculated plan of attack. On her fifth proper release, and the first in a set of three mini-albums that will comprise 2010′s Body Talk series, this veteran is ready to take the U.S. by storm. Artistically, it is impossible to discount the disposition and sensibilities of Europeans, and it’s this sophisticated aesthetic that acts as the backbone for each of the eight tracks on this tease of an album. From an entirely stylistic standpoint, Body Talk, Pt. 1 is a perfectly translatable album from a Swede who is well versed in what it means to make engaging pop music.

Musically, what is most striking about this album is its stellar production. Instead of an overly imposed set of cookie-cutter beats, Robyn realizes the necessity of good instrumentation and a unique quality of sound. This wherewithal is instantly apparent on the Diplo-produced, dub-step style “Dancehall Queen,” where West Coast synths flutter and flit over the crunchy wobble of UK two-step bass and snare hits.

Though never overly ambitious to the point of being esoteric, these stylistic undertones are furthered on the murky “None of Dem,” which features Norwegian electronic music mainstays Röyksopp, as affected high hats and house-style synth sweeps careen over a techno beat.

What makes Robyn such a dynamic pop musician rests in her ability to simultaneously blend an air of seniority with the empathetic figure of a girl still trying to find her way in a world full of ruin and lost love. On the album’s first track, “Don’t Fucking Tell Me What To Do,” Robyn echoes the title as she catalogues the list of vices and snags contributing to her eventual demise. This unwavering demeanor casts her in a light reserved for artists truly inseparable from their own — albeit self-destructive — work.

On the acoustic track “Hang With Me,” this siren proves she can hold her own vocally against a bare and exposing minimal backdrop. The song’s lasting sentiment exhibits Robyn’s self-reliance and veteran attitude with a piano- and string-driven chorus line stating the truth: “Just don’t fall recklessly, heedlessly in love me / Cause it’s gonna be all heartbreak.”

The truth is, American pop music is so overly contrived and primped that there is no longer any reason to take it seriously. To all the Ke$has of the world — take note. A true pop diva need not accentuate what the rabid, frivolous public deems as the right direction. She must be enigmatic and sultry, but at the same time must be able to exude confidence and an artistic mastery regarding the true merits of pop music. Though Robyn may never truly make a splash in the American Top 40 music scene, the only thing holding her back is the uninformed ears of the hordes of oblivious pop fans here in the States.

In Eminem’s usual style, “Recovery” is demeaning to women, contains loads of derogatory language, references his daughters and features his unpredictable and often offensive lyrical musings.

Although Eminem may be gifted with superb jargon, “Recovery” takes a very different emotional tone than his previous albums. It’s probably as serious as Mathers could get.

If you can get past the first track “Cold Wind Blows,” you’re in the clear. It’s a noticeable low point for the album due to its ridiculous amount of profanity, and it lacks the thought-provoking subject matter of some of the other singles from the album.

Most of the other tracks are forced and don’t add anything to “Recovery.” “Won’t Back Down” featuring P!nk couldn’t sound more out of place; her forgettable vocals in conjunction with Eminem’s rapping just don’t mesh — the same could be also said for the Lil’ Wayne and Rihanna collaborations. But because of the collaborators’ popularity, you will most likely hear the clean versions of these tracks on Top 40 radio, which is a shame because they’re entirely undeserving.

The highlight of the album is “Talkin’ 2 Myself” featuring Kobe. It has complementary vocals to Eminem’s rapping and is further augmented by electronic instrumentals and Kobe’s silky vocals. It makes the song interesting and compelling while adding a different feel compared to Eminem’s previous efforts.

By the end of this album, all of the tracks sound the same. Eminem may be in Recovery, but his progress as a musician couldn’t be further back.

In tracks such as “Light Up,” featuring Jay-Z, and “Resistance,” Drake tries to solidify his place in the rap game while projecting a wariness of the overwhelming fame that he has already acquired. As Jay-Z hauntingly warns him in “Light Up,” “I once was as cool as the Fonz was/But these bright lights turned me into a monster.”

“Fireworks,” the album’s uplifting standout track featuring Alicia Keys, Drake tries to communicate the details of his rise to success and the changes that occurred internally and externally in his life. In the song, he admits, “my 15 minutes started an hour ago.” The fact that Drake openly addresses the obvious critiques of his rise to popularity demonstrates a lyrical self-awareness that comes to define the album. Throughout Thank Me Later, Drake keeps his lyrics light, sarcastic and a little cocky — something he’s famous for. In “Resistance,” he defends his lack of “hood status,” saying, “I avoided the coke game and went with Sprite instead.”

But despite the lyrical appeal of the album, many songs — such as “Shut It Down,” a track produced by The-Dream, and “Show Me A Good Time” — tend to blur together because of their droning melodies. It’s disappointing to hear what unnecessary harmonizing can do to a great beat, and this happens throughout the album.

Thank Me Later is an interesting perspective of the music industry from an overnight celebrity with a cocky yet sensitive persona. Drake proves his talent in hit songs such as “Up All Night,” “Fancy” and “Unforgettable.” Ultimately, the album’s good songs outweigh the bad ones.

In fact, The Drums LP has two repeat tracks from the EP, the 2009 single “Let’s Go Surfing” and standout “Down By the Water.” But unlike Summertime!, their latest album features tracks that reflect a larger variety of themes. From break ups to boredom, The Drums’ debut album shows they can do more than just write carefree anthems such as “Let’s Go Surfing.”

Blogs have already praised “Best Friends” and “Me and the Moon” as the album’s catchiest tracks. While these songs are easy to dance to and feature the kind of electro-pop that made The Drums notable to begin with, my personal favorite is “There Will Be Tears,” which combines their fresh-faced ebullient spirit with mature lyrics such as, “I don’t feel sorry for you when you cry.”

This collusion of youthful attitude and more grown-up themes makes The Drums a salient collection of songs — one that can remain accessible and meaningful long after Pitchfork loses interest.

Pink’s obsession with pop music is no guilty pleasure. From the anthem “Hard Core Pops Are Fun” to his 70-minute lament for pop cultures past in Worn Copy, he boasts this love affair shamelessly. And now he has finally succeeded in producing pop music of his own. What separates Before Today so drastically from its predecessors is a lack of instrumental angst, a more mature sound produced by a perhaps more matured artist. Older Pink tracks left listeners with the sensation of anxiously speeding down deserted LA streets with a blaring, unresponsive radio. His new album is instead an upbeat jam meant for lighthearted cruises down Sunset Boulevard. Though many of the lyrics are still preoccupied with youthful disillusionment, they are offset by catchy choruses and guitar riffs.

This new pop-heavy production will be easier to recreate onstage, making for a more entertaining live show. The recent rise in popularity of the underground DJ and rap scenes also makes this the perfect time for Pink to make a comeback. His shuffling of old mixtapes and bodily noises now coupled with polished studio production is sure to please members of the bootleg and freak-folk communities alike.

John J. McCauley III’s familiar buzz of a voice cries out in anguish slowly, as if trapped in a fog of whiskey and bad romance.

The melodies sound recycled, especially in tracks “Mange” and “When She Comes Home,” which seem more like diluted versions of Johnny Cash classics than anything new or original.

However, The Black Dirt Sessions is flecked with bits of gold, particularly in their simpler, more acoustic numbers, such as “The Sad Sun,” where McCauley gently wails, “Never had your chance to live/And it’s hard to forgive/Never had your chance to love/And it does not happen like this/In heaven, if heaven exists.”

Tracks “Twenty Miles” and “Hand In My Hand” touch upon McCauley’s broken-heartedness with lyrics such as “Everybody is alone in this world/Touches feeling close but never touching/When everyone is alone.” What Deer Tick may lack in musical authenticity, they make up in lovelorn poeticism.

Though as a whole The Black Dirt Sessions is not much of a departure from their previous album in 2009, Born On Flag Day, Deer Tick’s gruff style has helped them garner a dedicated following, and this album will solidify their place as artists within the alternative country genre.

If anything at all, Deer Tick and their Black Dirt Sessions will take you away for a moment to somewhere that’s a little older, a little dustier, and a little lonelier.

It’s this voice that often times proves to be the downfall for even the most unflappable outfits. As creative and economic pressures pile up, it’s up to the artists to decide whether they want comfortable continuity or a more varied canon.

However, familiarity and consistency have yet to be a bane for Brooklyn (via Washington, D.C.) electro-rock duo Ratatat. Over the past six years and four full-length albums, Ratatat has taken the road most traveled — barely tweaking its sound — yet now finds itself sitting near the top of today’s over-populated indie scene.

With its latest release, LP4, Ratatat has indeed stayed true to the sounds and textures that have propelled it to its current status. Back again are the squealing electric guitars, and the remix-ready hip-hop beats, both neatly situated alongside the (often startling) vocal sample intros and shimmering harp sweeps.

This isn’t to say that the duo’s latest offering is all formula and no substance. In fact, LP4 contains some of the most concrete examples of Ratatat’s electronic music prowess to date, but with three old albums containing songs all too similar to the 11 presented here, the music can’t help but exhale its overwhelming sense of anticipation — the anticipation of a pending, and welcomed, stylistic variation.

This album begins, just as 2008′s LP3 did, with a sprawlingly discordant intro song. Here, “Bilar” sets the table full of the myriad of sounds that are to be heard on the rest of the album, but remains disjointed until the classic Ratatat bass line fully drops on the second track, “Drugs.” Now masters of their specialized style, Evan Mast and Mike Stroud know how to please their listeners. The intricate layers of lead single “Party With Children” are a near-palpable sensory delight that make it impossible to prevent an unconscious bob of the head.

“Sunblocks,” the following track, continues in that vein, showcasing everything that this duo has mastered after almost a decade of working together. Its wailing, harmonized guitars, scattershot bongo hits, and lush synth-swells prove this song to be an example of how Ratatat’s often-convoluted instrumentation can work to absolute perfection. Though these two erase any doubts of the band’s level of consistency or their ability to create gorgeous melodies on top of piles of bouncing beats, it is this musical déjà vu that ultimately detracts from the lasting value of the album.

While LP4 was mostly recorded during the LP3 sessions, it still seems like more of a cop-out in the face of that looming question than an actual foray into musical evolution. So, what’s next? These songs play as if they are an unwavering extension of a pubescent goal, and if that goal involves dwelling in a self-imposed comfort zone, Ratatat will remain a band surrounded by constant hype for the sole reason that the masses are expecting a change.

Despite its ubiquitous vinyl crackles, LP4 fails to impress on a masterful level. That being said, after releasing two critically acclaimed hip-hop remix albums and working with MGMT and Kid Cudi, Ratatat has effectually transcended different levels of success. Though not a band destined to go platinum, Ratatat has legitimized its own organic brand of electronic music through nonstop quality, and hasn’t allowed anything to dismantle this well-oiled machine.

Champ solidifies TPC’s reputation for making tightly constructed, keyboard-heavy anthems of youth. The band has proven itself able to retain the carefree attitude that made Elephant Shell so hard to stop playing. But from the band’s incorporation of stylized guitar playing that veers out of its primary pop genre and Monks’ conspicuously matured voice, it is obvious that TPC has evolved.

Champ’s standout, “Bambi,” has an upbeat instrumental refrain and features heavily reverbed overdubbing on Monks’ vocals, an effect not used in prior recordings. Here, listeners can see that Monk hasn’t just gotten older; he has also improved his vocal range. But specifics aside, “Bambi” is fun to listen or dance to, and is immediately memorable.

“End of a Spark” has the same sense of nostalgia that defined Elephant Shell’s lyrics. TPC’s ability to create a salient narrative within catchy pop lyrics makes its music accessible on a more personal level. With lines such as “Wasting is an art, like the nights we spent in backs of cars,” it’s hard not to feel 16 again … and like it.

Midway through, the album slows down with the track “Hands Reversed.” But drummer Greg Alsop maintains the pulse of the song, and the slower tempo continues into next track, “Gone,” which features a Libertines-style guitar riff that adds a new dimension to TPC’s repertoire of music. The pace quickens in “Big Difference,” a fast-paced song rife with handclaps, yelling, power-pop guitar and Monks’ quintessential vocal drawl.

Unfortunately, Champs has a few more low points than Elephant Shell, particularly in the album’s closing tracks. “Not Sick” has little to offer in originality, and similarly, “Frankenstein” is far from spectacular. From its repetition of Monks’ idea about it being “good to be back” from “breakneck speed,” it seems as if “Frankenstein” may be the band’s attempt at turning Champs into a concept album. “Frankenstein” doesn’t have the energy of the earlier tracks, and its lyrics have the same overworked feeling that makes “Not Sick” a less-than-stellar contribution to TPC’s catalogue.

Champs is no Elephant Shell, but it’s still a fun album with plenty to offer. Let’s just hope that if we have to wait another two years for a TPC album, it’s good from start to finish.

The beloved Houston band doesn’t hold back in experimenting with sounds and persona, often lending a mellower feel to Skin Collision Past as compared to its catchy, bubbly EP, Microscopic Metronomes. When the Wild Moccasins recorded Microscopic Metronomes, most of the members had just started college, and in the years since then, the band has matured both in sound and style. Since the release of its EP, the Wild Moccasins have toured the country and have played at South By Southwest two years in a row. The growth of the band in musical precision, performance quality and personal growth resonates in Skin Collision Past; even singers Zahira Gutierrez and Cody Swann’s voices have grown and matured.

This is not to say that the Wild Moccasins are straying from what we know them as — poppy and fun.

“Late Night Television” is one of the standouts on the album, as it echoes the spirit of the EP with catchy lyrics and swift beats.

Though Skin Collision Past does harken back to the happy, beguiling beats of Microscopic Metronomes on a few tracks, the underlying tone and lyrics of most of the album are much more serious.

On the title track, Gutierrez soulfully belts out lyrics about swollen tears swallowed by a pavement of sea. Though it is a challenge to decipher the meaning behind the dark words coming from Gutierrez and Swann’s rich voices, the album’s lyrics often seem to be more like imaginative thoughts than narratives. The overall effect of Swann’s songwriting contributes an intriguing sense of contemplative tranquility that contrasts with the shimmering guitars and fast-paced drumming heard throughout the album.

Filled with detail, thought and confidence, Skin Collision Past reiterates the old saying: Hard work and dedication pay off.

Like the previous two “Twilight” soundtracks, Eclipse was produced by Alexandra Patsavas, whose previous work includes primetime teen soaps such as “The O.C.” and “Gossip Girl.” Patsavas gathered songs from a variety of genres for Eclipse, from indie-pop acts such as Vampire Weekend to British prog-rockers such as Muse. The album also features contributions from Band of Horses, Florence + the Machine, The Black Keys and Metric.

Vampire Weekend’s track “Jonathan Low” veers from the band’s typical afro-pop style, opting for a more somber sound. The album hits a raucous high note with The Bravery’s “Ours,” bursting with energy and melodic guitar riffs. The Dead Weather’s Jack White and Alison Mosshart create a crazy-cool yet haunting mix in “Rolling in on a Burning Tire.”

Bat for Lashes and Beck’s previously unreleased duet includes catchy lyrics, electric beats and echoing vocals, as could only be expected from such a union. Australian soul-infused pop singer Sia’s “My Love” perfectly mirrors the film’s themes of love and conflict, reminiscent of Lykke Li’s “Possibility” from the second “Twilight” soundtrack.

Most notable, however, is Muse’s “Neutron Star Collision (Love is Forever).” Already featured in the first two films, Muse has become a kind of mascot for the musical frame of the “Twilight” series, and “Neutron Star Collision” continues the tradition by setting the tone for the action of the film with the band’s quintessential blend of dynamic rock sounds and orchestral arrangements.

As was the case with New Moon, the majority of the tracks for Eclipse are either brand-new or were written specifically for the film. However, the style and tone of Eclipse is a significant departure from New Moon, exhibiting less gloom and more rock.

A deluxe version of the soundtrack, featuring an acoustic version of Metric’s “Eclipse (All Yours)” and two bonus remixes of songs already on the album, will be available for purchase.

Since they first hit the scene, band members have come and gone, and the group moved from indie imprint Sub Pop to major label Columbia. Band of Horses’ recent commercial success will no doubt expand with Infinite Arms, as several songs lend themselves to being radio-friendly.

Though the new album is certainly a treat for fans, it’s also somewhat of a downer. While the songs eventually find their way into the heart, at first listen, it is obvious that the band’s sound has changed. Unlike their previous outings, Infinite Arms falls a bit short of delivering the raw, haunting and gripping sound that originally won the hearts of their fans and, instead, opts for slower ballads and homey tunes, best suited for a quiet night in or a long drive with no particular destination.

While singer Benjamin Bridwell’s vocals are forever impressive, some of the earlier lo-fi charm and the familiar reverb have been lost on this album, and his voice on some of the tracks sounds almost too polished and, as a result, less personal. Despite the fact that the sound fans are accustomed to has changed in some ways, their enormous talent still allows for a memorable album.

Though it may have been more suitable elsewhere on the album, the opening song, “Factory,” is a melodic ballad that will easily become a fan-favorite, as Bridwell’s voice soars throughout the track as he sings, “I fell into some kind of sorry state/ but looking back now I think it’s finally time for me to laugh about it/ and get my things together and find something to say.”

The album’s first single, “Compliments,” follows as a more energetic, foot-tapping tune than the opener and, though it is enjoyable, Bridwell’s voice almost drowns in the grandiose guitar strings toward the very end, taking away from the song. “Laredo” is the third track on the album and another possible favorite, featuring a more Southern sound. “Laredo” deals with a lonesome man traveling to forget his woes and, though the fuzzy guitar chords create an energetic beat, the lyrics and Bridwell’s vocals make the cries for a lover all the more emotional.

The album’s title track is most reminiscent of their earlier work with quiet and haunting sounds. Infinite Arms opens with the sound of birds chirping and frogs croaking and progresses into a sweet song, if nothing else, as the chorus achingly yearns for another.

“Evening Kitchen” is similarly haunting, as it opens up with soft crooning and features eerie back-up vocals which help the song feel more personal, as though the band recorded the ballad while strumming their guitars around a fire. Focusing on a disappointing relationship, this track is probably the most relatable and most emotional for listeners, as Bridwell laments, “For me, this bottle of wine/ is to slow down my mind/ and forget the things that I knew.”

A change in their sound will be obvious to fans by listening to other songs, like “Dilly” and “NW Apartment,” as they explore sounds previously unheard of by the band. Yet it would be foolish to say that the band has failed completely with their new album. While Infinite Arms may be a change for the band and their fans, after a few listens, one may realize that the band still delivers memorable songs, and that change isn’t always a bad thing.

The Brooklyn duo’s debut album Treats is an aggressive statement of loyalty to aesthetics. Songs like single “Crown on the Ground” and “A/B Machines” – both released on a demo in 2009 – feature relentless and unwavering synths and riffs. With anthemic rage, Miller’s guitars set the stage for fist-pumping rides in raised trucks. Then Krauss arrives with vocals that alternate between Karen O yells, falsettos and sequenced “oohs” and “ahs.”

The tracks work together to impart explosive tracks worthy of stadiums, confronted by subtle female vocals. In such a universe, it makes sense that a song entitled “Kids” would start off with Krauss moaning sexually, and that “Infinity Guitars” would feature brief and sparse guitar riffs amid mostly vocals and drums.

These contradictions add to the band’s general air of defiance. Peerless track “Rill Rill” functions as a modern day Mary Poppins sing-a-long with an M.I.A.-style backing track (Sleigh Bells are on M.I.A.’s label).

Ripping along with 11 tracks in 32 minutes, Treats is a celebration of controlled cacophony. The ball-breaking guitars throughout are undercut by lyrics like, “wonder what your boyfriend thinks about your braces.”

The band is dedicated to their formula and its incongruities. At its weakest, Treats is a clamor of whining guitars and incessant synth-like vocals. At their strongest, Sleigh Bells are an assault on the senses for the sake of unleashing inner dancing demons. So grab a reindeer and join the ruckus.

After passing up Broadway for Atlanta, Monáe made nice with Big Boi and eventually Diddy, who made it his priority to produce her first EP Metropolis, Suite I: The Chase for Bad Boy Entertainment. Inspired by Fritz Lang’s sci-fi film “Metropolis,” Monáe made up an ambiguous but ambitious space opera to frame her music, and (unlike her no-frills first LP The Audition) The Chase brought her recognition and tour material. Unlike the concept, the tunes were fresh and promising. Fast-forward an excruciating three years, and we have her towering, long-awaited full-length, The ArchAndroid.

With 18 tracks, overtures, songs and segues in over an hour of music, Android is a beast of an album. Barreling through genres with reckless abandon, Monáe’s tunes chew up influences and spit out shiny, modern, theatrical pop. Recalling landmarks like Stevie Wonder’s Songs in the Key of Life and Prince’s Sign ‘O’ the Times, Android is a sprawling, boundless piece of work. Throughout the album, Monáe plays musical chameleon, tailoring her vocals and performances to a variety of styles, universally commanding and impressing with each. It’s a promising set — even when the end result slips up.

Because, for all of its schizophrenic genre hopping, a lot of Android’s songs feel like missed or unnecessary opportunities. Some could be jumping-off points for fully-cooked productions: “Oh Maker” is a neat blend of ABBA, Stevie Wonder and the best of Mariah Carey’s ballads — but it ends before it can amount to much of anything. “Neon Gumbo” is a lazy backwards spin of a Chase track. Monae’s “collaboration” Of Montreal’s features so little of Monáe that it doesn’t fit at all. The two overtures are bland, pointless diversions.

These low points never ruin the album, but with so much on its plate, Android can afford to lose some weight. And when the music fails to impress, Monáe’s lyrics don’t give you much to hold onto. Her concept never steps in the way of the music, but it never convinces you of its necessity, either.

Regardless of these missteps, Android’s highlights are many and varied. “Tightrope” is a nice slice of funk, with chicken-scratch guitars, kit-drum clatter and Monáe’s best James Brown impersonation. The suite from Fela-channeling stomper “Dance or Die” to Off the Wall-disco “Locked Inside” is exciting and fun. “Cold War” is an explosion of a song, even when the melody is less than dynamite. Throughout the album, Monáe is an impeccably engaging presence — from “Say You’ll Go”’s piano balladry to “Wondaland”’s breezy bubblegum pop, she consistently impresses.

The ArchAndroid is invigorating, despite its flaws. It’s more accomplished and promising than some of Monáe’s contemporaries’ entire discographies. Even though it oversteps, you can’t fault Ms. Monáe for her ambition. She’s a fully clothed female performer with pop radio potential. She’s a fantastic live act, and here’s to hoping she’s around for good.

On “Wondaland,” Monáe invites us into her “Metropolis”: “Change your clothes to tuxedos,” she coos with a smirk. With a little bit of focus, it won’t be long before she’s got us all headed to the dry cleaners.

With a nasally yelp and wry wit, 26-year-old singer/guitarist Andrew Jensen weaves mopey tales of failed romance and quirky social interactions over arrangements that drift away from their signature brand of “bastard-folk,” ultimately gravitating toward a more polished pop-rock sound.

Playing in a manner that is as laid-back and frolicsome as the band mates’ general demeanor, A Paper Cup Band is one of Minneapolis’ best-kept secrets. Unified by their love for hook-heavy ’90s pop, the three-man unit was formed by Wisconsin natives Kyle Sobczak (drummer) and Andrew Jensen (guitarist/singer).

“We’ve all been bathing in the ’90s since we were five years old,” said Jensen.

Both originally from the quiet suburb of Mequon, Wis., Sobczak moved to St. Paul to attend McNally Smith College of Music and formed the band with Jensen in 2006 before recruiting bassist Griffin Fredrickson shortly afterward. In their formative years, the band developed a small underground following playing house shows as they fine-tuned their folk-based punk.

What may be “Sitting Shotgun to a Statue’s” greatest feat is how smoothly it flows while bouncing between different styles. The opening track, “Water Droplet,” is a buoyant three-minute groove rich with poppy goodness that wouldn’t at all feel out of place on an early Weezer record.

But the record takes a detour in “Thermose,” a torpid folk ballad driven by a blaring harmonica. Jensen’s sharp lyrics make him sound as clever as he is heartbroken as he sings: “Now I’m sea-sick and supple with envy / ’cause his hands are now touching the place I once was / Oh if only once more you could lend me / and release me from this brain lack luster fuzz.”

The album’s variances makes it unclear where exactly A Paper Cup Band falls on the rock ‘n’ roll spectrum, but they don’t seem irked by the ambiguity.

“I don’t think we identify with a singular scene,” Jensen said.

While the group praised the local music scene, Jensen acknowledged the hurdles.

“It’s hard to be in a band when there’s so much music going on and then when you’re just starting out for a while, only like ten people will go to your show,” he said. “And sometimes you get discouraged and you give up and go back to Columbia, Missouri, or something.”

But it’s A Paper Cup Band’s shared drive for experimentation and new sounds that keeps them hard at work. “Every album is slightly different, so I think that helps keep it moving forward,” Sobczak said.

If there is real qualitative issue with “Sitting Shotgun to a Statue,” it’s the album’s length. With none of the songs surpassing the four-minute mark, the album leaves something to be desired. But that’s not to say it still isn’t a finely crafted collection of music.

Perhaps what’s most refreshing about “Sitting Shotgun to a Statue” is its utter lack of pretension. It’s the sound of a band coming into their own but still willing to tread uncharted waters.

“Music is like your little buddy that follows you around on adventures,” Sobczak said, “And no matter what you do, it’s just kind of that sidekick that reflects whatever you’re doing.”

Recorded in Tom Waits’ exclusive Prairie Sun Studios and produced by My Morning Jacket’s Bo Kester, Delta Spirit’s rhythmic blues-rock has been edited by seasoned ears that perfect every ounce of their homegrown melodies — ensuring the band lives up to their namesake.

The album itself is a scrapbook of personal accounts, from lead singer Matthew Vasquez’ tale of heartbreak on “Bushwick Blues” — about the one person he just can’t seem to scrape from his memory — to the real-life revenge of Russian Vitaly Kaloyev’s for the death of his family on “Ballad of Vitaly.”

With a zippy tempo and shout-along verses, “Bushwick” is rife with emotional growls and croons that gush freely from Vasquez’s lungs — and, along with them, an air of true country soul.

The band has packaged a winning combination: Heart wrenching vocals from an honest front-porch songbook, paired with aggressive acoustic guitar, country-tinged harmonicas and galloping drums — all radiating a timeless energy that becomes the intangible highlight of Below. The album finds a happy medium between intimate and larger-than-life — not without the help of those who know both best.

The electro-rockers typically trade out standard vocals for such oddities as bird chirps, wildcat screams and German voiceovers — a trend that continues throughout LP4. The pair devised the album during the same recording sessions that wrought LP3 two years ago; they divided the tracks between the former and its brand-new sibling.

While its title is a decidedly lateral move, LP4 expounds on the otherworldly aesthetic honed on LP3 — weaving an unfamiliar body of global exoticism into LP3’s clean-cut sound. The latest incorporates a tribal backbeat and — for the first time — a full string section, building upon the vanilla-synth lightness of its 2008 predecessor.

An excess of dicing, reversing and layering makes it difficult to discern which instruments are responsible for the group’s new Eastern twang. However, the notable reintroduction of Stroud’s heavy guitar rifts — in contrast to the rock-starved LP3 — is a welcome return to the sound of early albums “Ratatat” and “Classics.”

“Sunblocks” typifies the duo’s new vamp: A tinkering melody builds into a thunderous wail. Tracks “Drugs” and “Party with Children” have a similar effect — shifting from lurching, eerily sober beginnings to full-bodied electronic symphonies.

Sure, LP4 is technically a cheat: The title practically owns up to the fact that these are the dregs of 2008. But that’s precisely what makes LP4 great. Its self-contained identity somehow manages to encapsulate vintage Ratatat without collapsing into a creative rut.

This isn’t to say the album is a clone of its predecessor. Indeed, it’s a harsher affair all around, shriller and buzzier than the band’s motley but enchanting 2008 debut. The new record starts out strong, earning weird points with the distorted shrieking on “Doe Deer.” But Castles 2.0 peaks too early – the fourth track, “Baptism,” is a brilliant number, with airy synth volleys and Alice Glass’s best shouty vocals, so low in the mix it sounds like she’s submerged in water.

From that point forward the repetitive album title looms as a bad omen. Castles 1.0 existed in a glitchy sonic microcosm that, though not exclusive territory, seemed to set Crystal Castles apart from the herd. Instead, this album is disappointingly uniform, sounding more redundant than cohesive. The tracks are formidable – there are good songs here, especially the vocal distortion playground of “Vietnam” – but they’re all buzz and blip and Glass’s dead-robot vocals. This might work for dance parties or mixtapes, but it’s mediocre album listening.

There are occasional moments where the album’s crunchy electro aesthetic breaks down and an iciness seeps in, as at the end of “Suffocation” or during the aforementioned synth passages of “Baptism.” It’s these nuggets of glassy simplicity that recall the novelty of first hearing Castles 1.0 opener “Untrust Us.” Something in the duo’s music is absolutely unearthly, and hopefully they will find new uses for that transcendence in the future. Here, though, it’s all swaddled in the obvious.

After giving up the stage and making her way to Atlanta, Monáe made nice with Big Boi and eventually Diddy, who made it his priority to produce her EP Metropolis, Suite I: The Chase for Bad Boy Entertainment. Inspired by Fritz Lang’s sci-fi film “Metropolis,” Monáe crafted an ambiguous and ambitious space opera to frame her music. With a taut, slick and fresh production touch, The Chase brought her recognition and tour material. Fast-forward an excruciating three years and we have all the hype and screaming that comes with her towering, long awaited, first full-length release: The ArchAndroid.

With 18 tracks, overtures, segues and high-gloss production pop, The ArchAndroid is a beast of an album. Running over an hour, it’s essentially two EPs laid back-to-back, barreling through just about every popular (and unpopular) genre in pop music’s recent memory.

With a foundation in soul and funk, Monáe’s Android is a fresh, boundless trek through melody, concept and performance. Its wide-reaching drive recalls sprawling landmarks like Stevie Wonder’s Songs in the Key of Life and Prince’s Sign ‘O’ the Times. Monáe’s voice is a remarkable beauty — it’s funky and pretty, and does just about everything it set out to do. And with Android, Monáe accomplishes quite a bit, even when the end result slips.

Highlights on a varied album like this are tough to pull out because for most listeners, they’ll be entirely subjective. “Tightrope” is a blistering take on James Brown funk, with more melody. It’s a production masterpiece; with a cluttering kit drum backbeat, chicken-scratch guitar, gospel backing vocals and just about every trick thrown on top — with Monáe cast strong as bandleader. Following “Suite II Overture,” the first three proper tracks on the album are an exhilarating bunch, from “Dance or Die” with its Fela stomp to the Off the Wall-era MJ disco of “Lost Inside.” Throughout, Monáe is a flexible, commanding and powerful presence. From breezy bubblegum pop on “Wondaland” to heartfelt soul on “Neon Valley Street” to piano balladry on “Say You’ll Go,” the list of successes goes on and on.

And yet, for all of its sublime moments, Android has some clunkers, and some of the worst mistakes trip up otherwise great songs. “Tightrope” swings along under Monáe’s powerful voice — until Big Boi’s tacky verse takes a shit on the whole production. “Oh Maker” blends a delightfully kitschy serving of ABBA, Stevie Wonder and the best of Mariah Carey ballads, but it ends before it can amount to much of anything. Of Montreal’s “collaboration” features so little of Monáe that it simply doesn’t fit in at all. The two overtures and recycled tracks like “Neon Gumbo” are skip-able diversions that cut Android’s flow in nasty ways. For an album with so much on its plate, Android could afford to lose some weight.

In the end, The ArchAndroid thrills and chills with equal impact, hitting rapturous highs and scraping occasional, unmemorable lows. But Monáe is such a refreshing presence that her full-length debut is required listening, even if you only dig half the tracks.

It’s a ridiculous, ambitious effort from a creative new talent, and here’s to hoping Monáe’s in it for the long run. With a little bit of focus, she can paint a clearer picture of her quirky, limitless Metropolis — God knows she has the talent to do it.

At its rollicking best, the chaos is cathartic, but too often the fury fails to instill in us anything beyond a fleeting, blood-pumping high. Luckily, band members Allison Mosshart and Dean Fertita are too talented to let the album dip below mediocrity. White ditches his trademark guitar for the drums, while Fertita (of Queens of the Stone Age fame) delivers a steady barrage of sufficiently disturbed lyrics. In fact, the drums are the only tame aspect of Sea of Cowards, while both bass and guitar work to assault the listener like a sonic boom and White and Mosshart take turns pouring rage into the microphone.

And there are just enough twists in their ferocity to prevent either vocalist from becoming a mosquito in our ear. Likewise, the brevity of the album (all 11 songs come in at under four minutes) prevents its guitars from becoming grating. “Die by the Drop” is a highlight, with a gritty keyboard and guitar intro that segues into a massive hook — laying down the groundwork for a blistering vocal clash between White and Mosshart.

White’s lack of inhibition is always a pleasure, but this particular project never achieves greatness — hampered by a shortage of catchy hooks or memorable guitar lines that no flurry of passion can rectify.

And they definitely have a message. Nas and Marley have made it clear that Distant Relatives is a work of activism. Not only will the album’s proceeds go toward a humanitarian project in Africa, but lyrically they take up the task of raising awareness, minus the subtle guilt trip that usually comes with songs about hardship.

The song “Count Your Blessings,” for example, doesn’t point fingers or use hyperbolic, politicized juxtapositions between consumerist excess and abject poverty. In the sunny chorus, Marley sings, “I’ve got love and assurance/I’ve got new health insurance/…/So I count my blessings.” “Not by force,” he and Nas are “suggesting” that we simply appreciate the little things.
Some tracks, like the string and African chant-infused “Dispear” paint a poignant portrait of our times, but the album is more about empowerment.

“My Generation,” which features Joss Stone, an effortless Li’l Wayne contribution and a children’s choir, is a solidly inspirational hip hop anthem. Stone sings, “This generation will make a change,” and, though what she’s saying might fall on the groundlessly optimistic side of things, her powerful voice certainly makes you believe it.

While the sound doesn’t leave its normal mold, it’s clear from the lyrics that Murphy has grown up a bit. In place of semi-nonsensical romps are intimate tales of relationship woes and introspection.

Despite the deeper content, Murphy still retains his playful demeanor. Punchy and energetic, the first half of the record picks up where “Sound of Silver” left off. On the superlative opening track “Dance Yrself Clean” Murphy mutters over pattering percussion before erupting into a crisp, feel-good, electronic frenzy. “I miss the way the night comes/ With friends who always make it feel good/ This basement has a cold glow/ Though it’s better than a bunch of others,” he laments, foreshadowing the more sentimental tone regnant throughout.

The album’s most raucous moment occurs early on with the call-and-response single “Drunk Girls,” a frivolous throwback to Velvet Underground’s “White Light/White Heat. ” In the hypnotic “One Touch,” Murphy’s brooding baritone and trance-inducing synths recall David Byrne only to fade into the Strokes -inspired ethereal alt rock of “All I want.” From there on, Murphy slides into melancholia that is occasionally drowned out by the numerous bells and whistles on the album. In “Somebody’s Calling Me” Murphy’s high production works to his disadvantage as his vocals are overshadowed by heavy synths and the pick-up of the oddly-placed “Pow Pow” is more distracting than invigorating. However, in “You Wanted a Hit,” Murphy is effectively defiant and confrontational before breaking out into a scorching guitar solo.

It isn’t fair to dub the record as an afterthought to “Sound of Silver” but the album isn’t a far cry from Murphy’s previous efforts either. If the rumors ring true and “This is Happening” is indeed Murphy’s final installment, the last note he ends on is a bittersweet one.

And perhaps that’s the most awkward transition period on “Heaven is Whenever”: Finn’s lyrical perspectives are no longer our own. He always toed the line between confessional honesty and elaborate storytelling, but he was always entrenched in the story himself. He was always the cool uncle who still did drugs and met girls, and he was always the best at retelling the stories about them. But this time around, he’s more of a father figure. When he does re-enter our perspective, he takes on the paternal responsibility of the volatile “Hurricane J.” He seems like a storyteller who might not see any irony in a song about “Rock Problems.”

The rest of the band doesn’t seem entirely sure-footed either. Their bigger-than-Jesus riffs are what extended early Hold Steady records as far as they did, but they keep trying to tailor themselves to Finn’s barroom vocals. Keyboardist Franz Nicolay’s departure certainly didn’t help the process, and his soaring vocals and circus-tent piano are noticeably absent from songs like “The Weekenders.”

As if a parting gift for those of us nostalgic for their earlier material, the Hold Steady closed “Heaven is Whenever” with the closest regression to Almost Killed Me and Separation Sunday’s start-stop riffs. “Barely Breathing” shows Finn back in the mosh pit, spilling blood and nearly getting killed. By the time the singer hands him a pamphlet on Hare Krishna, he says, “You gotta be kidding.” Handed the rest of “Heaven is Whenever,” many of us are likely to say the same.

In “Soft in the Center,” Finn explains it all when he says, “You can’t tell people what they want to hear / If you also want to tell the truth.” It’s hard to say which side of the band’s discography represents what we want and which side represents the truth, but it’s fairly obvious that whichever side we’re on now is the side he is intending to stick with.

The easy comparison here is Wilco. For most die-hard fans who have followed the Chicago outfit from as far back as 1995’s “A.M.,” the intensely personal alt-folk group’s most recent three albums of adult-contemporary sound like a band out of ideas. Yet, nowadays they’re more popular than ever. Craig Finn and Co. seem to be following a similar trajectory.

They’ve already written a handful of canonical records to rally a faithful band of supporters, and they can afford to shed some hostility without losing too many followers. So although it doesn’t deliver on the surface, if Heaven is Whenever is properly used as the foundation it is meant to be, the Hold Steady are poised to become the next biggest band in the world, even if that means they’re no longer somebody’s favorite.

By combining a lo-fi sound with rock and punk influences and conforming to a grizzly-bearded lumberjack guise (which is all the rage for today’s Brooklyn-based hipsters, by the way), bands like My Morning Jacket, Wilco and Band of Horses not only broke the mold, but became veterans of this alt-genre.

But a veteran status can often lead to a rut. After recording two albums on independent labels, the South Carolina-based Band of Horses switched to Columbia Records in the hopes of reaching a wider audience. The label revamp doesn’t seem to have brought any euphoric changes, though.

Band of Horses’s recent release Infinite Arms isn’t anything new. While the band doesn’t sacrifice the intimate, back-porch sound that fans fell for on Cease to Begin, it neglects to push any sort of melodic boundaries. Instead, the record remains comfortably in the band’s crunchy guitar-folk realm.

Album opener “Factory” begins with Ben Bridwell’s endearingly whiny vocals resonating over a dreamy violin. No surprises here. Even when Bridwell is singing about noshing on a candy bar (“Now then later, I was thinking it over by the snack machine / I thought about you and a candy bar / The Now and Laters, now that I’ve got, stuck between my teeth”) he not only manages to inject a dose of kitsch in the track through a play on words, but he also craftily brings undertones of longing and sentimentality into the seemingly mundane.

“Blue Beard” and title track “Infinite Arms” are the record’s grandiose ballads. While much of the album muddles along in lethargic disappointment, these tracks are full of crisp, drawn-out guitar arrangements in the same sort of stately outfit as “The Funeral” on Everything All the Time. Although Bridwell seems to be holding back on “Blue Beard” due to his lackluster monotone, his weary-eyed, lovelorn lyrics still resonate with a striking vulnerability that many plaid-clads have emulated, but never duplicated. While “Infinite Arms” doesn’t bring the record to a climax, it successfully weaves together themes of yearning, lost love and redemption over sparing screeches of the violin and dusty, reverbed guitars.

The album finally forgoes the banal concept of melodic boredom on “Dilly.” The tempo kicks up and the time signature quickens with abrupt keyboard taps and a cool bass. Exchanging his woeful sorrows for indulgent, playful harmonies, Bridwell brings a refreshing sense of optimism to an otherwise frustratingly self-pitying record.

If Infinite Arms had any critique, it would be its predictability. But that’s OK. For a band composing music that transcends the intimacy of maturation, sometimes it’s reassuring to know that some things never change.

The nine tracks comprise more than an hour of new material from the band for the first time since 2007′s indisputably perfect Sound of Silver. What you’ll hear inside This Is Happening is essential LCD Soundsystem, for better and for worse.

At its best, you’ll find yourself lost in Murphy’s world, one that has all the features of Willy Wonka’s factory, Xanadu and the perfect high school reunion wrapped into one excessively vivid environment. The listener will become unconsciously, and perhaps unwillingly, immersed in a community created by ones and zeros that is as carefree as a children’s book, even though the law is polyamory and the ruler is the dancing queen. “Dance Yrself Clean,” “Drunk Girls” and “All I Want” are so fantastic and in sync with LCD repertoire that if told they were Silver B-sides, no one would have trouble believing it.

But the blending together of some of the band’s signature attributes creates a new characteristic, one that is seldom seen within its work: imperfection. Previously known for anomalies such as turning blatant repetition and eight-minute dance epics into perfect pop songs, the band begins to lose itself in This Is Happening by combining these two characteristics at the wrong times, in the wrong way.

Despite never having a moment that could be defined as dull, it’d be tough to argue that the album doesn’t begin to meander halfway through with the first notes of “You Wanted a Hit.” Although this track is nine minutes, it is more a calm statement of dissidence than an anti-commercial epic. For those who found this repetition-sans-climax a bit trying, the 15 minutes that comprise the next two tracks won’t offer much relief. Not until the finale “Home” do things really swing full circle for a proper ending.

Even though LCD has offered an album that is not in line with its quintessential predecessor, no one will be able to spend an hour listening without the realization that they are hearing something completely original – something rarely accomplished in 2010.

In an interview with The Eagle, Derülo talked about the incredible ride he’s had.

After coming into the music business as a songwriter, Derülo said the transition to performer has been “a satisfying one.”

“I never really wanted to be a songwriter,” Derülo said. “So, to actually be doing what I want to do is really refreshing.”

With so many up-and-coming artists out there right now, it can be next to impossible to make it in the music industry. According to Derülo, it is his passion that has fueled his ride to the top.

“This is my life, you know, my mission, my lifestyle,” Derülo said. “You know, for other people it may be a job, but this is what I do, this is what I’ve always done. It is my life. And I think that’s just it, sets me apart. The passion always rises to the top.”

Jason Derülo’s self-titled debut features only nine songs — just over half an hour of music. It’s a short album even by today’s standards. The CD’s second single, “In My Head,” is popular because every person who listens to it comes out with the song stuck “in his or her head.”

The rest of the album features similarly catchy music, all of which goes down easily — R&B-pop at its best. But nothing sticks out as new or inventive, despite Derülo’s goal to always “keep people surprised, keep them on their toes.” Every song could be on the radio right now, and as amazing as that is, a listener may find him or herself searching for more. Maybe a 10th song is in order.

Two of the catchier tracks that have yet to see any radio play are “What If” and “The Sky’s The Limit.” The latter is another song to dance to and the former is a bit of a slower ballad. Derülo’s latest release, “Ridin’ Solo,” sounds a good deal like Sean Kingston, and allows the verses to stand out with simple beats and snaps that refuse to overpower the words.

Perhaps the most unique song on the album is Derülo’s first single, “Whatcha Say,” which samples Imogen Heap’s “Hide and Seek.” The idea to use Heap’s song was producer J.R. Rotem’s, and was quickly embraced by the singer.

“When he brought it to the table I was, you know, really, really excited,” Derülo said. “It’s different; no one’s ever used, like, an indie sample in such a way. The closest thing was when Eminem used Dido, and that was not electro. You know, this one’s a little piece of the electro-indie, cutting-edge and so different, stuff the world noticed.”

Despite all of his success (including the honor of knowing Lady Gaga well enough to call her a “sweetheart” and mean it), Derülo shows no signs of slowing down.

“Do I have a lot of free time? No, I don’t have like any free time at all actually,” Derülo said. “But I don’t really want any free time. I’m on this mission and it’s taking everything. So I’m moving to sacrifice my time to do anything else”

The musician was even given the opportunity to take the reigns on his latest music video, a project he threw his energy into wholeheartedly.

“It’s really cool ‘cause it was all my idea,” Derülo said. “You know, it’s a reflection of who I am this time. My first two videos were not. But now I can really do my own thing and spread my wings. So this one was really smooth and really exciting to watch.”

With such immediate success, it can be easy to forget who got you there. Derülo, however, remains extremely grateful to the fans that have helped him along the way.

“I mostly wanna say, you know, thank you to all of my fans for being supportive and incredible. So I just wanna take my fans from the bottom of my heart. The support is just unparalleled, I’m so excited.”

That being said, in the quest to be heard, it is certainly helpful to have an established artist on your side. So, having recently signed to M.I.A.’s own label, N.E.E.T. Recordings, noise-pop band Sleigh Bells has nowhere to go but up.

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On the surface, the latest act to be vaulted from Brooklyn’s ever-teeming music scene seems destined only for its 15 minutes of fame. Comprised of guitarist/producer Derek Miller (formerly of Poison the Well) and pop vocalist Alexis Krauss, Sleigh Bells is an unlikely duo, but one that uses its potential shortcomings as creative fuel.

After the first listen, Treats, the band-of-the-moment’s debut album, is, in a word, volatile. Clocking in at just under 35 minutes, this 11-track LP sets its blistering pace from the very first drop of the bass. Album opener and lead single “Tell ’Em” is bathed in distorted guitar. Its heavy bass drum hits pound so strongly that by the time Krauss’s cooing vocals enter, it feels as though she is a child in a thunderstorm, still too naïve to see the danger.

The band continues at this aggressive rate until doing a stylistic 180 with the summery “Rill Rill.” This both acts as a necessary interlude from the frenzied punk feel of the album and — for once — gives Krauss’s feathery vocals center stage. As she repeats the line “Have a heart” behind a lush sounds cape of affected guitars, it becomes obvious that Sleigh Bells doesn’t simply hide behind distortion, but can occasionally use it to create truly beautiful pop music.

This duo exemplifies how, musically, opposites sometimes do synthesize and go on to produce decent work. In terms of genre, these two hail from directional extremes, but Miller’s experimental songwriting brings their sound into cohesion. From ubiquitous handclaps, to the use of actual sleigh bells, Treats is an interesting juxtaposition of angular, hardcore guitar work, club-ready beats in the vein of M.I.A and bubble-gum vocals with a tinge of angst.

Though repetitious and at some points a bit too abrasive, Treats is for the most part a successful effort from a unique tandem. With all of the hype surrounding this album, it’s easy to get swept into the hipster bandwagon. But in reality, this is a solid effort from a fledgling band that might actually have staying power — not merely those 15 minutes of Internet stardom.

The opening track demonstrates The Dead Weather’s growing assurance in the band dynamic. “Blue Blood Blues” establishes the self-imposed resistance by which the album lives and dies. It shakes with angry defiance. The guitars punch in staccato over a simple drumbeat before falling into an easy guitar riff, but the music continually undercuts itself. The song breaks down as soon as it begins to assume a standard form. The obvious riff falters after one bar, outdone by a single, defiant crunch of Dean Fertita’s guitar. The song constantly denies the listener’s expectations. With The Dead Weather, assumed harmonies dissolve. The instruments compete with each other. The vocals oppose the instruments, and the two rarely coexist harmoniously. “Check your lips at the door woman / Shake your hips like battleships,” shouts White against the music. “Blue Blood Blues” struggles against itself in typical Jack White fashion, providing the raw energy upon which The Dead Weather relies.

“Sea of Cowards” is an exploration of rhythm and sexuality. It is a triumph of the instinctual over the systematic. Charisma replaces structure. The bass drives heavy. The drums compel you to swagger. Songs like “Hustle and Cuss” trust a primal groove to give direction. It is the most potent realization of The Dead Weather’s exploratory mode. “Hustle and Cuss” starts with a simple bass riff and unconsciously extends outward. The song follows the intuition of feeling. While the song gains energy as it progresses, The Dead Weather are experts in the use of silence to contrast rhythm. The music grows and fades with a breathing instinct.

The Dead Weather’s defining antagonism simultaneously limits their potential for success. “Sea of Cowards” thrives on opposition. The music derives its energy from denial. Consequently, the album lacks the order of melody that might give The Dead Weather the popularity enjoyed by The White Stripes. Indeed, the album’s highlight comes in “Die by the Drop,” in which they forgo instinct for a familiar song structure. It maintains the volatile mood but does away with the exploration. This song suggests a possible new direction for The Dead Weather. Will their next album perfect their exploratory instincts, or will they use “Die by the Drop” as a model for structured swagger? Hopefully we will only have to wait 10 months to find out.

The great strength of both songs was their unimaginable confidence; they were both statements, perceptive ones, about fundamental areas of human experience–loss, recollection, insecurity, and regret. Murphy seemed to take minimal solace from either effort, but for a weary indie sensibility in the latter part of the decade, the two songs could not have felt more significant, more like important statements. For the band, they were a different kind of statement: mini-artistic manifestos, two separate, inarguable indications that they could make music that meant something.

These two songs, and the twin courses they offer the band for capturing significance through a beautiful resignation and detachment, cast a long shadow over LCD’s third album, “This is Happening.” They’re a source of credibility, a reason for giddy anticipation and above all, a challenge–can Murphy throw down another gem? Will he make a new statement?

To this last and most pressing question: no. There’s no successor here. The album offers nine tracks, seven clocking in at over six minutes, but no song makes a play for the crown. And because this means none of the songs are trying to be statements, this is very much a good thing. The album finds Murphy bringing the confidence of LCD away from reserved observation to engage in some good, old-fashioned human warmth, mixing it up with the play of love and connection.

“Dance Yrself Clean” opens in a sweet spot for the band, laying down an irresistible percussive line and letting Murphy drop some of his finely observed couplets. When the song lets loose with a ragged burst of synthesizers, however, it heads somewhere grasping, even confrontational: “Don’t you want me to wake up?” he belts out, before adding “then give me just a bit of your time.” It’s the first indication that Murphy wants out of the effortless sweet spot he’s found, away from detachment, even if it means sounding less important.

It’s not that LCD Soundsystem has never been a fun band, but the enjoyment has always had a sharp edge, more the happiness you get from hearing something clever than the un-self-conscious joy of something less calculated. Across the album, LCD works to fight falling back by bringing something new to its old habits. The warm shimmer of “You Wanted a Hit” softens its defiance and confidence and points to a desire for simple connection: “We won’t be your babies–’till you take us home,” Murphy writes, declining to simply dispense with the wit. Even the danceable “Pow Pow,” eight minutes of Murphy reveling in his cleverness, overflows with exuberance: he’s less defensive and more engaged, and the music below his half-spoken lyrics is all peppy mischief.

“I Can Change” goes for something else entirely: for all its flirtations with cynicism and its self-deprecating melancholy, it’s a flat-out love song, and to hear Murphy operate in that mode is a delight. “Dance with me until I feel alright,” he says, and while he reminds us that “love is a murderer,” it’s clear that he’s friends with him anyway. This resignation to a measure of unhappiness as a starting point, rather than a conclusion, shows up elsewhere on album centerpiece “All I Want.” A hum of rough guitars almost drowns Murphy’s voice, his words coming through clearly only on the chorus, when he pleads, “All I want is your pity…All I want is your pity tears.” It’s mopey, even laughable phrasing, but to its credit, it plays far differently with the music, and that’s precisely the point: no one should be reading the song. And when he belts out “take me home” in the song’s closing minutes, the sense that Murphy is finally comfortable with letting the walls down is a source for great comfort. His self-criticism and outright longing may not be the stuff of delight, but the naked sincerity underlying his words is: Murphy is looking forward, not backward, trying to change the story rather than narrate it perfectly.

Fittingly, “This is Happening” isn’t as neat a thesis as I’d like it to be. There are two certified relics among the bunch: the catchy “One Touch” sounds uncannily like a “Sound of Silver” b-side, a glum dance track where Murphy retreats back into aloofness. “Drunk Girls” is another LCD staple, the “fun single.” Yet on a record where Murphy is reaching out much more often, to greater effect and with more sincerity, the loosen-things-up role the single played on prior efforts isn’t necessary. The other tracks are happy to put on the party this time, while “Girls” comes off as making wisecracks in the next room. Yet even in these two flashbacks to an older LCD, there are glimpses of a longing to get down and participate: on “Drunk Girls,” Murphy calls out: “I believe in waking up together…so that means making eyes across the room.”

All the warmth and simple goodness of what Murphy is reaching for culminates in “Home,” the album’s gorgeous closer and perhaps its standout offering. The track dials down the anthemic reach, adds a warm glow to the glitchy percussion and settles into an almost sunny groove. Floating above, Murphy enters thinking he should write another statement: “Just do it right, make it perfect and real.” Yet he casts the project aside, confessing that his grasp on what makes us all tick may be a pose to let go of: “Under lights we’re all unsure,” he admits, and when he calls out that “no one really knows what you’re talking about,” it’s part accusation and part confession. He’s happy to let his finely-tuned narrative structures fray and dissemble, and the band is with him all the way, rising up to meet him and brimming with good feeling.

Murphy and his collaborators have become content with connecting more meaningfully, rather than being more meaningful, and the results couldn’t be any warmer or more inviting. I, for one, hope Murphy stays here with us for a while–he’s been outside too long.

“Take me home,” Murphy asks throughout the album. “This is Happening” comes out May 17–and you should listen to him.

With lyrics harnessing the intimacy of a conversation overheard in the next room and Matt Berninger’s note-perfect voice, High Violet doesn’t mark newly broken ground for the National. Rather, it’s a haunted and lovely return to the acclaimed material on Boxer and Alligator. This time around, Berninger prefers an extremely polished record reminiscent of their earlier work to something radically different or experimental. The National has settled comfortably in the territory they know so well, and it’s an exquisite pleasure that rivals the 2007 classic Boxer in its sweeping, tragic scale.

Despite Berninger’s signature bleakness, he doesn’t hesitate to be ironic or cheeky like in “Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks” whose title seems to be a summation of the band’s entire project. The epic yet dulcet melody of “England” shows the band’s ability to master the piano ballad as Berninger supplements his vocal track with chilling harmonies – and this is something he does throughout Violet. Unafraid of a shift in tone, moments such as these seamlessly explode into a kind of rock able choir music. Dually, Berninger and his cohorts brandish their ability to create a fast-tempo track with moody, if heavy-handed, lyricism in “Sorrow” (“Sorrow’s my body on the waves/Sorrow’s a girl in a cage”).

The quiet, almost tactile labor of High Violet is one of love – and of a band committed to their art rather than commercial success. Though the National is certainly a headlining act, there’s nothing overtly marketable about this album-but that’s because Berninger has refused to let fame corrupt his craft. Despite a decade of music under the National’s belt, blood still runs fecund in their veins.

There’s something about a grower that keeps you coming back, keeps you curious, offering new revelations with each listen. It’s like a puzzle, teasing you and only slowly revealing itself as you edge closer to the light you’re sure is at the end of the tunnel. And while The National’s newest record, High Violet, is certainly a grower, extracting any substance from underneath its endless layers may ultimately be for naught.

As hinted at on 2007’s Boxer, High Violet is loaded with heavy textures. The pillars of rock are all there — drums, bass, piano, guitar — but it’s the thick strings and occasional horns that give it that extra push; you’d be hard-pressed to pick out guests Sufjan Stevens and Justin Vernon from the mix. Maybe getting lost in The National’s orchestral fog is all part of it — they’ve managed to create a sound whose sum is far greater than the parts.

The band is at its best with “Bloodbuzz Ohio” and “England,” carefully building tension with bursts of strings, horns and guitars (not to mention pounds and pounds of reverb). The former is an obvious choice for a single, with Bryan Devendorf’s mechanic drumming front and center, while the latter is a powerful, affecting anthem, its subtle organ and the unchained shouts at its climax redefining the slow-burn.

So with all the bells and whistles in place, what’s the problem?

Deadlines, as it turn out, and lead singer Matt Berninger’s inability to put meaning to paper. As chronicled in an all-too-demystifying feature by The New York Times (curiously, where the band chose to first stream the album before its release), the band struggled to finish by the date set by its label — plagued by Berninger’s half-finished lyrics, frequent infighting and dilemmas during the mixing process. But while the neatly wrapped arrangements seem mostly unfazed by the ticking clock, Berninger’s evident lack of inspiration was left unresolved.

On Boxer, Berninger’s uninterested baritone worked wonders to counter the grandeur set by the rest of his band, his poignant takes on First World problems rightfully crowning him as chairman of the bored. This time around, he seems to be grasping at straws, at odds with himself and leaving any semblance of a lyrical message at the door. Berninger’s musings have always kept a reasonable distance from real life, but now it’s becoming increasingly clear he’s not really singing about anything at all.

While there are a few poetic flashes of brilliance dotting the record, Berninger’s lyrics are, for the most part, painfully mediocre: “You and your sister live in a lemonworld / I want to sit in and die” (“Lemonworld”); “It’s a terrible love and I’m walking with spiders” (“Terrible Love”); “I was afraid I’d eat your brains / ‘Cause I’m evil” (“Conversation 16”). Why Berninger used some of these lines as a thematic anchor for entire songs is a mystery, as wince-inducing lyrics like these do nothing but squander any self-importance or emotional investment invoked by the rest of the song. It’s tough to believe him, and the record suffers for it.

You could use any number of words to describe High Violet — lush, dense or even rain-soaked — but ultimately “boring” is the one that sticks the hardest. For all its fanfare, carefully laid strings, guitars and vocals, there just isn’t enough at the bottom holding it all up. High Violet sure sounds important, but with Berninger’s lyrical fumblings on embarrassing display — seriously marring what could have been an otherwise gorgeous and complex record — mining any nuggets from it is made all the more difficult.

Make no mistake: The National is a fantastic band with a tremendous ability to capture moods with all the careful temper and power of a symphony. But High Violet shows the band’s penchant for the dramatic thwarted by a lack of substance and inspiration (or both), its towering bombast sounding all too forced.

All of the local hype barometers are skewing in DTC’s favor in the lead-up to release of their third LP, “Neighbors.” The Current is spinning standout track “Paint on the Windows” and local alt-weeklies have boasted lauding write-ups. The group’s first two LPs went largely unrecognized, but with the release of EP “Rain War” last January, tastemakers zeroed in on DTC’s densely innovative sound.

Part of DTC’s success in the Twin Cities is due to his sound’s departure from the status quo. “It’s super different than a lot of other local stuff,” said Justin Steen, member of local rockers Hunting Club , DTC’s openers for the “Neighbors” LP release show. “[Freed] represents what I wish a lot of people represented, which is something different — not ‘Juno’ soundtrack folk music.”

While DTC’s vibe is a local novelty, one national comparison keeps rearing its head: Animal Collective. “It really doesn’t bother me. They’re my favorite band playing music these days. They’ve had a big influence on what I do,” Freed said, adding his only concern is if listeners would accuse him of taste-baiting or straight-up mimicry.

The Animal Collective ties aren’t strictly sonic; Freed contacted prominent producer Scott Colburn — a wing and a prayer attempt, admittedly, but one that worked. The man behind the board on AC’s “Feels” and “Strawberry Jam” actually recorded “Rain War” and “Neighbors” in Seattle last fall.

“He knows every indie band and their managers,” Freed said of Colburn, who even offered his home as a crash pad. “You’re used to people like that being completely unattainable.”

Colburn’s professional spit-polish is evident, as the songs on “Rain War” and “Neighbors” have unlikely depth. A wash of samples, loops and kitchen-sink instrumentation, songs that would be callow stabs at artiness by lesser musicians ring true with DTC. Freed’s vocals are passable — emotionally volatile, boyish and earnest — but it’s clear he’s a music geek to the core, with the complex arrangements usurping the lot of his focus.

“It’s an addiction, writing music. It’s all I ever want to do,” he said. “The technicality of playing music doesn’t interest me that much.”

It’d be fruitless to adorn DTC with the next scene-darling crown. Critics — this one included — are fickle beasts, after all. But to Freed’s credit, he’s giving DTC his all, even getting kicked out of McNally Smith College of Music for absenteeism. With the record release, a wedding and a national tour on the horizon, the Menards job he so excelled at will soon be history, too.

“This band has consumed my life since it started,” Freed said. “Since I’ve moved here every second of every single day has been about this band.”

No, Freed isn’t lost in rock star fantasy realm. “Billy, from the beginning, as a musician, just wants to get the music in as many peoples’ hands as possible,” said Joel Cooper, DTC’s manager and occasional member. “He just wants people to hear it.”

And for Freed, a middle school jock that discovered Phish and never looked back, his ambitions are steadfast: “My goal is to be able to make a living off it,” he said.

Stud producer? Check. Total devotion? Check. A markedly different, skillful sound? Triple check. Time will tell where a soon-to-be newlywed Freed takes DTC, but in the meantime he’s giving the Twin Cities a break from the indie-pop-by-numbers doldrums.

While nothing new or revolutionary, Sing It Loud’s upcoming album may be what it takes for this band to break onto radio waves. Covering the same musical ground as bands such as Jack’s Mannequin or The All-American Rejects, “Everything Collide“ is so sweetly poppy that its embrace by the younger bright-eyed crowd is almost guaranteed. For all the rest of the cynical music zombies out there, the only reaction will be a dial change or a push of the skip button.

This is not to say that the album is without merit. Produced by area pop-punk super producer Jordan Schmidt, who has produced or engineered albums for the likes of Motion City Soundtrack and Metro Station, the tracks are slick and perfectly mastered. Lead singer and guitarist Pat Brown has obviously released a torrent of emotion into the record.

“Over the past year and a half, we’ve grown up so much, like, on the road.” Brown said. “On this record, we had a lot more to write about lyrically. There are love songs, there are hate songs, there are songs about our hometown. It’s a very honest and personal album.”

Brown’s boyish charm infuses their tracks with an honest immaturity. Earnest lyrics from their first single, “Sugar Sweet“ like, “She’s sugar sweet/she’s all that I need/it’s taking all that I have to hold on/her angel eyes/a clever disguise/I’m doing all that I can to move on,” are par for the course and routinely weak. Cliché after cliché, the lyrics are simple but match the musical backing. Gang choruses and cheers of “Yeah!” interspaced in songs emote a sense of youth and hope that many older bands lose.

The instrumentation follows the typical pop, mass-audience-friendly sounds. What’s a minor key? Unlike many other bands of their genre, guitar solos reminiscent of ’80s metal bands are prevalent, albeit much simpler.

“We recorded [the album] song by song after watching a Def Leppard DVD and seeing how Mutt Lange did that as a producer.”

It’s interesting that the music greedily consumed by star struck 16-year-old lovers is written by people in their 20s. (The median age of the members of Sing It Loud is 21.) Perhaps a strict life of touring and recording prevents Sing It Loud and many other bands like them from truly growing up.

The world needs this music though; without it, what else would high schoolers use to soundtrack their turbulent teen years?

In no way did this reflect any doubt in front man Craig Finn or any of the other spot-on band members, but it just seemed to be a fact of life that The Hold Steady couldn’t be the same without Nicolay and his nimble fingers.

Heaven Is Whenever, which dropped Tuesday, confirms this fact. Certainly, there is no proof that there is a causal relationship between Nicolay’s departure and the lackluster album. However, the band’s usually consistent spark, earnestness and joie de vivre only come through sporadically.

Lead track “The Sweet Part of the City” creaks open with a slow twang, a brief soundtrack to restless but peaceful summer evenings. It ambles forward with a sweet, solemn nostalgia.

“The Weekenders” echoes this tone. The track is reminiscent of classic The Hold Steady: heart-jerking tempo changes, undeniable sincerity from Finn and sharp-witted lyrics that teeter on a line between hopeful and pained. These two songs stand out above the other eight, a glimmer of excellence in what is generally an album of mediocrity.

The ballad “We Can Get Together,” which relies heavily on the repetition of “heaven is whenever we can get together,” drags on, sounding melodramatic rather than genuine. The band slows things down much more successfully on the album closer “Slight Discomfort.”

But here, too, the overzealous band doesn’t know when to stop. Although the first four minutes are lovely, the last three are entirely unnecessary. On the upbeat rock songs, the band sounds uninspired. It delivers weak excuses (“We’re good guys, but we can’t be good every night / We’re good guys, but we can’t be good our whole lives” on “Our Whole Lives”) and equally weak advice (“You won’t get every girl / You’ll love the ones you get the best” on “Soft in the Center”) over rather conventional riffs.

If you believe what Finn says on “We Can Get Together,” finding heaven is as easy as locking yourself in a bedroom with your sweetheart and the right records. Any music enthusiast will tell you that this is true — but also that Heaven Is Whenever probably shouldn’t be included on that particular playlist.

The New Pornographers have built a reputation as some of the most ingenious creators of sparkling and supremely catchy indie pop of the last 10 years. Filled with sublime harmonies and powerful arrangements, their songs have been at the forefront of critically and commercially successful independent music ever since they released their debut album “Mass Romantic” (2000). Their fifth album — “Together,” released last Tuesday — continues to refine the eminently entertaining sound for which they have come to be known, yet does little to break new ground.

Still, “Together” could be called one of their strongest albums, even if it misses the consistent, frenetic inspiration of “Mass Romantic” or the giddy yet mature and poignant highs of their last album, “Challengers” (2007).

“Together,” as the title may imply, is largely free of the angst and yearning for connection found in its predecessors. Instead, its mood is largely one of optimism, and if this may not be new territory for the New Pornographers, then it at least is a comfortable domain in which the band can produce more of its ear-pleasing melodiousness.

Starting off with the feel-good cello and guitar riffs and wordless “oh oh” harmonies of “Moves,” the new album launches directly into catchy, power-chord pop, returning the veteran New Pornographers listener to the inspirational sunny-day feeling with which he or she is by now familiar. The fevered pitch of this first song is only intensified by the transition into “Crash Years,” a song that makes inventive use of the standard descending doo-wop chord progression seen in countless tunes since the ’50s.

The song features some rather nonsensical lyrics (admittedly, nothing new for the band). In the New Pornographers’ case, however, such lyrical vagueness is hardly the point, as their words tend to serve as mood-setting bases upon which the group can hang its beautiful melodies. Indeed, by the time the song reaches its climactic fade-out of chiming harmonies set to the simultaneously poignant and hopefully promising words, “The ruins were wild / Tonight will be an open mike,” any lyrical criticisms are rendered completely irrelevant as the listener basks in the impossibly (yet genuinely) sunny soundscape the band has built.

Other highlights of the new album include the bouncy, tightly-coiled guitar and piano pop of “Sweet Talk, Sweet Talk” and the beautiful and comforting “My Shepherd,” a surprisingly (if only seemingly) standard love song featuring the soaring lead vocals of Neko Case (who usually sings backup to either frontman A.C. Newman’s straight-ahead slick rock vocals or Dan Bejar’s verbose, Bowie-esque yelps and snickers).

“At Echo Lake,” the band’s fifth release off Woodsist, is a well-composed follow-up to “Songs of Shame,” which garnered them praise for their homemade electronic fuzzy experimental sound and their dedication to songcraft that made Woods an “anomaly in the world of freaks.” But with a simple Google search, you can read all about that sort of praise by people who can say it much better than I could.

Instead, if I may, I’d like to interpret the album beyond the admittedly complex aural aesthetic.

I’ll start by telling you that this album, especially, is particularly Proustian in its perception of time. Throughout the album, there are faint suggestions of previous albums, songs and emotions we might have felt at particular points in our lives that we had originally experienced when hearing that sound, that lyric, that word.

And so, as I listen to “At Echo Lake,” my heart is flooded with memories from “How to Survive In + In the Woods” in 2007 when my aunt suffered multiple heart attacks and strokes, and died. Soon after, a very dear friend of mine, for whom I’d always been concerned, suffered a series of unexplained seizures.

I remember unreliably how I found out about it just before a ‘psychology of dating’ course I was taking and what a pitch-black joke that was, that everything was. It brings of memories from “Songs of Shame” in 2009, when I was taking my girlfriend’s father out to a bar in Austin, Texas, swollen with beer and mosquito bites, trying to convince him and myself that my life had promise and direction.

These little stray moments in the composition of the album bring back periods in our lives we thought were lost forever. Woods answers these moments with beautiful bits of concern for life and the importance of the time that we have wasted and the uncertainty of the future. The opening track “Blood Dries Darker” implies that pain and lost time and “numbers make no difference unless you shine, like you should.” “The Suffering Season,” likewise, has an almost anti-suicidal message of “who knows what tomorrow might bring?”

“At Echo Lake” is, in the end, another notch in time, another album listened to, another reflection, another chance to examine our place in time so that we may find ourselves aged. It is an opportunity to realize that we are aging and find meaning in our lost time and in the time we have yet to waste.

With the release of their newest record, Omni, they did just that; not only did they impress even the harshest of critics, but they recreated their sound in such a way that Planet of Ice may no longer appear to be a mistake.

Omni opens with the synth-heavy dance track, “My Time,” which has a funk component that can be heard throughout the rest of the album. Following this are tracks like “Secret Country” and “Hold Me Down,” which blend the hard-hitting guitar lines that Minus the Bear is best known for with the softer, more piano-based side the band showed on Planet of Ice, turning what was hailed by some as a disaster into something that can now be considered genius.

One of the album’s highlights is the sexy, sultry track “Excuses.” Featuring a stellar vocal performance from Jake Snider, the lyrics reflect a sense of romance that perfectly compliments the song’s eerie, yet passionate tone.

Another highlight is the electronic track “Animal Backwards.” The pulsing beat and whimsical vocal harmonies nearly perfect the sound the band was going for on the record, making it a track easy to put on repeat and dance to all night. It is almost certain to be a party hit for even the hippest of the Brooklynites.

Keeping up with the steamy sound showcased on “Excuses,” Omni continues with “Into the Mirror.” Focusing on a haunting keyboard hook and built upon by cascading guitar lines, “Into the Mirror” also features a female guest vocalist, Rachel Flotard; her vocals fit perfectly aside Snider’s and help to create what could be hailed as the track on Omni that is most likely to have listeners on the dance floor.

While listening to Omni in its entirety, it is extremely difficult to find a single flaw. However, nothing is perfect, and unfortunately, the album proves this with “Summer Angel.” While it is by no means terrible, the song simply does not seem up to par in comparison to the rest of the record. It attempts to find its own groove, but instead, it displays an overly repetitive chorus and lacks any elements of surprise or change.

Overall, it is clear that Minus the Bear’s efforts on Omni have brought them back to the top of their game. The album can easily be considered some of their best work to date, proving that in some cases, it takes a short fall from grace to create something that is truly beautiful. Whether that’s always the truth or not, it seems to be the story for Minus the Bear. Let’s just hope that the group does not take another dive, and continues to remain Seattle’s finest for decades to come.

The vocals and lyrics are generic. Sure, lead vocalist Jake Snider can sing pleasantly enough but it’s nothing special. And most songs are heavy on rhyming couplets and cheesy one-liners like “How you are dressed puts me into a trance.” A few good ones appear later on like, “a city living hard, this ain’t no one-bar-town,” but are padded with repetition to the point of annoyance.

The music does little to counteract the lyrics. At moments Omni sounds like toned down Modest Mouse with its whammy-bar distortion. The album’s consistency lies in the rock and funk elements produced by the electric guitar. But there is something lacking that’s hard to describe. There’s just no spark.

The beginning track sets up certain electronic expectations that are only minimally met throughout the album. The only other highlight is the third to last song “Animal Backwards,” which cleverly starts with rewinded sounds in addition to lyrics likening the love interest to a wolf. It gratifies the electro craving induced by intro track “My Time” while no others do.

Omni fails to hold the average attention span, merely bookended by unique tracks that create the illusion of a successful album. Maybe Minus the Bear should have just released a single with a strong b-side. Sometimes short and sweet is better if you can’t deliver the goods.

Unfortunate, because Challenger showcased how the singing talents of Newman, Neko Case and Dan Bejar could work so well when complemented with a capable string section. Together swaps the violin for the metal guitar. The song “Your Hands (Together)” features a heavy reverb, which fits better on Rock Band 3 than Vancouver. Yet the New Pornographers actually acquit themselves of heresy on this first single, successfully infusing a new sound into their repertoire. However, every other song attempts to incorporate these heavy chords as well, without as much skill. Ultimately, these other songs fail and tear Together asunder.

The other problem facing the band is how to go about fitting three very talented “lead” singers into 45 minutes of music. The three singers have each shown their ability to take center stage in their various side projects, but Together never really seems to synthesize their abilities like previous works did. Even worse, all these efforts of togetherness keep Case from belting out a great tune like “Valkyrie in the Roller Disco.”

Add into that cacophony a series of cameos from indie rock heavyweights like Zach Condon, Annie Clark and Will Sheff, the band might have an opportunity to redeem themselves. Indeed, with this firepower, one could expect an epic ballad from the album. Yet with all these unique and disparate voices singing, the New Pornographers can’t seem to harness the chorus and pull it together.

Whether it was her several stints in rehab in the 12 years since the band released an album or maybe just because she’s now 45 years old, vocalist Courtney Love opted to switch musical gears. Most of the album is strongly acoustic, a change in pace from Hole’s previous grungy punk approach. Original guitarist Eric Erlandson did not return, allowing for the new dynamic. Bassist Melissa Auf der Maur returns however.

For the most part, the approach works. Love’s voice is as raw as ever and conveys the same angst-driven appeal, merely with different instrumental backing. The tracks “Someone Else’s Bed” and “Pacific Coast Highway” feel heartfelt and inspire empathy in the listener.

The biggest disappointment is the album’s first single, “Skinny Little Bitch.” It is one of the few tracks molded in Hole’s former image, and its crass approach clashes with the album’s mature themes. However, the track “Loser Dust” gets back to Hole’s punk roots without the high school theatrics.

Overall, Love transitions into the new style nicely. It should help alter her recent public image as a floozy has-been.

Slash just pulled a Santana.

The ex-Guns N’ Roses lead guitarist, current Velvet Revolver guitarist and resident top hat-wearer just released his solo album. It consists of all guest appearances from his rock and pop star friends, pulling a page directly out of the famed Latin guitarist’s album “Supernatural” — but Slash replaces the Latin and chill vibes with full-on, hair metal-influenced riffage.

Slash, known for his mysterious nature and pure rock star style, was one half of what made Guns N’ Roses (the ’80s version of Led Zeppelin, if you haven’t heard of them) great. Following the band’s split, Slash started another band called Slash’s Snakepit, in which he played guitar, before forming Velvet Revolver with a few members of GnR, a guitarist for Wasted Youth and notoriously crazy ex-Stone Temple Pilot frontman Scott Weiland. He also wrote an autobiography in his spare time.

For his new self-titled effort, Slash called upon a wide array of vocalists to help him out — like Ozzy Osbourne, Iggy Pop, Lemmy Kilmister, Myles Kennedy (of Alter Bridge), Adam Levine, Andrew Stockdale (of Wolfmother) and Fergie, to name a few.

With all the various contributors, this album acts as a sort of sonic chameleon — Slash changes colors and blends in pretty well all the time, but you still know he’s there (and that’s a good thing).

Almost every song comes packaged with a head banging riff and a soul-crushing solo.

Songs like “By the Sword (featuring Stockdale)” prove just how much riff a song can take. Built on the prowess that only a member of the last generation of rock guitarists can offer, the song rocks like no other, with every other verse and chorus being a full out rock moment.

Artists also happen to bring their own styles in — for example, “Crucify the Dead (featuring Ozzy Osbourne)” takes (predictably) a very Ozzy-like tone. But it works, because he rocks just as hard as Slash does. When Motörhead’s Kilmister makes his appearance, the song molds into the famous metal two-step, but it’s just bloody awesome. Slash rips into the song with guitar virtuosity, and Kilmister gets low in his yell/growl and brings the metal.

Even in cheesy ballads like “Gotten (feat. Levine),” Slash slips bluesy solos and rockstar rock into a song that borders on sounding a bit too much like Levine’s Maroon 5 (with lyrics like “you just get me like I’ve never been gotten before”).

But hey — every hair rock album needs its cheesy ballad right? Let us not forget that “Welcome to the Jungle” was on the same Guns N’ Roses album as “Sweet Child of Mine,” and the band wrote ballads like “November Rain.”

Slash even goes instrumental to show off his skills (along with those of Dave Grohl, Nirvana and the Foo Fighters) and Duff McKagan (GnR) and solos for almost four minutes.

Even during the should-be low points of this album (the songs with Fergie and Kid Rock, for example), Slash holds it together. Just enough, mind you, but he does keep it from dipping into badness.

With his new album, Slash helps to solidify himself as a legend of the modern rock cannon. He is the ’80s embodiment of the perfect guitarist (preceded by Jimi Hendrix in the ’60s, Jimmy Page in the ’70s and followed by Kurt Cobain in the ’90s) and forever a pop culture icon.

So even if this album is just another footnote in his career, at least it has his name stamped on it — and on the disemboweled and dismembered bodies of rock he leaves behind in his riffmaking wake.

Long live Slash.

Grade: B-

She & Him is the duo of Hollywood actress-singer Zooey Deschanel and singer-songwriter M. Ward.

Their collaboration is just the latest example of a trend of Hollywood actors trying their hands at music.

But, unlike the Lindsay Lohans or Will Smiths of the past, this new crop of crossover attempts has been aimed more at critical respect than the pop charts.

She & Him does not make wildly experimental music, but it is still different from what one would expect to hear from a Hollywood star, as soft acoustics complement quiet, delicate vocals.

And, the group records for Merge Records, an indie label best known for artists like Arcade Fire, Spoon and Neutral Milk Hotel.

In addition to Deschanel’s project, more mainstream actress Scarlett Johansson has released two albums in the last two years.

The first, “Anywhere I Lay My Head,” was released in May 2008 and consisted mainly of Tom Waits covers.

Waits is a fine artist, but he holds far more critical weight in the music world than pop cachet, and his songs are certainly odd choices for a glamorous Hollywood actress to tackle on her debut album.

Johansson’s second effort, “Break Up,” released in September 2009, was an album of soft duets with singer-songwriter Pete Yorn.

Yorn is not an underground artist by any stretch — he is signed with Columbia after all — but none of his records have ever peaked higher than No. 19 on the Billboard charts.

Female actresses of the past, such as Olivia Newton John in the ’80s, have primarily tried to burn up the pop charts with their music careers, but Deschanel and Johansson have chosen to make music outside of those confines.

Ryan Gosling, star of “The Notebook,” is in the band Dead Man’s Bones, which released its self-titled debut album in October.

The band enlists the help of a children’s choir to complement haunting and ethereal male vocals, and the band members play all of the instruments used on the album. Gosling even learning how to play the cello for the track “Buried in Water.”

Dead Man’s Bones’ sound veers from classical to sparse, experimental rock, but this is not the kind of music fans are accustomed to hearing from their Hollywood stars, especially an Oscar nominee such as Gosling.

Is this a trend that is here to stay, or are these artistic pursuits just passing fancies for a select wave of actors?

As more independent music reaches the ears of people via the Internet, movie soundtracks and car commercials — think Phoenix on a Cadillac commercial or Grizzly Bear on a Volkswagen Super Bowl promo — it’s likely that many film stars will explore the realm of critically respected music as viable alternatives for a second career.

It’s hard to be critical of that.

Then you had the majority: those who loved MGMT, maybe even saw them on their Oracular tour, and yet only had three songs from the album on their iPods. (If I had to guess, “Time to Pretend,” “Kids” and “Electric Feel,” right?) It’s not that they didn’t like the rest of the album. They hadn’t heard it. MGMT was a singles-band; they didn’t provide too much impetus to look at their non-singles between plays of “Kids,” which was, in MGMT’s defense (a place I’ve had to unwillingly be, more often than not), a shame.

Because, when I saw MGMT play at Bonnaroo Music Festival last year, it wasn’t a pounding rendition of “Electric Feel” that almost blew the tent down — it was their less single-friendly tracks like “The Youth” and “Weekend Wars” that stuck with me almost a year later. Maybe it was that we were all packed in so tightly it was tough to tell the dividing line between individual people — or maybe it was the contact high emanating off the band and, well, the rest of the crowd — but MGMT showed me that night what they can do with their music after everyone stops dancing and the lights come back on.

And that’s exactly what MGMT is trying to show everyone with their new Congratulations, an album the band has specially deemed one without any big singles. It seems like a lot of the record is indeed a bit of a lashing-out against those fans with only three MGMT songs on their iPod — not to say that’s a bad thing. It’s an album full of Oracular’s psychedelic non-singles like “The Handshake” and “The Youth,” only more fleshed-out and focused, with a few extra, liberal dashes of that word “psychedelic.” So I’m betting that the people who got past “Time to Pre