While the acoustic treatment is more effective on some tracks than others (certain Alex lyrics and melodies demand noise, including "Filthy Luck"), the naked distress of these versions often delivers its own power.

Even if it's not the most persuasive mood album, once the party has kicked into high gear Rebelution will certainly keep it going.

The Ragpicker’s Dream is a restrained success, at least on its own terms. It may not please some of Knopfler’s old “Money For Nothing” fans, but at this stage, he’s obviously not trying to.

The energy and inspiration are there, but as the band attempt to write more accessible material, some of the uniqueness of their past work is compromised. Still, you can't say that the album is predictable, and even if not every song hits, the band's exuberance is undeniable.

Ce is an enjoyable, finely crafted, and elegantly executed album, but at the same time very far from Caetano's best.

There's a laid-back, late-night vibe maintained throughout Obadiah, as Ford unleashes her moody croon over slow to midtempo tunes colored by piano, organ, and Tanyas member Trish Klein's guitar work and powered by mellow but funky, slow-rolling grooves.

Although the rage gauge occasionally hits the red, the melodies are too sugary and catchy to feel sincerely scathing.

Civic Jams is comforting in a way, but it generally conveys a sense of wanting to get back into the real world and feel the thrill of discovery and the excitement of shared experiences once again.

Caithlin De Marrais' graceful, yet abrasive vocals craft the dynamic of the band: well-directed musicianship without the frills of overproduced punk-inspired anthems.

The Minus 5 record really works when it gets close to power pop, such as "Got You," the sprightly "You Don't Mean It" and the wistful "A Thousand Years Away."

Returning fans may take comfort in these cathartic anthems, but those who were won over by "Poison Trees"--a return-to-form effort that combined melody with more nuanced arrangements--will prefer the deluxe edition's acoustic disc.

The album is never less than pretty, but it's so slight and drifting that it's difficult to grasp.

It's a decent second album and longtime Verve enthusiasts should leave it at that.

Muzikizum is informed by a slim, spare aesthetic that sounds more 1992 than 2002, evoking simply produced, imperial-sounding tracks from Spooky and Leftfield; in other words, the glory days of progressive house.

Though not all of the band's experiments necessarily pay off, the album feels like a worthy proving ground for the ideas that will take the band boldly into the future.

Against productions this diluted, Jurassic's top-notch rhymers -- Chali 2na, Soup, Akil -- fail to make any headway, usually spitting rhymes already familiar to listeners of their earlier work.

As of now, they've proven that they can wear the baggy tracksuits, but not that they necessarily deserve them.

Where Stevens and Peel Dream go wrong is by not adding anything distinctive or interesting to the mix. All that's left is a nostalgia trip that comes across like the Rutles minus the jokes or Beatlemania minus the mania. Somehow Agitprop Alterna is even more pleasantly derivative than their first album, and that's saying a lot!

In shifting gears to stoke their creative flames, Within Temptation have created an immersive--if not wholly original-sounding--set of songs that play to both their strengths and weaknesses.

Even though the music apparently went through a significant studio process, it's difficult to shake the feeling that it would be preferable to hear the original compositions while witnessing the production.

The power of Jane's Addiction is undiminished by Strays (this is still a band creating music unlike any other artist), but the imagination, bravado, and songwriting smarts apparent from previous classics is sadly missing.

The release is certainly pleasant, but it often seems too laid-back and sluggish to really get excited about.

Spirit Counsel is an ambitious but focused masterwork of Moore's expansive and specific approach to experimental instrumental music.

In the end, it's an admirable and interesting effort where the highs offset the lows, but those with molly in hand and dancing shoes on feet should just cool their jets and get ready to sit a spell.

Bonny Light Horseman resembles a somewhat above-average indie folk effort, not at all bad but not of lasting impact. Maybe they should have messed with this stuff a bit more.

If it didn't capture the fun of '80s pop, it just wouldn't be Chromeo. And for their third album, Pee Thug and Dave One are as campy and faithful to their roots as humanly (and robotically) possible.

While this mixed bag of sounds ensures Wonderland is a far more intriguing affair than most superstar DJ's crossover efforts, it also means Aoki may struggle to reel in the same mainstream audience that its guest list suggests he desires.

This attempt at old-fashioned star-making might have worked if Bria Valente had a smidgeon of star charisma but she's merely a pleasantly breathy crooner, slipping easily into Prince's shimmering quiet storm production.

8701 is more mood music than anything else, and while it does work fairly well on that level, it's not memorable outside of that mood.

There are enough hooks in this bouquet of confusing-if-passable genre-hopping tracks to keep him on the path to future hits, but nothing comes remotely close to the lightning in a bottle of "Old Town Road"'s accidental perfection.

Those who connect with Staind will likely find this more consistently satisfying than Break the Cycle.

Her Brit-pop soul treacle is still miles better than some of her contemporaries' top-tier offerings, and when the album connects it moves right in and starts to redecorate, but when it falters, it's akin to a chatty party guest failing to realize that everyone else has gone home.

Fans of the Maine are going to have an easy time falling in love with this one, but anyone looking for a new slice of that (relatively) old alt-rock sound should give Forever Halloween a chance to get its hooks into them.

The desperation in her voice is accentuated by her close-fisted strums on (usually) an acoustic guitar, a combination that underscores how this is music made of and for isolation.

Music to Be Murdered By sees Eminem pulling himself out of Kamikaze's wreckage somewhat, though he still falls victim to moments of willful dumbness and a tedious self-obsession that's become par for the course. On the album's best tracks, there are still hints of the fire that made Eminem a rap legend.

The album is mostly about emotion and expressing emotion, and finding the right driving piano hooks and reverbing guitar chords to enhance such feelings. All of which means that Beyond the Neighbourhood is not particularly extraordinary.

Even if it is not as original or wildly thrashin' as the first album, Post-Mortem is still a decent follow-up, especially considering that Black Tide are still only in their teens.

Akon sounds more comfortable than expected, and he reduces the lechery in favor of longing ("I wanna make up right now") and awe ("When I see you, I run out of words to say"). At times, the tensionless backdrops don't inspire Akon to do much with his pen.

Most of the time, Nelson just sounds like an old pro happy to play with whoever is in the studio, happy to sing whatever the producer puts in front of him--and that's what makes Country Music not all that different from Songbird or Countryman, which were also driven by their respective producers to places that don't seem as classically country as this purports to be.

Performance may be lacking in progress, but the effortlessness of their experiments is still very much present, and nine albums in, White Denim remain as playful as ever. Overall, longtime fans of the band are likely to be satisfied, if not dazzled, by their latest effort.

Musically, Charmer is a more polished and pop-oriented album than most of Tigers Jaw's previous work, but the core of their melodic style has changed little, and the moody urgency of the lyrics is as strong as ever.

Add a short runtime and You Disgust Me feels like an inflated EP of lost tracks and hidden heat, so marvel at their more crafted and conceptual albums, then come back here for a more free-form sampler of strange.

Blood Red Roses is indeed a personal record, capturing the snazzy life of an aging old sap who to this day has never seen a dull moment.

Deep it is not, and its aspirations to be something greater keep it from being truly trashy fun, but there are enough energy and hooks to keep Money and Celebrity entertaining.

Although Guest's interpretations work well as an accompaniment piece, it's the return-to-form original (also included here in its entirety) which remains the more essential listen.

Upon repeated plays, these lyrics fade, as does the monochromatic production, and what's left is a coming of age album anchored by some strong Swift songs, most of which are bunched at the end of the record.

On its own, listeners may be lulled to the chilly deeps of sleep, but paired with the accompanying DVD, they'll be wiping the salt spray from their brows and pulling long rows of kelp out of their teeth.

This retro vibe is appealing and it also helps undercut whatever lingering sense of fatality hangs over the album, since it suggests that Ride Me Back Home isn't a statement, but rather just another enjoyable record in a long line of enjoyable records.

The sad country warmth of "Play the Game" and the starkly fingerpicked front half of "Soon" are soothing in their implied heartache, inviting listeners to lean in and try to untangle McMahon's lyrics through her downcast mumbling. Sadly, those same mumbled vocals sometimes become a hindrance during the slower sections of the album, distracting from the otherwise well-written songs. Still, delivery affectations aside, Salt serves as a solid introduction to this sensitive and engaging artist.

Amnesiac plays like a streamlined version of Kid A, complete with blatant electronica moves and production that sacrifices songs for atmosphere.

Ultimately, while it is clear based on Factorycraft that Found aren't the same band you'd expect to hear playing at an art opening anymore, they are a band you might be pleasantly surprised to run into at a local pub, and that's something a lot harder to find.

Clinic is still one of the most intriguing acts around, and while this isn't the masterpiece the band has the potential to deliver, an interesting disappointment from them is still better than a successful but boring album from a less-inspired group.

Caught somewhere between the breezy, intricate Sea and Cake and the well-mannered orchestration of Rachel's, the band fills a space that is often vied for, yet not usually attained.

Low in High School can seem as aurally conflicted as it is politically, and that may be an appropriate look for Morrissey in 2017: He's opted for a mad world of his own creation and doesn't much care whether his fans follow or not.

He's Got... may alienate even some of Kinsella's more patient and open-eared fans, as it sometimes wanders into a slow ramble over repetitive dissonance. At the same time, its impulsive quality may be irresistible to a punkier sensibility, offering catharsis in its deliberate lack of polish and self-censorship. If it's possible to be refreshing and somewhat tedious at once, this album nails it.

Songs like "18 Wheeler" and the relationship laundry list "Boys (That I Dated in High School)" are surprising winners on an album that feels like it probably should be written off.

Monochromatic can also be read as reliable, giving the people what they want and with Chesney, that's an easy, relaxed good time…it's just, now that he's in his 40s, he makes records designed for a quiet weekend afternoon at home instead of a Friday night kegger.

The unsurprisingly inconsistent R.O.O.T.S. is hip-hop like Nas never happened, a flash or fodder album owing more to Lady GaGa than to Public Enemy.

Asleep in the Bread Isle is an everyday suburban rap album, if there is such a thing.

The album's laid-back, off-the-cuff experiments are just enjoyable instead of brilliant, but they nevertheless display the undeniable creative chemistry that the trio shares.

While Bloom isn't as thrilling as his debut Lace Up, fans of 2015's General Admission will appreciate the familiar blend of pop-savvy rap and the occasional guitar riff. Even though MGK assumes a dark and brooding energy for much of the album, the efforts toward introspective maturity are admirable.

Paper Monsters is a competent solo debut, and although it doesn't stray too far from the Depeche mold, Gahan does manage to put his own stamp on the songs.

The record is rather safe, lacking an adventurousness that is only touched upon and possibly kept under wraps for the sake of not seeming like too much of a departure.

If Good to Be... sometimes is a little too cozy -- it's executed well and its unifying spirit is evident, but a cover of "Lean on Me" still feels a little overly familiar -- it's nevertheless a warm, welcoming album that's every bit as soothing and comforting as Keb' Mo' intended it to be.

Even making an allowance for Hook's glaring absence, Music Complete is still a watered-down and uninspired album by a band that lost the plot long ago and can now only capture an occasional glimmer of what made it so great in the first place.

His father's son through and through, Baxter Dury not only sounds a bit like his old man Ian, he is attracted to a similarly chintzy production that pushes attention away from the arrangements and to his words. This is especially true on 2014's It's a Pleasure.

Kudos to the group for deciding to do a little remodeling, but it might behoove them to keep the original floor plans, as the current arrangement feels a little out of character.

These tougher remnants of the rootsy, down-home Up on the Ridge are enough to turn Home into a record that resonates longer and louder than Feel That Fire even when it shares much of the same radio-ready DNA.

Of the production teams, Vincent Pontare and Salem Al Fakir (aka Vargas & Lagola) deliver the best product, elevating "Peace of Mind," "Tough Love," and "Excuse Me Mr Sir" above the pack. A generic middle stretch is bookended by Tim's other highlights, which benefit from a group of high-profile guest stars, of which there are two clear standouts.

Collectively, the songs play like movements of a single work, making for a consistent set of low-light, David Lynch-ian ambience.

Grand Mal isn't going for anything bombastic with Bad Timing, but it's a good dose, a healthy spoonful of new millennium indie rock.

While Father of 4 is still far more interesting and better constructed than most other Migos-related solo offerings, it re-enforces the notion that the group's chemistry is a stronger force than any one of its individual members' talents.

The lack of musical and emotional evolution doesn't necessarily hamper Born Here Live Here Die Here -- it was designed as slick entertainment and that's exactly what it is -- but it does suggest Bryan may be playing with some borrowed time.

Blessed with a voice that immediately announces itself, Gray still hasn't found a musical personality to complement it.

Given how good the Felices are at what they do, fans are still likely to enjoy Life in the Dark's rambling take on American roots music, but casual observers might find their minds wandering by the time the album makes it into its final innings.

Despite a bloated track listing and a mostly overblown concept, though, Trinity (Past, Present and Future) is an excellent statement from one of the most mature groups in the rap underground.

What gives it some distinction is that there's a freshness to the music, largely dervied from its quick recording, a quality that has been lacking in his records for many years now, arguably since Big Daddy.

Still in command of strong technical skills and now rapping over instrumentals crafted with bigger budgets, Cordae falls short when he starts sounding a little too comfortably at home in the mainstream.

While Nielson would be well-served by sticking with the colorful mess of sound the band seemingly effortlessly creates, he could go the melancholy troubadour route and make that work too. Blue Record is certainly proof of that.

Panic Prevention isn't much better than its best three or four songs, and it's due to Jamie T.'s stubborn insistence on being understood only by himself, or perhaps a precious few in his coterie.

A Mary Christmas won't likely reach the high status of, say, Mariah Carey's Merry Christmas, but it's a full-effort holiday release that many of her fans should be able to enjoy for several years.

This straight-faced, more serious version of the band still knows how to crank out some solid songs, but it would seem that, in maturing, Four Year Strong have lost their way.

It's an excellent way for Jenkinson to branch out and try something different--his playing and programming is definitely up to his high standard--but aside from the sweet retro vibes, it's hardly a classic.

It's a sprawling effort with an over-70-minute running time, but also a haunting one, recommended for musically adventurous stargazers of all types.

Catfish & the Bottlemen hit their marks dutifully, rushing through their melodies but never taking it so quick that the singsong tunes don't stick, slowing down the tempo for needed breathers and ending the whole shebang with "Outside," an extended number designed to ratchet up expectations prior to the obligatory encore.

Generation Rx can feel a little bit deliberate: it may be little more than half an hour but it feels a bit longer, because the tempos are moderate and the melodies studiously avoid effervescence. All the same, Generation Rx winds up showing a way forward for Good Charlotte.

Rather than being a simple throwback band, they add their own twist by way of a dark, vaguely ominous tone.

Butcher Boy were always going to find it hard to step out of the shadows of their more celebrated chamber pop neighbors, and while Helping Hands is by no means a miserable failure in doing so, it's at its strongest when it embraces their similarities rather than their differences.

The album gathers songs of a more personal nature than were fitting for his band's fierier post-punk disposition, with a few actually predating Ought. Not that Saturday Night is a sullen acoustic-guitar record; rather, Darcy is more reflective here, sometimes channeling early solo Lou Reed and sometimes wandering into more experimental meditations.

It's nothing more than modest music for mellow good times, but it's lively enough to be fleeting fun, with enough good tunes for a mild party, preferably one that's held at home.

From Flowers' five-dollar words to the operatic bombast, every little moment of Flamingo carries weight, which means every moment cancels out the one that came before: it's all sequined stage costumes shimmering under blaring lights.

Action Adventure doesn't sound like DJ Shadow's other records, but it's exactly the type of album he would make -- a risky, expectation-bucking set that only fully makes sense to the artist himself.

Good Intentions is redeemed slightly by its incrementally improved production choices and impressive list of guest artists. The strongest songs on the lengthy album are those when NAV's juvenile lyrics and generic performances are enlivened by more talented artists dropping in to collaborate.

At 17 tracks it borders on overkill, but that's fitting for Gaga, who has made excessiveness her raison d'être, and some of the included remixes are quite good.

Another very good collection of tight playing and propulsive instrumentals.

Sees the group shift away from the more anthemic direction of their major hits ("Love Killa," "Gambler") to an airier, more vocally driven set of songs: strummed-funk tracks like "Tied to Your Body" and "Blow Your Mind" pull heavily from Justin Timberlake's early-2000s run, while others like "About Last Night" and "Better" slide toward the nostalgic disco yearnings expressed by their 2010s contemporaries.

Girl Band have similarly taken advantage of their expanded recording budget in order to craft their most bracing work yet.

Quavo Huncho is enjoyable but unmemorable. It's not quite a Migos album, but it comes close enough to tide fans over until album number four.