Many of the songs sound like they're just on the verge of achieving liftoff, never quite reaching their potential.

Uncovered feels slightly spare and quiet in comparison [to 1994's Cover Girl]--there are no productions as bright and full as that on "Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic"--but it follows the same basic formula as that album, with Colvin finding the quiet, intimate heart lying in each of these songs.

The Third Chimpanzee unmistakably feels like a side project. It's intriguing to hear what sounds and moods he can create outside of the context of his band, but even compared to the more fully realized MG, the EP merely sounds tentative. However, it's worth noting that the striking cover art was painted by Pockets Warhol, a capuchin monkey, which is fascinating.

18 Months shows Harris to be a solid producer with an easily identifiable sound.

Even considering the over-abundance of elaboration on all fronts, it's a credit to Lupe that he has made an album that cannot be processed after one or two listens, and if you have the time, its inscrutability turns into mere complexity.

At 17 tracks, it covers a lot of ground and not every track is a winner, but there's a decent number of promising artists here.

Though the record could use a few more high points, there are enough hooky songs and exciting performances to make it very promising.

The shift PINS made from their brash debut Girls Like Us to the more eclectic sounds of Wild Nights proved that they can change things up successfully, but it makes their lackluster transformation on Hot Slick even more head-scratching. While the album has some promising moments, after a five-year wait, it's a little disappointing.

The overall mood is casual, laidback, and relaxed.

[Kyle] Fischer is normally a quite capable guitarist whose antics and energy have been noticed for some time by fans at live shows. However, it seems here that his guitar work is merely meant to tread water, biding time for some big explosion that never seems to come.

Ultimately, though, the tracks and Memphis May Fire themselves are the sum of their parts and little more; like many young bands, they haven't learned yet that writing a bunch of parts isn't the same thing as writing a song.

The most successful songs are those that either embrace their influences so fully that they become glorious reproductions or those that dispense with the idol worship altogether.

It's All Around You soon becomes just another Tortoise record, so close to previous records in composition and execution that it's virtually deja vu for any listeners who know the band well.

At 23 tracks, there's a little something for everyone, and although A Day in a Yellow Beat could benefit from some pruning, it is not without its rewards.

Figuring out the why of Returns to Valley of Rain is probably fruitless, but if Gelb wants to move forward into the past with Giant Sand, at least he's doing so with style and swagger.

The execution is inarguably impressive, but the Head and the Heart have made much better music with simpler technique, and Signs of Light is the sort of album that confirms a fan's worst fears about an indie act signing with a corporate label.

By grounding it so heavily in the metal that served Spinal Tap so well, Shearer turns Smalls Change into a bit of a grueling hourlong experience--there may be the occasional taste of prog pomp or a Richard Thompson cameo, but it's all in the context of hard rock--but listened to as a series of EPs, the craft behind its silliness shines through and it's quite palatable. Which makes it not all that different from a John Entwistle album.

Ikara Colt creates an edgy, electronic/punk-inspired sound with Chat and Business, and the end result is impressively slick.

Parlour Flames feels curiously stitched together, the work of a mutual admiration society where neither party quite feels at ease to suggest a direction for their partner.

While anyone hoping for more of the same old Fear Factory will find a lot to love about The Industrialist, those who have been hoping for something different might find that the album isn't quite what they were looking for.

So Marjorie Fair's debut isn't an immediate five-star classic. But its backgrounds are incredibly well-crafted... and the songs' blend evening-sun comfort with a quiet forlornness that's somehow welcoming.

By delivering this big, sloppy valentine to everything he is and everything he loves, he's not being neat but he is true to himself.

While a few songs put the "meh" back in melodramatic ('Walking Away,' 'This Is the End'), This Is Forever is full of catchy songs that improve on the band's first album.

So while Free Somehow can't quite rival the energy of a Widespread show, it still offers something that those concerts cannot, making the album a worthwhile purchase for most dedicated fans.

The band manages a reasonable re-creation of the Ramones-esque sound the band delivered in its salad days. But if Zero comes within driving distance of the classic sound of the Rezillos, it seriously misses the mark in terms of feel.

It's overrun by the dissonance of half-step progressions and minor-chord crunch, and it's constantly excruciating.

Apart from the inclusion of 'Mrs. Vanderbilt' and 'I'm Down,' there are no surprises, either in song selection or performance, but no surprises doesn't mean no satisfaction, and this is plenty entertaining.

Unlike most electronica We Are A & C is song driven rather than a collection of grooves and noises stitched together, and therein lies its timeless pop appeal.

The affection that Sweet, Hoffs and company display for this music is the reason to hear this record: they're having such a good time playing their favorite songs, it's hard not to smile along as well.

Two Thousand is nothing if not well crafted; that it doesn't have more memorable moments is as frustrating as it is mystifying.

Ultimately, Day I Forgot lacks the emotional poignancy and experimental sonic character present on every track of Musicforthemorningafter.

There are no missteps on the album, and the group's faithful will have plenty to rock with. But Don't Tread on Me still feels like one to grow on instead of one to remember.

The Strokes indulge their every whim, and the results are their weakest album yet.

If this is Brent's album, existing for comedic reasons purely to accompany the film, then it fulfills its purpose. However, taken at face value, it's nothing more than a mish-mash of classic rock tropes and controversial lyrics.

As it is, if you delete the missteps, you can cherry-pick a really strong, really simple '80s pop EP from the remains.

The succession of guest artists is so long that it becomes disruptive. Jeremih nonetheless delivers enough slightly quavering, somewhat vulnerable sounding NC-17 and X-rated lines to keep ears perked.

None of these tunes can compete with the band's singles, of course, but that's not the point, since No Chocolate Cake sets its sights on maintaining the band's audience rather than reclaiming a spot in the mainstream.

As always, that easy touch is Travis' greatest strength, as it gives the best songs authenticity and makes the weaker songs palatable--and as Around the Bend is a fairly strong set of songs, it's easy to enjoy Travis' gentle authority.

America succeeds in representing its namesake: it's confused, inspirational, and, like Thirty Seconds To Mars circa 2018, at a serious crossroads where the future is uncertain but oddly hopeful.

Pike's solo material is loose, scattered, and unpredictable, and while it isn't quite as focused or engrossing as his work as part of groups like Szun Waves or Triosk, the unmistakable sense of mystery makes it worth checking out.

Like its predecessor, Who Me? is a showcase for Wauters' quirky, likeable personality, and balances introspective lyrics with laid-back instrumentation.

Even if The Spine is decidedly uneven, it still has enough good songs to please diehard fans and keep them around for the next album.

The album feels more slapped together than their debut.

The Who integrate the orchestra quite seamlessly throughout the performances, especially during an extended segment focused on Quadrophenia material; the orchestra helps Pete Townshend and Roger Daltrey summon a bit of the old Who's flair for bombast. Even so, the moments on the record that cut the deepest are when the band plays without the orchestra.

Not terribly different [from 'Human Conditions'], though certainly more pastoral and perhaps more middle of the road.

If the album doesn't offer any startling surprises along the lines of the furious "Black Sweat"--there's not much abandon here--there's joy in hearing Prince embrace his lyrical eccentricities as he accessorizes his smooth jams and coiled, clean funk with such oddities as laser blasts and spoken introductions from what appear to be British nurses.

What Now is less eccentrically atmospheric than its predecessor, but their boisterous energy is intoxicating enough to win you over, and their sense of fun is palpable.

Yachty's progress mostly shows up in his drive to push his music to new places, but he takes steps backwards by overpadding Lil Boat 3 with too many similar, unnecessary tracks.

It's not a buried gem or a return to form but a snapshot of an excellent musician having a pretty good run in the studio.

Apart from the breakneck 'Must Be Santa,' which barrelhouses like a barroom, Dylan doesn't really reinterpret these songs as much as simply play them with his crackerjack road band, dropping in a little flair--restoring "we'll have to muddle through somehow" to 'Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,' singing the opening of 'O Come All Ye Faithful' in its original Latin--but never pushing tunes in unexpected directions.

Islands is by no means a bad record. It's pleasant but it's unnecessary, and in an era of so many bands and so many releases, that's just not good enough.

This is an average album by a promising band who needs to find a distinct identity.

Despite all the outside input, this is Diplo's show.

If judged merely on a sonic level it's one of the more interesting, detailed adult alternative records of recent years. But that pompous narcissism is his Achilles' heel, the thing that keeps wary listeners at bay.

There's none of the emotional mess that has enlivened some of P!nk's best work, and while this sense of calm may be well earned, it does result in a tamer record.

If formulaic in approach, cosmopolitan rhythms and trippy hooks vary, and any track or combination of tracks on the album is well-suited for front-of-house play or for a soundtrack to get the party started.

The Fallen Leaf Pages is the kind of record that holds no surprises or excitement, the kind that sounds over before it reaches the halfway point.

Lost at Last, Vol. 1 is filled with loose ends and mess. ... Even if Langhorne Slim can't come up with the tunes to suit his sound, that sound is bewitching enough to make Lost at Last, Vol. 1 worth a listen.

Patched together and seemingly out-of-character as it is, the singer's fourth album does have more going for it than her third one did.

Even if Ciara imaginatively develops the "Super C" superhero introduced in the disc's booklet, she and her collaborators will have to work extra hard on the next album to ensure that she does not stall in a creative cul de sac.

Maybe it's not a major record but its mellowness is charming, and the two bluesmen play off each other like the longtime friends they are, which is an endearing thing to hear.

Both technical enough for scholastic jazz ears and organic enough for acoustic traditionalists.

Though their debut remains the high-water mark of production, catchiness, and vitality, Washed Away is a fine set to buffer Rooney's catalog.

Ultimately, Dead Man's Town is a good idea executed poorly, an effort to peel back the veneer from Springsteen's songs that manages to toss away much of the core at the same time.

The Ting Tings aren't quite ready to grow up and stop partying, but the maturation on Super Critical takes them out of the "overbearing pop flash in the pan" category and suggests they may have even more interesting statements ahead of them.

The changes are so minute and the record so unassuming and melody free that it is really hard to care about the band anymore.

Here everything feels like a copy of something that had already been done better by another band. In the end, there's little to no reason to pull this record out instead of Siamese Dream or Nothing's Shocking. Or the other three Meatbodies albums, which have all the oddball thrills and unique perspective Flora Ocean Tiger Bloom seems to have lost along the bumpy journey to completion.

Black Swan is a definite sign of progress, though, and the band would do well to follow its path on future releases.

If nothing really catches hold as a song, there's still a lot of tuneful, appealing material here, and it functions well as a party album for those hot days of summer.

While it'd be nice if the slower songs were as sticky as the speedier tunes, this nevertheless maintains a classy, well-manicured mood throughout.

Some of this works quite well, some of it is kind of juvenile, much of it is only slightly recognizable from the original, it's too long and compared to contemporary arty rock, it really isn't that arty.

Buddy Guy serves up a straight-ahead platter with Born to Play Guitar, his 28th studio album.

As they're both charismatic singers with a way with an elliptical melody, it's pleasant enough, but by the time its 45 minutes wrap up, Lotta Sea Lice feels like a party where the hosts are having a much better time than their guests.

If the songs on PlectrumElectrum don't stick the way those on Art Official Age do, it's nevertheless a quiet thrill to hear Prince spar with worthy partners, as he does throughout this record.

The duo can still cast a mood, and that's what makes this debut all the more frustrating -- all the parts are here, but they don't come together as often as they could and should.

Although Sparke thrives in quieter surroundings, her voice is capable of commanding this more confrontational material, if made slightly less distinctive in the process.

For most of Bazooka!!!, the Star Spangles sound like a rowdy bar band just playing a set of songs they love.

Arde is a low-key affair, relying on ethereal and hypnotic arrangements and slow tempos. However, there is a distinct pop sense to the album...

Skynyrd are making sturdy, old-time rock & roll for an audience that's likely peppered with Tea Partiers, the kind of Middle American worried that the world they knew is slipping away, and Last of a Dyin' Breed provides a bit of a rallying point for them: it's true to their roots but living in the moment.

As it is, BRONCHO need to head back to the studio with some Red Bull and a producer who can light a fire under them, because judging by their first album, they can do better than this.

To a casual listener, it might be a little much, but considering the Pope released an album with an electric guitar, he deserves a little credit for having some edge. Whether listeners are religious or not, these are messages that are universally comforting in dark times.

Even if Lies for the Liars has the appearance of a crossover album, a la The Black Parade, it doesn't have the substance.

City of Vultures is a solid first offering suggesting that Dickinson Jr. is capable of stepping out of his father's shadows in the future.

One listen is enough to inform the listener that this is a group of very talented musicians who are quite capable of writing tight pop songs, but don't seem terribly interested--at this point in time anyway--in going that route.

It all adds up to a good but frustrating album of really solid highs and really annoying lows.

It's a creation that's slicker and sleeker than the debut, but fortunately, it's not quite at the expense of Caillat's simple charms.

The complex but tuneful standout, "Restless Summer," offers Color Film's best shot at a pop single, but for all of its craft and musicianship, much of Living Arrangements feels like an enjoyable, if somewhat rote, tribute to the very specific sound of another era.

Taken in as an album and Azalea's constant "bow down" attitude makes this a cuckoldish experience, so think "some will pay for what others pay to avoid" and approach accordingly.

Parts of One Part Lullaby work very well, but it's also curiously flat. The modern rock production feels two years out of date -- shiny and commercial for 1996-1997, but an anomaly in 1999. ... That's not to say One Part Lullaby is a failure -- when Barlow and Davis pull it all together, the results are as strong as anything else the duo has recorded. As a whole, however, it winds up being strangely unengaging.

The Datsuns re-create the sound of a beer- and weed-fueled Saturday night in 1973, borrowing and blending the revving guitar riffs and choked, macho vocals of Thin Lizzy, Bad Company, .38 Special, and on occasion, the hornier side of Led Zeppelin.

Ultimately, the record runs too long, losing steam halfway through.... Fortunately, Jackson was clever enough to front-load this record, loading the first seven songs with really good, edgy dance numbers.

The musicians find a common ground within the eerie mysteries of old folk tunes and turn those strange sounds into something reassuring, if not quite comforting.

By showcasing the two sides of DeLonge's musical personality, To the Stars does feel like a solo album but it also does feel a bit like a warehouse--a way to clear the decks as he preps for the next great project.

Even if the newly formed Canadian quartet is still searching for its individuality, when Suuns' strengths come together--as they often do on Zeroes QC--the mix of sparse beats, razor-wire guitar, and downer melodies can be compelling.

At this point in his career, his best move is to take these types of risks, and when he does so on the ten-minute closer "The Man Who Laughs," with its underlying orchestral score by Tyler Bates (composer for the Halloween remakes The Devil's Rejects and The Watchmen), the results are compelling and unnerving in a good way.

It’s by no means a landmark, and it’s not close to their best; it’s just well-done.

Ultimately, NoNoNo have a good feel for the past, but an even better feel for the present.

Williams may like to act like a bad boy but at his heart he's a sentimental cornball and, ultimately, he winds up making mawkishness seem merry on The Christmas Present.