While Peggy Sue's drastic musical overhaul doesn't always convince, it's an admirably brave effort which possesses enough quality to make it worth the occasional test of endurance.

While the bulk of Underworld is immediately enjoyable, there is a lot of material that is ultimately unmemorable, despite a handful of key tracks that serve to satiate until the next release.

The more adventurous shifts in style aren't without merit, but feel more curious than exciting.

Sometimes, Davies' blend of hard rock and healing doesn't quite jibe--it can lose form and drift or it can hammer its points home too hard--but there's a dogged individuality to his mission that's appealing even when the music itself is not.

They may not have as much depth as their influences, but at their best, their shiny surfaces are a lot of fun.

Maybe the record could have been improved by splitting up the opening duo of songs, maybe a less fussy production job could have done the trick.

Imperfections aside, this is a strange, oddly compelling addition to his catalog.

After eight albums that synthesize post-rock, home-listening electronica, and dub, the trio otherwise aren't up for much of a shakeup in their approach. None of the remaining seven instrumentals is novel, but they're all enjoyable on some level, cunningly shaped as ever.

Wwhile it's hard to argue that Evolution lives up to its moniker, the familiarity of the architecture is lent considerable gravitas by the overall execution, which as per usual, leaves nothing but perspiration in its wake.

While it doesn't break any new ground (for the most part), All These Countless Nights is an enjoyable listen for fans of radio-friendly hard rock that plays it safe.

There are some solid album tracks that recall the more daring aspects of the debut, particularly the abstract, dark-hued cool of the opener, "Ghouls," and the catchy and energetic "Tonight." But the rest of Brain Thrust Mastery consists of pleasantly tuneful pop songs that barely register with the listener even after several repetitions.

Sometimes, as is the case on the lovely yet slight "Bright and Still," the simplistic lyrics transcend naiveté and venture dangerously close to obtuse, but for the most part, Arnalds shows a pretty decent command of the language.

Amos doesn't record as much as most artists, and it must be tempting to give fans everything she can, but in this case, it's hurt her a bit. Still there, are many tracks here worth adding to one's Amos shelf.

The rest of the album is a little more stiff than it should have been, fault going to the antiseptic arrangements, rigid musicianship, and Johnson's wavering take on "Have Thine Own Way, Lord," which needs a lot more solemnity (or at least stability) to truly get its message across.

Just as his Def Jam-era album tracks often outshined the singles, Nash is in top form here when he forgets about hitmaking, drops his guard, and produces gems that are scenes as much as they are songs.

Upon first listen Little Honey is quite jarring for all of its textural and production shifts and dodges, but in time it settles into the listener as a mixed collection of decent songs that pack some punch, but no jaw-dropping wallops.

Semi Detached is sincere in its distrust, distaste, and ire, and by the time "Bloody Hell Fire" underlines it all as a dour closer, the album winds up a worthy companion for bad days or chucking it all.

Draw the Line is essentially another cog in the folksy wheel he's been spinning since "New Day at Midnight."

The songs have about as much personality as Ashanti's voice, but that actually is a point in its favor, since it keeps everything on an even keel and makes Gotti and Santana's stylish production the star.

One could easily imagine hearing these songs at a store and bopping along as you shop. However, where their '90s idols oozed personality and hooks that defined an era, on their album, Fifth Harmony often just sound fine.

Though it is still faithful to much of the feel of Let It Be, the presentation of Naked, including the slight bits of modern-day editing, reveals that it is revisionist history, not the final word. Which doesn't hurt it as a record -- these are great songs, after all -- but it is a bit disappointing that this long-awaited project wasn't executed with a little more care and respect for the historical record.

London Fog showcases a band who doesn't know its own attributes, and that's why it's worthwhile: it's the sound of a band discovering its own strengths.

Tindersticks see this anniversary celebration as a reflection of who they are as a band now, rather than merely as a reflection of their past.

The lyrics are generally focused around breakups, loss, and loneliness, and while those subjects are well-trod territory, Redway sings them with conviction, and his passionate vocals complement the tracks nicely.

Hearing Miller's unmistakable singing and songwriting style without Murry Hammond's backing vocals and the rest of the 97's chunky country-rock-pop behind him seems a little less than it could be.

Though his solo tracks are fine compositions, its when Gerald mixes the dark drum'n'bass beats with sultry elements and star female vocals, does his production come alive and the album become worthwhile.

The Blake Babies are back, melodic hooks and great songs in tow.

Despite another notable drop in songwriting from its predecessor, Sing When You're Winning ultimately succeeds, and most of the credit must go to Robbie Williams himself. Amidst a raft of overly familiar arrangements and lyrical themes, Williams proves the consummate entertainer by delivering powerful, engaging vocals...