The melodies go exactly where you want them to, as do the emotional beats, resulting in a lovely travelogue that avoids steering down any seasonal roads, and in doing so quickly fades from memory.

Detroit Stories is stuck in a confusing limbo somewhere between tribute to Detroit and another album of the kind of campy, theatrical, radio-geared hard rock Cooper has been turning in since Hey Stoopid. Never quite committing to either concept, Detroit Stories ends up feeling like a handful of solid covers of classic Detroit tunes with some Alice Cooper extras thrown in at random.

While the individual songs may not be as fun on average as those of its predecessor, Lines Redacted does drive home the feeling of dissatisfaction while, like a Ramones under the influence, locking into an admirably irreverent, distinctive persona.

Ultimately landing like a skill set in progress more than an artist fully formed, Super Monster is nevertheless sweet and full of winsome promise.

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.

In sum, those who had trouble with To the Bone, Wilson's well-executed homage to the progressive pop of Kate Bush, Tears for Fears, and Peter Gabriel, may have even more with this. Most fans, however, especially more recent ones, shouldn't find The Future Bites an inconsistent entry in Wilson's catalog, but an arguably minor one that steps sideways instead of forward.

While a bit muddled and confusing, the album certainly invites the audience to listen attentively and figure out their own interpretations.

If emotionally unresolved, Ongoing Dispute does deliver on engaging hooks and rousing choruses, at least until that wistful outro, "Friends on Ice," which closes the album in a wash of chiming guitars and circular thought.

This is a warm, low-key affair, a record about family bonds and togetherness that gets by on its gentle, endearing vibes.

This is a relaxed, generous affair, an album where the featured star and his guests defer not just to each other but to the songs they are singing.

A few of the pieces are a bit more abstract, such as the meditative "Illuminations," the title cut to Devadip Carlos Santana and Turiya Alice Coltrane's 1974 collaboration (which remains strangely overlooked within both legends' catalogs), or the performance art avant-disco of Justine & the Victorian Punks' "Still You," a 1979 Peter Gordon production. Otherwise, the group tend to focus on relaxed yet sophisticated pop with a bit of a funk tinge to it.

Not quite as malevolent as the title indicates, it's a little more openhearted than Faiyaz's earlier output, but it does contain flashes of the cynical outlook and more of the remorseless (if sensitively delivered) slow jams for which he's known.

Arriving the same year as the quasi-concept LP Migration Stories, Think of Spring, with its lo-fi esthetic and ambling gait, is compelling at times but feels more like a lark than a passion project.

His cadence and phrasing often recall those of Petty, so initially it's not hard to imagine these tunes as a collection of writing demos for his departed friends, but spend more time with Wreckless Abandon, and it becomes clear how Campbell's taste and aesthetic meshed with Petty so thoroughly, he can write a pretty good Heartbreakers record on his own.

There's some ambling charm to Greendale, but Return to Greendale won't convert doubters. Instead, it'll play well to the album's fans, as this sounds like a leaner, muscular version of the studio set.

Four or five less tracks and a little less time spent extrapolating on the end of the world would have made for a far more engaging listen, even taking into consideration how rare new material from Busta Rhymes can be in this phase of his work.

The faintly cosmopolitan dance-pop grooves and finely measured ballads offer few unexpected turns. They're set apart more by a lack of gospel and soul, consequently rendering Love Goes plain by Smith's standard -- unfortunate for an artist whose instrument is anything but that.

Such an intense, sustained focus does mean Positions succeeds in sounding sexy but it doesn't do much outside of that: apart from the title track, few songs stand out as individual songs, the rhythm and productions are all painted in shades of grey, and Grande disappears into the setting of her own design.

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.

Dark Hearts may not be entirely successful, but it's impossible to dismiss it as a failure thanks to the heart and soul Annie put into the lyrics and vocals. Also, not too many dance-pop artists are willing to explore the darkness that settles in once the bubble bursts, and she's to be commended for that.

The record is so soft and slow it can veer into the sleepy. That wasn't a problem with Turn Up the Quiet, whose stillness was compelling, so This Dream of You winds up shining a light on the accomplishment of the final album Krall and LiPuma finished in his lifetime. Together, they knew which songs to select to create a complete listen. What remained behind is nice but not quite absorbing.

It's clear that Working Men's Club are talented and there are a couple songs here that work as singles, but in the future they need to discover their own sound and let go of their tight grip on the past, both distant and recent.

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.

The songs stick to their chosen path, Wall doesn't deviate from his plaintive croon, and the stark setting starts to sound a little dull as the album lopes from one song to another.

Fittingly, it feels almost more nostalgic than modern. Young's voice quivers slightly and by supporting himself with just a guitar, he seems slightly fragile, a quality that gives these simple, straightforward covers a subtle new dimension.

Stripped of any studio sheen, the songs hearken back to the siblings' early work when they were still sculpting their heartfelt hipster hobo aesthetic.

A curious misfire that trades strength and confidence for second guessing and stylistic uncertainty.

Breach, is an inward-looking set of songs written during a deliberate period of isolation. Later recorded in Chicago with producer Brian Deck and Steve Albini, its slightly more expansive sound is evident on tracks like the lush "I, Nietzsche" and spiky "Alapathy."