Not so much a series of songs as it is a musical mood.

Woman King subtly opens the sonic palette up to include more percussion, piano, and wait is that an electric guitar?

Demon Days actually is even better than its predecessor.

Her readings of the Hank Williams classic, "Cold Cold Heart" and Hoagy Carmichael's "The Nearness of You" alone are worth the price of the CD.

There's not a weak moment on this dark-horse gem of a disc.

For elder listeners Fear probably won't serve as the powerful statement it wants to be--its themes have been explored to more exacting impact before and, musically, it's fairly standard progressive fare--but it is a strong and intelligent album and for a generation that's grown numb from three-minute ditties about life at the end of the country club cul-de-sac that embrace rather than rage against the dying of the light, it may serve as a wake up call and provide hope for a brighter and more color-infused tomorrow.

Why Should the Fire Die? is certainly the trio's boldest and most creative album, albeit one that might not appeal to their earliest fans.

His talents and the heart he puts into his writing, singing, and picking remain at their peak. This stellar collection proves it--four times over.

Get Behind Me Satan is the strangest and least focused effort by these unlikely garage rock superstars to date. It's also their finest, an Exile on Main Street-ish mish-mash where the sum is greater than the parts.

Justice does appear to be that rare breed of dance artist equally capable of stimulating the body and the mind, though neither Richard James nor the Basement Jaxx need fear this act.

A diverse and engaging work.

Making no palpable effort to crack the conventional with overflowing melodies and love songs, Bird instead latches up the intellect to create tiny packages of literature that make always leave you thinking--and snapping your fingers at the same time.

Positively radiant.

The darkest, most mysterious album of his career.

Amidst all the fun is a dynamic record that holds your attention.

Longtime fans might take it like a kick to the head, but this band is clearly moving toward bigger things.

Unable to pen and record a clunker amidst his handsome ballads and cascading rockers, McCaughan coalesces sugar-coated melodies with personal, often uproarious lyrics that can make his 40-something voice sound half its age.

Not since the days of The Tom Tom Club, Bananarama, and "Lucky Star"-era Madonna, has dance-pop been this fun, this bouncy, this unabashedly optimistic.

A record that is wholly satisfying: not too overwrought and never self-assuredly slick.

Ignore it at your peril. [Amazon UK]

Fortunately, this spare approach serves Thompson well because he's such a strong and varied songwriter plus a remarkably distinctive guitarist.

Everywhere on Icky giant riffs leap and shout, with Flamenco horns and those eerie bagpipes and rhythmic shifts and Jack's impatient vocal kinetics, marking new territories even as the White Stripes again populate them with vintage ideas.

Despondent and furious by turns.

Frayed, fuzzy and undeniably excellent.

Helm takes material from a variety of sources and makes it all his own.

As a whole, the album stands as a benediction to an artist whose integrity and success has prevailed in the face of endless trends and fads that have swept away many lesser talents.

It's a more pensive presentation--dare I say it: more mature.

AMC’s second second-life album (recorded with L.A. musicians on bass and drums) is as gorgeous and disorderly as any in its nine-album catalog.