It takes a few tracks for the album’s energy to ramp up, but by the time you reach “To Be Young,” the pop craftsmanship and solid performance have drawn you in.

Thankfully the somewhat imposing concept never gets in the way of moving, often raw, always organic rock and roll as Malin adds another impressive entry into his already inspiring resume.

At just over 30 minutes, it’s over pretty quickly so let’s hope this is just the beginning of a fruitful musical relationship.

While Mould’s never been a wallflower when it comes to expressing his aggression and rage, Blue Hearts — perhaps more than any of his other individual outings — recalls the fury of Hüsker Dü in both its intensity and aggression.

While doubters might see this as a quirky, flash in the pan, Tiny Tim styled anomaly, there is no denying the goofy delight and enthusiasm that jumps out of the speakers on every track of this immensely enjoyable, if decidedly unconventional, album.

Country rock done right, ie: without anyone taking themselves too seriously.

Overall, this is another quality entry into Thompson’s bulging yet impressive discography. It’s one that lets us explore the darkest recesses of his diary while composing tense, emotionally spellbinding music reflecting those feelings. At the same time he displays a talent for snaking, occasionally wordy songwriting and gripping lead guitar, both instantly identifiable as his.

Stone's in fine, strutting voice but the sensitive hesitation of a new singer tackling soul gems ten years ago is replaced by confidence that leads to a tendency to oversing as her star has risen.

Even if this generally melancholy collection takes a few spins to sink in, Watkins has delivered a deeply personal and moving album infused with maturity and unflinching truth in both its lyrics and overall approach.

Let’s Dance is the highlight of this 11- disc compilation which finds Bowie moving from that high point to some of his most unsatisfactory, misguided, uninspired and at times even embarrassing music (the ear-wincing Mick Jagger duet on “Dancing in the Streets,” anyone?). ... Two more discs of 1987’s Glass Spider tour with Peter Frampton on guitar document a successful jaunt where Bowie rescued some of the newer material in a flashy, elaborate, well received live show. A Dance platter of extended 12 mixes included here is for diehards only and the fourth volume of Re: Call collects another two platters of rarities, single edits, hard to find live tracks and the like.

Bursting with enough potential singles to suggest that the most-played male artist of the last decade will continue to dominate country radio.

This is shrewd, layered music that demands the songs be mulled over and scrutinized; even if that may not provide answers to questions McCombs poses.

Combining their soft and sensual harmonies and energetic, pop song craft into a set of lovely songs, Beauty Queen Sister confirms The Indigo Girls are still making invigorating and emotional music, have plenty left to say and show no signs of slowing down or easing into nostalgia.

The songs that stand out here are the ones that have the most authentic feel.

The Age of Adz builds on his previous dabblings in electronica by integrating the ideas he has clearly been stewing with the aspects of his work so dear to fans.

It may have taken a while for The Bones Of What You Believe to arrive, but it more than meets the standards of all the tantalizing sneak previews.

Lyrically, Bowie it at his best here when he dives fully into off-kilter impressionism and ponders the uncertain present and apocalyptic future.

In the end, Charleston, SC 1966 doesn't break any rules or new ground, and probably wasn't meant to.

An impressive collection that’s innovative and inventive if not collaborative.

There's plenty more on Tao of the Dead that works. After years out in the cold as music critic whipping posts, this should go a long way toward reclaiming some lost luster for Trail of Dead.

On Alexander, Ebert proves he's just as capable on his own as he is sharing a stage with nine other musicians.

A band this large is best when they don’t overthink the arrangements and just groove, something you wish would happen more often on this impressive if occasionally strained release.

Support by sparse but not stark backing, make these ballads glow and shine with a low key luster.

In the end, though, the spirit is most definitely still there, and any Allman Brothers fan or blues fan needs this album. It's an event as much as a recording and a good representation of the artists that made Allman want to be a musician in the first place.

Granted, En Är För Mycket och Tusen Aldrig Nog isn’t the kind of album that aims for accessibility. Nor is it a set of songs that will invite the unsuspecting to simply hum along. However, for those that are up for a more adventurous interlude, it’s nothing less than an intriguing endeavor all around.

Ultimately, A Colossal Waste of Light takes Eyelids several steps further in terms of heft and gravitas, sharing the sense that they need not rely on hype or headlines to garner the attention they so decidedly deserve at this juncture.

The album also has its share of upbeat songs--pop-rock flavored numbers powered by bright guitar and vocal hooks that have plenty to offer radio, but considerably less to sink your teeth into upon sustained listening.

The new record is clearly an attempt to not only maintain their loyal legions, but also to expand their following through a more melodic MO. To that end, there’s a decided emphasis on providing the songs with compelling choruses, ready refrains and a sound that finds them operating within more catchy confines. To be sure, the band continues to rock both fearlessly and ferociously.

Replacing some ballads with more upbeat selections would help this disc’s flow; it gets slightly repetitious over its 50-minute playing time. Regardless, there are enough resilient moments to make this a welcome, if long overdue, addition to the group’s impressive catalog. Hopefully it won’t take another three decades for its follow-up.

The five-piece band's new album, Easy Wonderful, is full of those same universal ponderings and investigations of love.

Given that these performances take on a sparse demo-like approach, the intimacy is obvious and revealing, as if the listener is eavesdropping on the artist at a particularly vulnerable moment, or even more likely, while he’s simply opting to run through some songs for his own pleasure and satisfaction.

These diverse songs find their balance not just with a subtle mix of rootsy country, folk, pop, soul and Americana, but in Nelson’s homespun vocals inviting you to unplug and, well, do what the disc’s title suggests.

Because of the buzz behind it, Speak Now was destined to be a commercial success no matter what. Thankfully, the album succeeds on an artistic level as well.

“Little Victories” and “Dogtown Days” may add momentary muscle — albeit it tenuously at that — but overall the focus is found in decidedly hushed happenstance. Happily, it’s hard to find fault with these tender trappings, one more reason why XOXO excels with little more than a calm caress.

Not surprisingly, these songs float rather than soar as hints of organ, piano, and synthesizer augment the sparse sound without jarring the listener, lulled into Pratt’s ever so elusive world.

In the end, though, whether you're a Bennett fan or a follower of one of his duet partners, this album is nothing extraordinary, and it will be a rare listener who gives this disc more than a couple curious spins before turning to something from the Bennett catalog of yesteryear.

It adds up to a challenging, taut, and inspirational 39 minutes of music you won’t be humming after the first spin. But, because of its confidence, integrity and diversity, you’ll be back for repeated visits.

Stamey makes the most of an ordinary if engaging voice and lyrics that sometimes feel undercooked.

More than anything, it’s refreshing to hear an artist with Bird’s skill set bring to life a set of songs that deserve an audience far beyond the small cult that has already discovered them.

Ultimately, Our Two Skins is an album that begs closer examination to fully flesh out those deeper designs.

Existing fans will be thrilled with both the material and performances that show nearly 30 years down the line, the twosome finds innovative ways to keep their music fresh while maintaining the unique qualities that made it so distinctive to begin with.

There aren’t any future gems here on the order of “Paranoid” or the immortal “Iron Man” but these songs could have been album tracks on any of the band’s early recordings.

Still, assuming the point of any tribute album is to show the full breadth of the artist's influence, Rave On is a breezy success.

Their apparent lack of restraint more often translates to ridiculous indulgence.... Antiphon is, however, an impressively executed album, and a true feat of musicianship in a genre that is more typically driven by songwriters lacking technical ability.

Unfortunately, The Sound Of The Life Of The Mind loses a little steam after that outstanding opening trifecta, either when Folds leans too heavily on his flashy lyricism or downplays his band's instrumental strengths.

The sound is leaner, a little less rough around the edges and solidly in sync as well.

The mood is enriched by an ambitious approach to what seems on the surface to be modest pop songs, which reveal themselves to be far more elaborate, challenging and unusual.

Like her chosen alias, The Weather Station’s music is fluid and variable. This latest twist is an unexpected, yet welcome change of climate in her ongoing career.

There isn’t much new here, and if you’ve heard earlier Lewis releases, you’ve pretty much heard this one already. But there aren’t many acts out there throwing down with this kind of high-energy trashy intensity.

On his latest group of twisted tales, All Eternals Deck, Darnielle rocks between dainty ballads, expertly buttered up with lush string arrangements ("Age of Kings" and "Outer Scorpion Squadron") and hardcore lite/acoust-o-punk ("Estate Sale Sign" and "Prowl Great Cain").

While there isn’t a strict cohesion tying the record’s ten tunes together sonically, an attempted theme would likely have distracted Maines in the effort to spread her wings and show off a bit. Offering up a stylistic sampler provides a portrait of an accomplished artist setting out on her own.

Gritty yet determined, assertive but still steady, Joseph offers a stealth-eyed glimpse of a world seemingly on the verge of collapse. Salvation may be elusive, but clearly Joseph won’t give way to the inevitable just yet.

Jamie is nothing if not daring, filled with fascinating, sometimes jarring musical complexities which the most skeptical listener will appreciate. Despite its relatively brief 36 minute playing time, the disc’s concepts and sheer obliqueness makes it linger far longer as a bold declaration from a restlessly creative artist with plenty on her mind.

At fifteen tracks, the formula could easily have run stale were it not for a couple of sneaky surprises.

At the end of the 20 tracks, you’ll feel both closer to yourself and to Bill Callahan as you drift along with his expansive, occasionally humorous, always provocative and quirky mindset.

Former Lives rolls along with solidly steady results, but there aren't too many songs that stand out.

This well-intentioned exercise in nostalgia is an enticing 52 minute ride (three more are on a the deluxe edition), and if it sends Gen X’ers back to the archetype versions and keeps them out of the karaoke clubs, it’s more than done its job.

While Luck or Magic isn’t a major transformation for Britta Phillips, it’s never less than an enjoyable listen. It also reaffirms her substantial if low key vocals and displays a vision as essential to the Dean & Britta albums as her higher profile husband.

Strange, inexplicable and uncomfortable are descriptions the Femmes’ are likely proud of. Their ageing indie audience expects nothing less and should be more than happy to check into this hotel of last resort.

All A Man Should Do keeps their solid streak going while tweaking the formula just enough to both earn new converts and surprise the faithful.

It’s a feeling of abject determination that makes this album different from many of Folds’ earlier endeavors, and, as a result, a somewhat more earnest offering as well. In that sense, What Matters Most reflects all its name intends to claim.

The material is consistently strong, thanks in large part to her ability to integrate her originals with a well-chosen collection of covers. And while she doesn’t feel the need to lean on standards, the material does have meaning.

Think Steely Dan minus Becker and Fagen’s wry, occasionally sneering lyrics, and you’re getting warm to Lake Street Dive’s approach.

Like the tumultuous atmosphere that was the backdrop of some of those ’60s albums, No Time for Love Songs reflects the current times with a sober and measured approach.

DiFranco stretches musical muscles to stay inspired on Binary. She continues to speak her mind with the pride, ferocity and integrity that has shaped an impressively rebellious career.

Red River Blue, alongside recent efforts by Blake's summer tour-mate Brad Paisley and wife Miranda Lambert, pretty much defines mainstream country these days – high-quality songs, great singing and musicianship, big production, and the same time-honored, predictable six or seven themes that we've all heard before.

Ellis’ first full length release taps into a discreet sense of introspection rare for any recording artist, let alone a relatively new one. It’s headphone music for lonesome, solitary Sunday mornings when the self-reflection temperature is high and the vibe is low boil.

Though he’s reportedly less than eager to release a ballad, some of the best moments of I’m a Fire are “Burnin’ Bed,” written by powerhouse Brandy Clark and Shane McAnally, that boasts a beautiful, progressive chorus and “The Secret,” that deals in death, infidelity and hidden love.

James has crafted an envelope of sound to bolster his unique, almost choirboy styled vocals, that's easy to tumble into.

The frenzied sound of “Brain Capers” implies certain complications just as “Fallout” seems intent on driving through whatever haze continues to confound us. There’s very little here that’s as clear-cut as the overall messaging might imply. Nevertheless, it’s clear that This Stupid World still manages to impart wisdom and reflection in equal and apt measures.

Supernatural Thing veers in a decidedly different direction. His cast of characters has a lot to do with that, due to the fact that he frequently cedes them the spotlight, but here again, his mood is clearly brighter all around. And that ensures Supernatural Thing doesn’t remain so ominous after all.

Young, who hails from Murfreesboro, Tennessee, is acutely aware that now is the perfect time to up the musical ante, and it appears he's done just that.

His quality control remains in place though which makes No More Worlds to Conquer another absorbing, if maybe not essential, entry into a bulging catalog that has remarkably few missteps.

Like his dad, Nelson has a way of combining emotion, humor, and happenstance in equal proportions. That said, no comparisons are necessary. At this point in his career, this Nelson rests on a reputation all his own.

Before Arrow, I thought I liked this band; I thought I liked them a lot, even. Having seen this new side, though, a better word would be "love."

The Diving Board proves that Elton John is on the right musical path once again, sounding so energized by the familiar trappings that a career renaissance, which seemed a long shot a few years back, now seems thrillingly possible.

At this stage, you’re either a fan or have decided to leave these pumpkins squashed on the porch of rock history. For those in the former category, this is Billy Corgan at his most playful and, well, enjoyable.

If Only Run proves anything, it’s that Clap Your Hands Say Yeah are still making music on their own terms--they just have the budget and freedom to pull it off with a little more flash.

One of his most accessible albums, one that’s still as delightfully, deeply odd as he has always been.

Ultimately, Heavy Nights isn’t the sort of album designed to create an immediate impression. It demands repeated listens and an opportunity to dig deep well below the surface.

It marks a certain maturity that underscores Hiatt’s authenticity as both an artist and individual, and the strength she possesses when it comes to propelling that presence forward.

When Volume 3 soars above its status as just a nice summer soundtrack are the moments when Deschanel lets some deeper emotions break through the carefree demeanor of the songs.

Besides the band's signature quirky lyrics, Join Us also retains its well-known staccato guitar and keyboard interplay as well as a tendency for crazy-quilt arrangements.

Honeymoon isn’t quite as fine as Ultraviolence, but that’s less an indictment of the new album than high praise of the older one, which feels like an immediate classic. In any case, Del Rey’s rollercoaster of a career seems to have steadied on an impressively high level.

An album that floats and hovers with challenging lyrics and a timeless sound that’s often hypnotic in its lovely, sometimes surreal, often delightful qualities.

The album’s eclectic nature never feels random. Rather, it highlight’s Foster’s natural inclusive qualities and showcases an artist who, nearly two decades into her recording career, has refined and elaborated her vision of empowered redemption, both of which are in full flight on the superb Joy Comes Back.

Ultimately, without the abundance of the fitful, electrified abandon that permeated White’s past records--plus the fact that this album is clearly just another tiny sliver of the lexicon that may someday reveal his true scheme--some fans may feel moored on a lazaretto of dissatisfaction. Yet in the meantime, at the very least, Lazaretto is a damn catchy segue spot to await the arrival of the next intricate puzzle piece.

There is more than enough proof in this sprawling set that Joe Bonamassa doesn’t intend to rest on his laurels or take his star status in the blues-rock genre for granted.

It's a record well worth listening to, and such a myriad of sounds.

As a debut for five musicians who are busy with their own careers, let’s hope there is a follow-up sooner rather than later.

Webb's knack for purging the sentimentality out of these seemingly trite topics of conversation is most commendable.

With or without Olson, the Jayhawks remain one of the lynchpins of Americana, a position they proudly solidify on the impressive Paging Mr. Proust.

After a few listens, every track reveals gem-like layers in Collingwood’s tunes, often missed on initial listens.

With Beneath The Eyrie, Pixies have finally found a new stride, releasing a solid effort that can breathe easily on its own.

At turns witty, sarcastic, evasive and chilling, Dylan's mercurial song-cycle takes listeners from the exuberant opener, through the sarcastic jibes of "Talkin' John Birch Paranoid Blues" and into the bleak sorrow of "Ballad of Hollis Brown."

The album's longer numbers (four of the ten songs are five minutes or longer) are the more successful ones, as they're better able to stretch out and create a suitably hypnotic mood.

[Their] biggest, most-produced and boldest album yet.

It’s a whiz-bang romp perfect for the Claypool faithful to devour, and may even attract some of the more roots oriented not already onboard his distorted fun-house mirror music crazy train.