The effect shifts from sophisticated to just short of snooze inducing as the disc wears on and what starts out as tasty ends up as more of the same when the vibe stays locked in its classy, stylish, chill out groove.

Some may prefer an even more stripped down approach but these tunes benefit from a bit of polish which also helps distinguish Williams from her family’s gruffer music.

It’s a fine line between revival and parody, and he walks it well, cowboy boots and all.

More often these tracks wander in search of melodies that seem frustratingly out of reach.

Tinkling pianos, vibes, tablas, brushed drums, string quartets and the singer’s innocent, laid back vocals all make this wistful gem perfect for lazy Sunday mornings. But thankfully these meditative songs never feel dreary, mopey or self-pitying due to Stamey’s sheer joy and enthusiasm.

The breezy, rhythmically complex melting-pot approach still plays a pretty big role on Candela, Mice Parade's eighth album, but more than ever, Pierce seems to have a vested interest in letting some graceful whooshes of shoegazer noise take over where necessary.

The slick varnish he [producer John Agnello] slathers on doesn't do this group any favors. Still, the melodies stick to your brain like flypaper.

Van feels fed up and disgusted, intense and focused, on Born To Sing: No Plan B, but unfortunately, the songs, more often than not, end the conversation there, leaving just a few hard knock lessons and some pretty jazz.

This is far from conventional rock, but it's rock as viewed through Cale's dark shades and skewed outsider sensibility and as such, one of his more successful and consistent outings.

There is something here for almost everyone making this a unique if inconsistently satisfying glance into the mind of one of pop's most fascinating and under-appreciated artists.

The energy level Soundgarden maintains is certainly admirable for a band whose members are all hovering around 50 years old, but this fairly narrow focus on capital-R Rock songs and little of anything else results in a homogeneity that keeps it from offering the level of depth or surprises that the band's previous albums held.

Keith's plenty good enough and smart enough to do a lot more than ably cover the bases on his annual albums whenever he wants to.

This pleasant set of smooth honky tonk finds a sweet, somewhat slick path and never wavers as it coasts through eleven slices of radio ready country.

Bird is too much of a seasoned professional to release anything less than listenable, so although none of this is particularly compelling, it's all well performed in a relatively stripped down, acoustic setting.

With the exception of the occasional detour into heartbreak ("I Don't Do Lonely Well") or empathy ("Black Tears"), it can feel like he's doing the same stylized smalltown-conjuring over and over, to the point of hollowness.

As is, our appetite has only been whetted and not satiated.

Some of his best observations get lost in the full-throttle approach of songs like "Ecce Homo" and "Still Life With A Hot Deuce And Silver Platter." It isn't until the album's second half that pace slows, some open spaces appear in the music, and Stickles' rants come into clearer focus.

If Traveler seems too random and scattered for its own good, it's never less than interesting.

It's all lovely, melancholy, lyrically moving and beautifully performed. But older fans will miss the scrappy sparks Forbert used to effortlessly radiate on crackling live performances such as his spirited 1982 King Biscuit Flower Hour set.

Top notch session musicians including guitarist David Garza and Me'Shell N'Degeocello on bass along with a few namedropping guests such as Robert Plant and Patty Griffin help flesh out these eleven often moody, reflective tunes, making this her most accomplished album to date.

These intimate performances are not made for the masses or background listening, and are all the more potent for that.

It feels like the band is playing it a tad safe here.

This is mood music, so little jumps out as the songs melt together. But a little goes a long way.

Nobody's asking the Killers to restock their eyeliner, but if they insist on making everything so over-the-top, it would serve them well to crack a smile every now and then.

Charmer is at its finest during the most subdued, quietly detailed stretches, which veer closer to what we've heard from Mann on past efforts.

There isn't much break from the gravitas throughout these dozen character driven, often lyrically obtuse songs, almost all of them sung from the first person perspective.

North seems destined to forever relegate Matchbox Twenty into the next generation of unremarkable dad rock.

With nearly 80 minutes of music that will make you hear these 17 tunes in new ways, and in most cases drive you back to the originals to stare and compare, this is one of the few covers sets that pushes boundaries but still remains respectful to a classic band and its bulging catalog of timeless music.