The sophomore effort's growth lies in its outlook, which still churns restlessly under his melodic pull, with an older, more reflective tone defined at the outset on openers "Folly Cub" and "Two Matchsticks" and bleeding through the weariness of "Company Time."

Cook is never overpowered by Robert Plant or other cameos by locals Ben Kweller and Patty Griffin.

On her sophomore KRS LP with the Get Down Stay Down, she sorts out emotional laundry via foot stomps and soul-searching.

It all sounds like something you've heard before, but done better, faster, slicker.

While fifth disc Heaven Is Whenever doesn't break formula, it proves slightly more temperate and introspective without compromising big riffs.

If BS's LP titles sound so corny they're painful, Alex's POV remains imminently relatable.

Diluvia's narrative gets borne into worlds beyond ours, exploring space for new galaxies and life-forms.

The title track erupts like a "Seven Nation Army...." The rest is a mixed bag.

All the songs on Astro Coast, the 10-song debut from South Florida quartet Surfer Blood, hinge on the mighty riff. Guitarist John Paul Pitts' vocals are secondary, and the guitar compensates, weaving Built to Spill's guitar heroism into three-minute shards of pop-punk.

While all three songwriters shine, the most compelling aspect of these recordings lies in the effectiveness of the shading that each adds to the others' tunes.

Faithfull's voice is too witchy for some selections--that limited vocal range is the album's downside--but she nonetheless delivers indie standards with timeless emotion, poise, and grace.

Mason displays promise, but with limited range vocally and echoes of Ben Harper, Los Lobos, and John Hiatt in his song-craft, he hasn't hit one squarely out of the park yet.

Flute and sax make the grab bag more interesting, though the dizzying range across 11 songs renders Unlearn a bit unfocused.

Strange Little Girls won't resolve the perpetual nutjob/goddess debate swirling around Amos; there's plenty of evidence on hand for either point of view.

Drive North speeds with enough teenage angst and raw vigor to coalesce into an onslaught of gleefully twisted mayhem.

Though far from cohesive, the album instead showcases Carlile's range, and suggests she can conquer any direction she chooses, or maybe even all of them.

Love and Curses is a sound entry into the Sound discography, one Cartwright seems intent on tuning up.

It's a scattershot collection of rougher material, lacking the concision and continuity that made 2003's Down the River of Golden Dreams and 2007's The Stage Names such defining works.

The sophomore LP from Steve Wynn, Scott McCaughey, Linda Pitmon, and Peter Buck picks up where 2008's Vol. 1: Frozen Ropes and Dying Quails left off, mixing musical styles to their song histories of the pastime's heroes and goats (from Bill Buckner to Mark Fidrych to Pete Rose).

Ambitious and uneven.

A sonically interesting mess but proof that not everything they record should be released.

Trouble follows the critically lauded 2006 masterstroke, "Destroyer's Rubies," and Bejar's band, returning from those sessions, makes it feel like a solid rock album.

Trill but fatalistic ("Part of the Math"), rock-tronic and soundscapish, Homies crams a mixtape on 12 inches of wax.

The results are as ebullient as they are confessional.

Let Them Drink is a time capsule buried sometime between 1967 and 1973.

Four songs clocking in at nine minutes or more, Föllakzoid's III unfolds subtly and gradually to steady, hypnotic rhythms inspired by their Andean forebears.

The locals' penchant for grandiose concepts and elongated immolation remains, but part one of Tao avoids letting the song cycle run away with the songs.

Revelation notches BJM's 24th release, as potent a psychedelic experience as you'll find in 2014.

Call Me Insane follows the formula with a couple of minor detours.

It plays like frantically turning the FM dial in the car, the neon strangeness of L.A. looming ahead.

The music roils and rumbles, allowing the group's folk roots to peek through, but it only sometimes rages or roars.

The salsa-imbued "Green" celebrates heritage and familial commitment as the LP culminates in a dreamy slow-burn.

Fitting trajectory, Felt loosens up on the seriousness gripping Suuns' last three albums into kaleidoscopic microcosms of Krautrock pulses, guitar ambience, and post-punk eruptions.

Throughout, stories curdle grim and scary, violence always hovering on the periphery.

Armed with a gorgeous warble that sounds like a gothic Chris Isaak, Peck soars over the sparse arrangements, which prove a natural complement to all the reverb, tremolo, and twang.

This is Escovedo's most diverse collection of material since 2006 John Cale production The Boxing Mirror.

Despite the melodrama, the LP's perfectly done, every note in place.

A difficult listen with subtle rewards.

Primitive and Deadly fares best when Carlson's emotive solos are afforded due perimeter.

The dancehall rhythms of the title track, originally a hit for the Staple Singers, with Neville's super soul vocals, plus the loud, proud funk of opener "504" serve up instant highlights.

Where's Rick Rubin when you need him? Lead-off "Hammer of the Gods" misses his flat sonic anvil in the separation of oracle from ocean, though succeeding burp gun "The Revengeful" discharges like one of the überproducer's concrete beatings.

Marnia, a fantasy as daunting as it is revelatory.

The result's an oddly illuminating listen, perhaps their most austere, pushing Clinic's more off-the-wall elements to the fore--as if the band's fun-house psych mirror got turned on itself.

Uncovered, the longtime local's second covers album, both respects its material's wellsprings and celebrates them through a different, and at times unrecognizable, lens.

Folklore has less of a sense of urgency than 16HP's previous recordings, but it seems to indicate the band is comfortable in its skin, albeit shifting around.

Svanangen's bright falsetto holds his miniature musical tapestries together.

Second LP We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed continues on the path blazed by their 2008 debut, all urgent joy, jubilation, and communion.

Just how bad can an LP produced by "Neil Young & Booker T. Jones with Duck Dunn and Poncho Sampedro" be? Not bad at all.

Ain't nothing fancy about these nursery rhymes, just blaze-of-glory guitars and busted-dream lyricism from the jailbait-tight godfathers of melodic punk squawk.

Compared to their eponymous EP-compilation debut, Future Women demonstrates more judicious restraint, maturity even.

Williams continues taking chances, lyrically and stylistically, but with a success rate that would only be acceptable of someone with less songwriting talent.

Whereas "Passover" came wired with explosives, Ghost airs out its thrust with mercenary inevitability.

Intersection is sure to please longtime fans, but it also strikes a more universal chord.

[Radio Music Society] positions Spalding as an artist looking forward and back, a powerful stance.

Stars and Satellites possesses moments when the band seems to be in overdrive, but overall it's much more introspective.

There are too many golden slumbers ("The Night Will Always Win"), and since the snapping and grandiose arrangement of "High Ideals" passes for the pulse quickener on Rocket, tempo could vary more, as it does in the banging build of "Open Arms," another British best in any decade.

Deadheads don't require this or any other tribute, but connecting with at least a couple of the set's five hours comes easily. Its modern cast, too, may well bridge a generational gap to rouse new converts.

It hardly takes more than a deadly Haines verse and Shaw's muscled melodies to Live It Out.

Born Again in the USA is playful, proggy, and built for black lights.

Dr. Dog evolves impressively with each album but still promises more than Fate delivers.

Brothers excels with its ballads, notably the 1960s pop swoon of "The Only One" and "Unknown Brother," while the Philly soul of Jerry Butler's "Never Gonna Give You Up" beckons for white suits and synchronized moves.

While the concept fails to stand up over the album's narrative arc, the songwriting is solid as ever, and Bachmann and [Lara] Meyerratken's combined voices will soothe even the angriest beast.

Past Time is markedly more graceful than Grass Widow's self-titled LP--just wait for those voices to wrap around your brainstem.

Like the softer moments of the AmAnSet, Magnolia tends to lull, allowing the discomfort to ease with every listen.

2007's stellar Woke on a Whaleheart found him miles from Smog's lo-fi folk prophesies, the music revived, almost jubilant. Eagle's halfway there but sounds preoccupied, his stoic baritone never giving too much away.

I Can Wonder toys with genres with resilience and resolve, resulting in something for everyone.

Loathing permeates the band's third album like xenophobia at a Trump rally. Emulating Black Flag gone grindcore, You Will Never Be One of Us beats brief thrashers "Parasite," "Made to Make You Fail," "Violence Is Forever" senseless with merciless precision.

Razorlight shoots from the hip noticeably more immediate than the group's more manicured 2004 debut.

The honeyed twang of the Austin songbird remains a hallmark on Translated, but the songs are forged with a more mature fire and relaxed tone.

Brooklyn's Ava Luna makes disparate funk for these desperate times. The band's second proper full-length packs in more references than a LinkedIn profile.

Rather than refining any creative molds, World Peace stays the course, which could just be creative enough on its own.

Want Two is a serviceable collection of songs that glimmer with Wainwright's former élan, but still wants for that old intimacy.

Though derivative of countless bands, Vivian Girls succeed in paring hazy nostalgia with big noise. It's simple and sounds good.

The Brooklyn trio's fourth album has made it out of the terrible twos, and growing pains have produced a curious pastiche.

Sophomore effort Let the Good Times Roll continues similarly [as 2012 debut, Signs & Signifier] without sinking into more of the same.

The effortless Mockingbird proves she doesn't need to write to make music that's all her own.

Time Being, as with his previous work, is laden with winning melodies and a poet's worldly insight.

Fiona's brand of heartache is a welcome, dark respite from the avalanche of popcrap.

While not as inscrutable as Yorke's finest work, Amok brings him one step closer to blurring that distinction between man and machine.

The Ride has Macha's dreamy, pulling, mournful feel, yet as the name Seaworthy implies, this is more blurry blue aquatic.

It doesn't flow as well as Scramble, but the Coathangers are masters of disguise, and Larceny's a straightforward punk album hiding darker feelings.

It's a rare talent that can express such emotions so concisely; even more rare is the ability to deliver them in a near-whisper rather than a scream.

They're still about the classic Harvey tropes of repression and longing, but Chalk's fixated on death and madness, at times feeling claustrophobic in its emptiness.

Yet for all the vintage analog atmosphere, the Portland, Ore., songwriter's sixth album continues to expand his Americana template with more of the classic AM pop sensibilities shown on 2006's "Post-War" and flooding last year's Zooey Deschanel collaboration, "She & Him."

A fascinating listen on its own, Poseidon flashes back in fine fashion on how the Indigo Girls sounded two decades ago.

Snippets of gothica integrated into a robust post-Cure party shake, which never come at the expense of the focused precision and attention to atmosphere and nuance the group's always had.

Cassadaga, while not exceptional in Oberst's canon, demonstrates a maturity that ensures his legacy beyond emo-folk.

Wolf Eyes play things a little softer, focusing more on the creep than fear.

While not nearly as brash or baiting as 1996 essential Popular Favorites, Yarber's junkyard boogie "Run for Cover," greaser ballad "Little War Child," and Friedl's "Woke Up in a Police Car" at least live up to that title.

Throughout, Klinghoffer never takes over like Dave Navarro did with One Hot Minute, but he's not knocking down any doors, either.

An introspective piano ballad about a lover's never-ending faith, keeps Into the Wide earthbound and proves Delta Spirit to be a band of significant depth.

Ben Schneider opens himself up to collaboration, even recording with a band, but his songwriting still merits a singular interface with the listener.

Recorded in Dublin, 2005, the 2-CD/1-DVD set bores through nonhits but paints a vivid picture of legends in a post-9/11 world.

Above all else, Apocalypse is an album about identity and rebirth, as Callahan shuffles through a variety of guises (gardener, sailor, songwriter) and styles (the Middle Eastern-accented "Universal Applicant") in a manner not unlike Sam Beam on Iron & Wine's recent Kiss Each Other Clean.

Several Shades of Why is a poignant meditation on loss and where to go from here and what makes it more than just a competent confessional from a graying alt-rock icon are the sonic odds and ends.

It's a far cry from the fighting optimism of "Sunny Came Home" but Shawn Colvin still writes with fearless honesty and genuine insight.

Control's opener "Options" is one of the saddest, most sincere songs to come down the pipe in years.

That Jay and 'Ye have the courtesy to stop rapping about their money and start attacking real issues--black-on-black crime in "Murder to Excellence," raising children on "New Day"--is icing on a very expensive cake.