Admittedly not for everyone, Allen's music continues to breathe rare air, both haunting and delightfully thought provoking.

No Burden's Nineties crunch plus its writer's youthful sageness/naiveté fosters a propitious career launch.

Ambivalent, fatalistic, heartbroken, defiantly hopeful.

At 19 songs and more than 75 minutes, Brighter Than Creation's Dark just barely slouches to excess, mainly because it finds the Athens, Ga., quartet at its most tuneful.

Hard rhymes and bouncy hooks, stacked atop big drums and supple synths, hold steady through a barrage of guest spots.

"I live by my mistakes," exhorts Kirk Windstein on "Isolation (Desperation)," opening dirge on this NOLA quartet's ninth blunt-force trauma.

Another rock-solid batch of songs delivered at a typical easygoing pace.

Third LP How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful dispenses with that ethos [positivity on the aftermath of heartbreak], embracing the raging/wallowing period that's delivered through biblical and Greek mythological references.

[It] approaches the peak the Apples hit with 1999's Her Wallpaper Reverie.

Security delivers more epic, horn-thrusted, and tightly woven songs to launch booty into duty.

Ten years later, they've managed to capture our paranoid times and sound transcendent as well.

Forget the new school of post-punk bands. None of them approach the intensity and rhythmic engagement of Wire, still flying the pink flag of twisted rock after all these years.

The Philly Freeway was bred for stardom but ultimately rapped with a voice too gruff to break through the glitz and glamour. RAF's label loss is Rhymesayers' gain.

The Messenger rediscovers what made the Smiths' albums great--an open-minded approach to tone and a feel that colors tunes for miles.

Lambert's country credentials are secured by her and Travis Howard's "Guilty in Here."

It's a well-grooved vision filled with stunning images and sobering emotions.

Daniel recently told the Chronicle he intended the band's new compilation for folks with a "passing familiarity" of the band, and that's where it hits its mark. Here's your gateway LP to Spoon, not a comprehensive overview.

Cat Power for the next generation.

Capturing the anything-goes spirit of his hell-raising live performance, Nothin' but Blood opens a vein.

They're more punk at 70 than a truckload of Sex Pistols 45s, and still decimate every other band in your record collection.

An album full of voluptuous soul samples fused with brusque perspectives on love, life, and common thuggery.

Paired with Bruton's lyricism, co-producer T Bone Burnett's saturated Americana backdrop, and Joel Guzman's accordion brushes, Bridges notches a Tex-Mex trifecta starting with opener "Hold on You" that bodes well against Burnett's other soundtrack selections, including Townes Van Zandt ("If I Needed You"), Waylon Jennings ("Are You Sure Hank Done It This Way"), and Lightnin' Hopkins ("Once a Gambler").

Like XTC's Skylarking, the Sunshine Fix's Age of the Sun utilizes the song-cycle form to take listeners on a warbling, blissed-out journey that revolves around the life-giving power of the sun as a central theme.

"Fool for Love" wouldn't have survived the twisting soundscapes of the frontman's initial EP, but it offers the same sweeping vistas.

Last Day of Summer dials up a bargain at any price.

Servant of Love is anything but standard. Griffin deftly experiments with Arabic-style guitar-picking and eerie, chanting vocals on the stark and political "Good and Gone."

If intended to initiate his career's second act, Oberst has an impressive start.

Kingdom announces a promising new talent, but now Howard must prove he can work with more than just memory.

Already heralded as Black Thought's coming out, TP finds the always-dependable MC stepping up his game with the hunger of a neglected thoroughbred.

The Primal's early, earthy strut is matched here and wrested to the dark side – Jesus and Mary's Black Rebel Motorcycle Chain, all atmospherics, with huge, galloping riffs.

Paired with his ever-fertile tunesmithery, ether-plucked choruses, and airwave melodies, singer and song beget a pop ball worth fetching again and again on Retriever.

While all this makes for a unique record, one can't help but crave just a little bit more of Darnielle's own fiery voice. [Nov 2009, p.110]

As with the first two Sword albums, Warp Riders' scene-setter claps the story slate – this time from deep space rather than middle earth as previously.

The Boston foursome's anxiously blissful take on apocalyptic concerns bends toward chamber pop after past Americana leanings, the 12 tracks grounded in plucky instrumentation and energetic harmony.

Extraordinarily talented on their own, Kelly Willis and Bruce Robison prove themselves greater together than apart on Cheater's Game.

The classic rock-scripted memoir details dysfunctional relationships, nostalgia, and insecurities lying over the hill with the same wit and effortless coolness demonstrated by the twentysomething who fronted Rilo Kiley for 15 years.

The addition of Sarah Lipstate on guitar and tape clearly allowed for greater compositional freedom.

Nicene Creedence Ed. doesn't exactly unravel Malkmus' lyrical labyrinths, but the sprawling, double-disc, 44-song set ties up all loose ends, gathering essential B-sides ('No Tan Lines'), outtakes (instrumental 'Beautiful as a Butterfly'), and live sessions.

When it's good, it's really good.

Arguably the most accessible album of his 16-year career, Migration finds British ambient electronic maven Bonobo (Simon Green) sounding completely at home on his sixth studio release.

Savage Young Dü aches breadth and depth.

This Land runs as a philosophical course correction, as a truer start on his path forward.

Hayes Carll may forever swing between his impulses, but he's come to fully embrace What It Is.

All told, Old Ideas might be Cohen's strongest effort since taking Manhattan.

The South Carolina native's sophomore platter and first for New West digs even deeper [than her debut].

The funk on the reverend's latest may be too smooth for some, but I Can't Stop will make even casual fans want to jump up and kiss somebody.

Despite the box set's girth and groovy 3-D cover, anyone who's not a hardcore completist or David Leaf understudy will be sated by the 2-CD version.

Dylan covers are always a polarizing product, yet even purists will find moments on Chimes of Freedom worthy of the legacy it extols.

With Noble Beast, Bird proves that he's a whistling Renaissance man for modern times.

A set of apocalyptic relationship odes as pretty as an ornate church hymnal and as dour as the bleakest Sunday.

The intoxicating arrangements of 'All the Years,' 'Heart of Chambers,' and closer 'Home Again' prove Devotion is haunted, a force hard to resist.

The Low Anthem finds the balance of apocalypse and subtlety sought by the Avett or Felice Brothers but never wrangled so effectively.

Thee Oh Sees distilled their focus to fine effect on 2011's Carrion Crawler/The Dream. That sweet streak continues on Floating Coffin, whose darker, more foreboding tone covers a lot of stylistic ground in its 10 tracks.

While Up isn't stylistically different from his canon, it proves that Peter Gabriel is back in the big time.

Like Cox, Monomania is an enigma, wrapped in distortion.

What a Terrible World, What a Beautiful World isn't a concept LP or any kind of statement of higher purpose. Instead, it simply illuminates the Decemberists' inviolate strengths.

Less a pessimistic declaration than a call for release, the tune ["January Song"] sets a contemplative tone that rings throughout.

From the loping swagger of "Him Belly No Go Sweet" to wild rumpus closer "Sáré Kon Kon," the orchestra proves itself the top purveyor of African funk not led by the progeny of Fela himself.

If Lissie's still searching for her best expression, My Wild West comes closer than before.

Frida's a modern woman with her own sound and fury, and Silence breaks it open.

With drunken charm and incessant jangle, Hippies may be Harlem's slop-pop consummation.

Like Arcade Fire's Funeral and The Suburbs, there's a thrashing catharsis in childhood emotions, but Sheff balances raw moments with a more mature filter.

Free of the confines of the band that made her famous, Friedberger flourishes.

Tony! Toni! Toné! has done it again!

[151A] offers a carpe-diem blend of silliness and surrealism, pathos and ethereal melodies layered like a quirky aural mille-feuille.

It's almost unimaginable, but they continue to render sounds that swirl and dissolve into something deceptively and gloriously American.

After the acerbic, introspective detour of Mutations, Mr. Hansen has decided it's time to get his freak on.

You're inclined to not like the too-self-aware man of I Love You, Honeybear, rejecting his moodiness because you can't stand another white man taking himself so fucking seriously. Then again, making fun of him is just falling into his trap.

His fifth LP ties it all together with ethereal jazz-soul in summer colors, bolstered by the nimble swing provided by members of Bob Dylan's band and New Orleans horns orchestrated again by Tin Hat Trio's Rob Burger.

With seventh LP There Is No Enemy, leader Doug Martsch fully embraces Young's mid-1970s songwriter mold--the songs are a bit slower, with a reflective urgency and pop polish that garners strength in every repeat listen – and on that ground alone the album succeeds.

The funky "Eastside," the snap and bop of "Green Light," and the honeyed coo of "Sweet Little Messages" all stand out on an effort that gets extra points for trying something different and succeeding beyond anybody's dreams.

Throughout, there's a sense that the band lives to let it all hang out--beg, scream, and shout.

Delbert McClinton tears up the blues circuit, but the easy saturation of Prick of the Litter serves up its own satisfaction.

Whereas 2004's epic completion of "Smile" allowed the Beach Boy to rewrite (and right) history, his follow-up plays like the ultimate product of that self-examination.

A most welcome comeback.

As always, the contrast between Adam Franklin's smooth pipes and his and Jimmy Hartridge's strident six-strings provides the sonic setting, enabling Swervedriver to put the brawn back in beauty.

In a certain light, bandleader Grey comes across as Springsteen from the Florida swamps – in love with his roots, yet literate enough to make his message a universal one.

'Bodysnatchers' exhibits the electioneering energy of The Bends with a monstrous riff that explodes into a spiral galaxy of guitar, but the remainder of the album flows like an extended Soma holiday.

A noisy fun house bouncing around Nirvana, the Replacements, and Guided by Voices, the Whigs' sophomore slam is just as likely to push you up against a wall as whisper pillow talk.

In Time is the best kind of band reunion, honoring and expanding the Mavericks' legacy rather than exploiting it.

There are a few 10-second temper tantrums--chief among them the heartfelt "Your Kid's an Asshole"--but Iron Reagan's genius remains injecting angel dust into songs you'll sing along to even after they whip your ass.

It's a kick in the teeth from start to finish.

Chock-full of crowd-pleasers plus a mystifying tale of Townes Van Zandt's "If I Needed You," Clark and his band once again weave a beguiling spell.

Titling your major label bow Marry Me builds certain expectations. Thankfully, everywhere on her full-length debut, Annie Clark makes the title's request impossible.

Like its predecessor, Give is edgy, irreverent, and yes, fun.

No bad news here, just more headline-making from an innovative, ever-maturing group of musicians.

The maniacal conviction with which the Hives tear nonsensical pop songs to shreds on Tyrannosaurus is no shuck 'n' jive.

These love songs aren't the kind that make you giddy, but Johnston's ability to articulate the naked foibles of human emotion and Linkous' somnambulant soundscapes elevate Fear Yourself beyond easy platitudes.

Big K.R.I.T.'s the metalloid conglomeration of the Dirty South ideal, a fiery rapper who recognizes the appeal for dousing an 8Ball & MJG collaboration with a hot vat of molasses.

Jeffery redefines what trap could be going forward.

The Loon is an exercise in heavy-lidded ballsiness.

Everything sounds vaguely familiar, but rarely has it been done with such pristine confidence.

This debut's fantastic energy does peter out toward the end, and some may consider it unfortunate that the bawdy, simplistic lyrics aren't the kind of life-changing poetry you'll want someone singing at your wedding.

Damn, it feels good.

Like Springsteen's recent return to classic form, the album feels more continuation than reprise.

Jones takes a gothic turn with "Miriam," a soaring, surreal account of a romantic rival's murder. Like so much of ... Little Broken Hearts, it kills.

No need to reinvent the wheel when it rides so smooth.

A baby elephant still, bigger, brighter than its two siblings, but it's in your kitchen, and it ain't leaving anytime soon.