MGMT's still reacting to the mainstream triumph of 2008's Oracular Spectacular, trying too hard to sound genuinely weird, as if determined to fail at any cost.

The soft lull of "Sleep Apnea" sinks into the Fossils' familiar shoegaze, but all the songs are clipped so short that atmosphere is unfortunately never given the chance to fully evolve and envelope.

Event 2 sounds close enough to the first launch that an outwardly futuristic disc sounds oddly dated. Eight years in the making, the sequel doesn't venture where no man has gone before, but it's a worthy return trip for fans of the maiden voyage.

The camp is layered on thick, just as it always was, yet this time it crosses the thin line these electro pioneers once walked with ease.

Ms Mr shows off good ideas, but they'll need to focus a little less on digital presentation and more on songwriting.

Howl weaves a compelling narrative, but it'd be more interesting if Brooks embodied the title and channeled his inner Screamin' Jay Hawkins.

Bundick doesn't have a great voice. A one-man vehicle such as Toro y Moi won't fix that issue any time soon, so it might be time for some extra help.

Does anything come close to the prize-winning likes of "1901" or "Lisztomania"? No, and that can't help but feel a little disappointing.

Not a song sticks. It's sheer style that carries this disc, albeit one that sounds great.

A 2013 mix of the LP, reportedly overseen by Albini and surviving group members Dave Grohl, Krist Novoselic, and Pat Smear, and boasting an alternate guitar solo on "Serve the Servants" and a different cello overdub on "Dumb," but otherwise it's indistinct. The bonus material gets worse: ubiquitous B-sides ("I Hate Myself and Want to Die"), boring instrumental demos, and a "Forgotten Tune" that simply sucks.

Amelita makes it abundantly clear the Dixie Chicks bite was brought by its snappy singer, but Maguire and Robison's sweetness maintains its charms.

An inconsistent collection of life-affirming pop that lurches uncomfortably like a 50-year-old twerking at a bar mitzvah.

Ultimately, it's about the extra-chunky riffs and Johan Hegg's inhuman gargle.

Workmanlike from start to finish, only the brain-stretchers bear lasting distinction.

Cokefloat! shows range, though nothing special in terms of execution.

Beginning with the naughty promise of "Closer," which voices a transgressive assertion of female sexual desire, the duo rapidly devolves into a string of whiny mash notes accentuated by tinny, synth-heavy instrumentation.

The songwriting trends to predictable formulas of ruminations upon nature leading to contemplations of love and loss.

While Lowe Country tries, it rarely satisfies.

La Futura crumbles into more of the exact same-y after that, whether it's the repetition of "I Don't Wanna Lose, Lose, You" or the dinosaur thud of "Flyin' High," which counter to its title might actually be reptilian and/or subaquatic.

Frontman Alex Ebert shoots more sincerity with the sophomore effort, which paradoxically results in a set that feels about as authentic as his previous Ima Robot persona.

We're treated to a blissful numbness, which is perfect for those who came here for the whacked out waveforms.

It's a process, not a product--frustratingly inarticulate when it matters most.

These 16 songs in 16 minutes are a lean demonstration of hardcore punk purity that only lacks memorable songs.

At 34, Paul Banks writes bitter adolescent songs, and his namesake proves he still makes it sound true.

It's both hip-hop fashionable and cheesy banal packed into one vibrant and romantic spree.

The album hits a few highs; "The World Is Watching" enchants with swirling synth lines and intoxicating guest vocals from Valentina. The lows leave one wondering what could have been if Two Door Cinema Club had challenged themselves a bit more.

It's frustrating and intriguing in equal doses.

While Home Again rockets with infinite promise and closes on the moody brilliance of the Dan Auerbach-assisted "Lasan," the interim doesn't always clear that high bar.