Dreams Worth More Than Money is surprisingly focused, presenting an uncomfortably lucid, non-pensive character study detailing the underside of the American Dream.

The album likely won't convince anyone who's already written off Best Coast, but it's a new high for a band many thought had peaked years ago.

At times, their subgenre-flipping can be ungainly--the cheerleading chant "Impossible" is awkwardly glued together, and Hervey's dissonant harmonies sometimes obscure her hooks. More often, though, the cracks in their songwriting and sonics come off as welcome decoration, and their why-the-hell-not bravado is hugely refreshing.

[The album was] rush-released by Def Jam on a low budget. It's a fact that's somewhat hard to hide behind the set's lean production and uneven narrative. But there's cohesion among most of the 13 tracks.

Heart may be a measured apology, but Green still has a defiant streak.

Half of the album finds the successful singer/actor making the kind of pop-inflected R&B once heard from En Vogue or SWV. Cool & Dre handled the bulk of the album's production, setting the star's vocals against head-nodding beats that come reasonably close to more youthful urban-radio fare.

For 2012's The Connection, the steroid-heavy production was somewhat tempered so emotional catharsis could propel the album, and the same holds true for new collection F.E.A.R. (Face Everything and Rise).

Where “Sleep” excels as a quality addition to his catalog’s stellar collection of panty-dropping and baby-making songs (see: “Take You Down,” “No BS”), others fall and lean towards prosaic.

Motion City Soundtrack's smart-aleck tendencies combine nicely with a harder sound on My Dinosaur Life, pushing the band back to its roots with enough twist to propel it in a new direction.

Coyne doesn't actually sing on the majority of these covers, but regardless, the album is decidedly refracted through a Flaming Lips light.

Produced by a handful of trusted Atlanta trap producers, DS2 is gothic, narcotic and full of overcast skies.

On Souls, Maiden mostly hits its target.

On his second album, Rokstarr, British pop-soul artist Taio Cruz croons about the highs and lows of love over a wide variety of electronic-influenced beats.

A mixed bag, but an appealingly bold one.

The uptempo songs are entertaining, but it's the ballad performances that set this disc apart.

Romance Is Boring would be better-served with more of the diversity that's found on these tracks. But those without dates on Valentine's Day should find some cheer in this danceable collection

Jason Aldean's Old Boots, New Dirt, the singer's sixth studio album is a mixture of the party songs he has become known for--but also shows a little bit more of an emotional and sensual side than listeners might be accustomed to.

Brooks doesn't do half measures, as evident on the title track, screeching guitar-rock in which he rails against technology by referencing folklore hero John Henry, who died in a steam drill competition against a machine. But it's the dramatic tunes about love gone bad that stand out.

Stuff Like That There shows that Yo La Tengo is, remarkably, still effectively the same band it was a quarter-century ago: graceful, centered and eager to play its latest finds.

The 19-track album drags a bit in its latter half, but Boosie smartly saves its emotional climax for the devastating closer, "I'm Sorry," on which he ­apologizes one by one to everyone he neglected during his prison bid.

The new album finds vocalist Dave Gahan and songwriter/multi-instrumentalist Martin Gore refining some familiar sounds and trying out some new wrinkles.

Whereas 2010's Born Free's presentation of a gentler, more ripened Rock occasionally came across as calculated, here the singer--who also produced most of this album--fits comfortably into a modern country-rock landscape that seems practically tailor-made for him: a God-fearing good old boy with a hard-rock heart and an outlaw-country spirit.

The album builds on the pair's impressive collaborative EP with Robyn, Do It Again, reinforcing that project's themes of legacy, repetition and dedication.

The whole endeavor has a “live and let live” feel that fits in perfectly with Strait’s laid-back, though never sloppy, attitude.

Legend, like Gunplay’s professed diet, is a potent mix of uppers, downers and hallucinogens; it makes for a weird, and weirdly satisfying, trip.

There's nothing on Wildheart to make one lose faith in Miguel's promise as a major creative and popular force of the decade, but neither is there enough to feel like he has satisfied his warring sides. Instead, it's a case of his sense of space still sharpening, and the hope for his full emergence, repping for a generation that won't accept outdated double binds, yet to come.

The band's classic, downtuned stomp could easily pass for an unreleased track from the "Dirt" era and is sure to keep longtime fans feeling pleasantly dystopic.

McPhee sounds much more comfortable amid Alagia's rootsy singer/songwriter settings than she did surrounded by the shiny R&B beats of her self-titled debut,

Produced with plenty of rock-radio muscle by her original guitarist, John Shanks, the 12-song set comes packed with the kind of room-rousing choruses Etheridge specialized in during her early-'90s commercial heyday

More than any previous Coldplay release, A Head Full of Dreams sounds like a pop record; the band has never been catchier.

When Clarkson forges a real emotional connection--like on the raw, personal title track, another standout vocal showcase--the album transcends the hammier, more hackneyed moments in between.

Of the book, the flick, and the soundtrack, only the music really hits hard enough to leave a lasting mark.

While it does have a couple of moments, much of the album sounds like he is just, filling out paperwork.

Behind the dance bump, Communion is confessional synth-pop with a heart full of heavy feelings.

The album finds the 36-year old singer trying to take advantage of his newfound spotlight by striving to become the full-fledged pop star he's never quite been.

Producer Greg Wells (Katy Perry, OneRepublic, Adele) dresses all that [emotional complexity and angst] up with greater sonic sophistication, guiding the All-American Rejects toward a more bombastic brand of pop.

At this point, the Brothers are effectively ­historians, and the album's most thrilling moments are often references to their own past or inspirations.

Half [of] this EP is a weak gesture in the direction of current radio trends.... But on the other half of this EP, Dream shows an impressive new dimension to his romantic games.

Although the style vs. substance debate has been raging for more than 50 years along Nashville's Music Row, there's no mystery about which side Alan Jackson falls on.

Barter 6 does not have a comparable entry point. Instead, this album offers cohesion and unity, though maybe at the expense of the exciting, what-will-happen next feel of past mixtapes.

Mario has a broken heart and he's pouring it all out on his latest set, D.N.A.

Reference points include Liars and The Fall, but Girl Band is very much its own beast.

Deja-Vu is at its best when it sounds like a victory lap, not a labored attempt to keep up.

It’s evocative and vivid, recalling early Red House Painters, or even The Blue Nile.

On Storyteller, it’s striking to hear her respond to varied musical textures by expanding her repertoire, toying with inflection and phrasing, and bringing new wrinkles to the characters she’s inhabiting.

The Album About Nothing is his most personal piece of work to date, and also his best. That hair-trigger sensitivity can be off-putting, but it's also what makes him good at what he does.

Taylor is at his best when he brings his fuddy-duddy charm.

Humanoid is no less appealingly shiny than its 2007 stateside debut, "Scream." But with the exception of the song 'Automatic,' an instantly catchy chunk of bubble-grunge perfection, it does have fewer killer melodies, which allows more of your brain to focus on Kaulitz's lyrics.

Even in English, even without bachata, Royce hasn't lost what makes him ­special: his ability to emote, to deliver lyrics as though he believes them vehemently and make the listener do the same.

New York duo the Books continue their tradition of using intriguing vocal samples behind folk-and electronic-based compositions on fourth album "The Way Out." This time around, the group also mixes jazz-fusion with quirky dialogue that ranges from meditation speeches to intimate voice mails.

The album is a good-faith effort to match or even outstrip the band's onstage eclecticism, and the musical personality shifts help relieve the group's tendency to blandness, providing cover for Brown's dutifully generic, if personable voice.

Buffet Hotel might be less about the songs and more about generating a vibe. If you subscribe to it going in, you'll check out happy.

He can sound awkward navigating Swift’s vernacular of haters and mad love, but when he plays up his strengths--the fingerpicking and strings on “Blank Space,” or changing the “Style” lyric “James Dean daydream” to “Daydream Nation,” a nod to Sonic Youth--the universality of great songwriting shines through.

The stripped-down songs on Terrible World--guitar-driven variations on God-fearing gospel ("Carolina Low") and Laurel Canyon country ("Lake Song")--are its best. After years of extravagance, dressing down turns out to be The Decemberists' strong suit.

Although it may not be a punk album through and through, songs like "The Stick" and "Where Was My Brain?" embody the genre's spirit with pounding drums, frenzied guitars and rushed deliveries (the former cut clocks in at less than two minutes), while "Mourning in America" mixes the genre's chaotic arrangements and political bite with Leo's usual power-pop flare.

EVOL doesn’t break any rules or set many new ones, but as the latest in a seemingly never-ending series of wonders Future and his team wield in their creation of druggy, downcast afterparty dispatches, it is a joy.

Amid synth-y disco ­dalliances ("Alive Tonight") and soul-funk workouts ("Your Girl"), she leaves room for snarling riffs on "Look What We've Become" and acoustic boom on "Empty Heart," reminiscent of Sheryl Crow's "Leaving Las Vegas."

Yet with its rowdy gang vocals and efficient club beats, Battle of the Sexes is ultimately more concerned with partying than with politics.

Part of the fun of The Lone Bellow is playing spot the influence: James Gang here, Staples Sisters there, Warren Zevon, Faces, lots of Crosby Stills Nash & Young. But to its credit, the band channels these icons with a commensurate amount of tact and respect.

Some of the experiments on Corazón don't work.... Still, it's fascinating to follow Santana through his Latin journey.

When It's Dark Out marks a vast leap forward: His cadences are more agile, his boasts more boastful, his guest list tighter (Too Short, E-40, Kehlani).

One that makes us hope the Queen takes a stab at even bolder covers in the future.

The more expansive arrangements suit McMahon's hyper-expressive singing, especially on a handful of cuts ("My Racing Thoughts," "Platform Fire") with keyboards by veteran session player Patrick Warren. But occasionally they make McMahon's songwriting feel less distinct than it has in the past.

On Yung Rich Nation, the band of brothers shows it’s reliable enough to deliver hits, but ambitious enough to rise to a challenge.

In this age of frivolity, Duran Duran is straight-up thriving.

The singer matches Danger Mouse's inventive sonics with his usual complement of twisty-turny melodies and dense wordplay, though compared with the Shins' relatively high-octane 2007 release, "Wincing the Night Away," such jangly space-folk tunes as "Vaporize" and "Sailing to Nowhere" can seem a little snoozy.

Every ounce of pain and acceptance rings true, not only through his raw vocal virtuosity but also thorough very live, immediate-sounding production that leaves deliberate, closely guarded space in otherwise active arrangements.

The 10-track set, which contains multiple sounds and styles, gives a brief glimpse into both artists' scattered versatility.

When Braxton isn't sulking about heartbreak, she's enjoying being a woman.

A couple of tracks feature liberally processed vocals, but the singing acts less as a melodic agent than as one more source of instrumental texture.

Consider it easing into the topic at hand, which turns out to be the songstress' most intimate and soul-baring set to date.

Last time around, on 2007's In Rainbows, the music was just as interesting as all of the hoopla surrounding the album's impromptu, pay-what-you-will release. The King of Limbs cannot boast the same.

The Remix's 10 songs won't replace Gaga's chart-topping hits, but the tracks offer enough interesting angles to attract Gaga diehards as well as casual dance music fans.

Naledge's rhymes are a complex web of pop culture references and braggadocio. Double-O's pop-soul production serves as a bright, sugary backdrop for Naledge's brag-rap.

A decade and five albums into its career, the rock band certainly sounds as youthful as ever.

The country veteran's first album for Toby Keith's Show Dog label seems well-suited to Keith's manly-man worldview.

Given his role as one of pop's most respected songwriters, Neil Diamond might be expected to fill a covers album with underappreciated obscurities by tunesmiths less highly regarded than he.

Atreyu has resharpened its teeth on its new album, "Congregation of the Damned," which features the return of Varkatzas' deadly scream. But the set still features somber moments.

On their second release No Mas, cousins George Langford and Tom Van Buskirk stake their claim in the world of electronica with an everything-but-the-kitchen-sink approach, yielding infectious but often mind-boggling results.

Like the singles "Spotlight" and "Wasted," the songs on the album that jump out most aren't the ones with creepy rhythms, but those with Gucci Mane's witty lyrical delivery.

Nothing on The Wanted's debut U.S. EP comes close to "Glad You Came," but the extended play contains a number of fine-tuned melodies that could succeed the group's latest radio hit

Seven-inch obsessives probably could have seen the debut's tangy intensity coming, but for rock fans unaware of Reatard's history, Watch Me Fall is a welcome surprise.

Blitzen Trapper again channels a variety of sounds from the '60s through the '80s to meld its own genre on its latest release.

The result is a collection rich in fan favorites, but lacking in momentum.

There's nothing here that even the Chems themselves haven't done before, but that doesn't make the sensory thrills any less giddy.

American Tragedy is a tight mash-up between contemporary sonics and old-school aesthetic.

The nearly 68-minute length of Immersion works against it at times, but the aforementioned "The Fountain" and the '80s-referencing "Encoder" make it well worth reaching the end.

Waking Up boasts enough intertwining pop melodies backed with anthemic vocals to show fans of the 2007 Timbaland-remixed track "Apologize" that OneRepublic can deliver more addictive hooks while still maintaining its own graceful and introspective sound.

Thompson's newest album, Bella, is a logical follow-up to his 2008 release, offering a similar mixture of folk, country and soft rock.

There are an awful lot of ideas swimming through Comedown's 11 tracks--some familiar, others (like Casablancas' new fascination with falsetto) not so familiar.

The Used pushes boundaries with the frenetic lead single 'Blood on My Hands,' whose video features McCracken as a gleeful, blood-soaked vigilante. But the song doesn't so much reinvent the band's sound as amplify it. Other tracks like 'Sold My Soul' and 'The Best of Me' highlight the Used's knack for crafting brutal yet crowd-pleasing anthems.

Moore spends much of his debut album, Up All Night, outlining the pleasures to be had from hot women and cold beverages.

There's a spare but exotic flavor to the 11 tracks on Die Antwoord's new album, $O$, which was first released on the Internet and now comes in a spruced-up major-label version that's noticeably polished but retains the subversive and exotic vibe of the original.

This adjunct to "Animal" is unapologetically escapist and highly programmed fun.

The Auto-Tuned vocals and cluttered background instrumentation on the title track represents a low point of the album. Luckily, the second half of "Permalight" moves away from electronics and finds Rogue Wave returning to its guitar-based, head-nodding roots.

"I Learned the Hard Way" finds an eminent R&B band playing within its comfort zone and Jones continuing to distinguish herself as a multilayered frontwoman.

Although his group has made its mark on the metalcore underground, Tuck spends most of the Welsh quartet's new album spewing venomous tirades at a variety of villains who have done him wrong. But he does it in a polished fashion that makes "Fever" the band's most commercial outing yet.

With its Motown feel, the title track finds singer Elizabeth "Z" Berg crooning about love gone wrong ("I wish you knew I'm not the one for you/You're not the one I need/And I can't stand you") over a harmonized chorus of "ooh's" from her female bandmates, but the vocals don't go down as smoothly as the Supremes. Meanwhile, it's on the standout cut "I Can See It in Your Eyes" where Berg settles into her most comfortable range and the group does its most believable impression of the Animals.