Neither a departure nor a return to Segall’s usual fuzzy form, Emotional Mugger asks a lot from the listener, and it doesn’t always ask nicely.

Willowy Los Angeles art-rock group Warpaint summons a remarkably heady atmosphere on its debut album, The Fool, which follows a buzzed-about EP released last year on Los Angeles-based indie Manimal Vinyl.

A handful of tracks strewn with cheesy metaphors shows the impersonality that mars Cuomo's post-Pinkerton songwriting, despite some redeeming musical qualities that reaffirm Weezer as a purveyor of feedback and fuzz (particularly "Cleopatra," a great rock single if you ignore the lyrics).

About half of them work, though which half might depend on your love or tolerance for the players involved.

The music is more subdued than My Chemical Romance's, but Way's still not as understated as the influencers he's channeling. His storied themes of love and pain pop up throughout Hesitant Alien like embarrassing Facebook statuses. It's a largely smooth transition out of the dark and into the bright world of pop.

On its eighth full-length release, Glasgow, Scotland, indie pop group Belle & Sebastian ditch their sad-vibes-hidden-by-happy-melodies schtick in favor of legitimately upbeat songs.

It all sounds amazing on the first couple of listens, but the wheat (songs like the title track and “Did You Know?”) separates quickly from the chaff. Regardless, The Scene Between opens up a whole new lane for an artist that would have been easy to write off.

An album that works better as a musical koan than it does a hip new collection of indie folk.

Caracal is the kind of effort that diehard fans might convince themselves to appreciate, and then never play again.

The result is certainly more adventurous than anything from her peers, if a little forced.

The lyrical focus, along with raw production and eclectic instrumentation (including mandolin, strings and autoharp), give the 10-song set a heat that's honest and personal, but not quite the riveting bearing of souls that Heart is known for.

Unfortunately, "Year" lacks the grandiose thematic concepts of previous outings as well as an immediate single, like past songs "A Favor House Atlantic" or "The Suffering."

While nothing on Repentless reaches similar heights of mayhem, overall the album is more focused and fierce than its predecessor, 2009’s Hanneman-assisted World Painted Blood.

The chemistry works as expected, even if it never exceeds, or even reaches, the sum of its artists. There's no transcendent moment here, because the project is essentially a meeting of opposites who mostly stay in their lanes.

It sounds good on paper, but the album unfolds as an undifferentiated wash of music, without the big toothsome melodies that have lifted John's music for decades.

The overall sound might be slighter and less sprawling, but it's also more sharply focused.

Fiasco turns Food & Liquor II into one long tirade -- everything sucks and no one's going to fix it.

It's a quick listen, clocking in at less than 45 minutes, and the 10 tracks are laid-back--perhaps too much.

Clearly, Lambert has talent, but on Heart she's merely scratching the surface.

The band's first release since 2003, "The Chair in the Doorway," is too scattered -- and occasionally silly -- to make a serious re-impression.

Run is more of a technical accomplishment than an artistic one. Bruno the pop star is not nearly as appealing as Bruno the juggler.

Bundy's obvious affection for feisty predecessors like Loretta Lynn and Dolly Parton adds an appealing jolt to the music's already clever hooks and personal narrative. But what Bundy still needs to develop are the durable melodies and lyrical nuance that turned those artists' compositions into classics.

The album is a sprawling, experimental work defined more by ambient synth hum and field-recording rustle than by melodic hooks or danceable grooves.

All that retro angst is more rote and less involving than the way its debut tried to square loud guitars with the hooky imperatives of chart pop. In the last several tracks, though, the energy returns.

On Everything Is 4, some songs give him newfound definition, but then others distract from it.

Much of It's About Time is dense, cooking Southern rock. It can be frivolous (the bleacher-stomp shout-alongs "Club U.S.A." and "The Party's On") but has no problem nailing a groove.

Despite a few highlights, This Is Acting is scattered and forgettable next to the emotional 1000 Forms of Fear.

Interpol is undoubtedly a solid effort, but solid shouldn't be satisfying for a band that has proved to possess the talent of indie rock's elite class.