The problem is that Pearl Jam at this point is just repeating itself--or others.

For while Costa Blanca superficially suggests a trip to some Euro-trash mall outlet, listen closer and you hear a dark, subversive critique.

He’s brought the whole Destroyer vibe to an entirely non-Destroyer set of material, and you can feel the waves of cool detachment, of stylish artifice wafting off these tunes just the same as always.

Brazen and breathless all at the same time, Nina comes across as the weirdest record of the entire year, and might even be the strangest album most people might encounter in a lifetime.

Among the Grey is still mired in... well... several shades of gray, so that when certain songs dissipate as a casual drift, it becomes all the more difficult to glean a more emphatic impression.

A transitional record, then, one that seems to be leading to a masterstroke.

While the lyrics here do tend to come off as pretentious at times, the sentiment is still admirable and actually pays off on songs like “March in September.”

Too often, it seems like the singer is leading us into blind alleys, stringing words together willy-nilly on bead chains, then scattering them like sparkling baubles in a heap.

The name of this project might be 7 Days of Funk, but there’s enough groove in this mofo to last a lifetime.

Accessible to a fault, and exceedingly mellow to boot, it flows with a natural ease usually accomplished by those with far more track time under their belt.

There’s a lot to like here and hopefully these three will keep working again, trim the fat and lock in for an even more thrilling ride next time.

Aside from the nine-minute rambling of “Everything Has to Be Just-so,” (coming at the end of the first disc, making it easy to skip), McCombs pulls off the rare feat of a double-disc that never runs short on inspiration or steam.

Yet even at its most opaque, Sun Full and Drowning connects subliminally, with its deep reassurances of folk-rock melody, its shimmering, vibrating intersections of interstellar guitar, its grand sonic spaces.

Locrian proves itself expert in simultaneously exploiting the warm blanket of beauty and the cold ice water of noise.

Overflowing with strong writing and excellent playing, City Forgiveness earns every minute of its two-CD sprawl.

It has a good sound to it, but as a whole, the misty quality in many of the songs doesn’t have much of a lasting impact.

Some of the half-crazed momentum is missed, particularly during the meandering tracks that end the LP. But mostly the Warlocks thrive in this environment of release-free tension, letting Skull Worship seethe rather than rage, and it’s no less effective for the restraint.

They direct their efforts with a determined forward thrust that spills over the melodic parameters with a celebratory display of rock ‘n’ roll revelry.

It is, obviously, a tribute to Fela’s lasting power and influence that so many different artists want to play his music, and not at all surprising that he was better at it than most of them. Still, no one wants to hear Fela’s fiery grooves diluted, slicked over, chilled out and made more commercially palatable.

Last Patrol is easily Monster Magnet’s strongest LP in years.

The only real misstep is the too-funky-for-its-own-good “Snow Your Mind”; otherwise Fulvimar has created another record that will appeal to a wide range of music fans as the indie rockers will give it a thumbs up as will the stoners, psych-mongers and electronic freaks, too.

Don’t Tell the Driver is far too gorgeously personal, too hushed, too subtle, too free-rangingly ruminative to ever play out on a public stage. Instead its chaotic swirls, its muted flares of brass, its clackety storms and ebbs of drumming seem destined to play out in private theaters.

They are trying too hard for precocious-ness, not enough for worn-in beauty.

Despite the variety, this is a decidedly marginal set of songs, one that’s well out of sync with even the most archival Americana.

These 14 songs sound as wholly irresistible now as they did when they were such an essential part of a soundtrack for a now-distant decade.

Overall, the EP--which would earn a higher grade if there were simply more of it--captures a contemplative Wareham midway between Luna’s driving pulse and the darker fare on Dean & Britta’s 13 Most Beautiful: Songs for Andy Warhol’s Screen Tests.

Call it a comeback. Call it a rebirth. Welcome back Barrence. Dig Thy Savage Soul rocks.

Good Mood Fool takes several listens before it’s possible to fully appreciate its full potential.