Though some lyricless segments blur together, a few stand out.

In isolation, he finds beautiful music; with a band, he discovered confusion, pretentiousness and ultimately an average record.

The rock vibe of past records is all but gone but not completely as the final song, “Brio” smokes along.

The Ash & Clay, which is the new record from The Milk Carton Kids, is a fine representation of a dish that’s been plated to near perfection with but a small amount of key elements to make it a delight.

Certainly, there’s a fine line in-between a record bearing cohesion and every song being a clone of the tune before it, but Naomi suffers, even if slightly so, from multiple personalities.

Soft Will is certainly pleasant enough (which shouldn’t really be what you’re striving for with a rock album), and I’m sure is being hailed by indie taste makers everywhere who like their rock on the sterile side.

Paul Walker’s not for everyone but will at least get the 40-somethings to quit bitching about Green Day.

To the Happy Few combines the experience of veterans with the joy of rediscovery.

Written while staying in the New Jersey house in which he grew up, the record isn’t so much nostalgic as wistful, as if Jones was surveying the streets he used to walk with good memories but no desire to relive the past.

As long as those instrumental additives remain intact, Poco will always excel in more than name alone, but with fewer voices in the mix, it also remains a challenge to reach that high bar established so early on.

Flowers is his third solo record and, unsurprisingly, it’s a collection of lush, textured compositions that, intentionally or not, accurately depict the graceful, exciting and endless landscapes that Iceland is so famed for.

It makes for a suitably successful second record that, regardless of the salacious story surrounding the band that made it, pretty much lives up to the inspiring promise of their first.

Subtlety and finesse are the watchwords here, two elements that deliver artistic intrigue.

Cosmic concoctions of this sort are all too rare these days, so it’s rather refreshing to hear this sound revisited, particularly with the added investment in melody that Elephant Stone tends to allow.

None of these songs (well maybe “Hear No Evil”) will really shock long-term Lightning Bolt fans--but they do depart in interesting ways from the main project.

Hearing “Love Is the Drug,” “Virginia Plain” and “The Bogus Man” this way embalms the material. And many lose a key dimension without vocals.

While some songs are utterly slow paced, they are obscured by the strength of the aforementioned tracks as well as “The Fall” and “Last Dance.”

With a reflective outlook worthy of Bragg’s now venerable stature, this weathered perspective serves him well.

Though the songs can come off as occasionally sterile (“On A Day” quickly comes to mind), it’s still a pretty impressive collection of songs from a band that’s only been around for a few years.

The pair keeps the door unlocked for the curious, but doesn’t put out tea and cakes in welcome, either.

He came out the other side with a hard-won wisdom, emotion and sense of craft that, like soul music, never goes out of style.

As the set progresses, Simon seems to shore up his resolve.

It makes for a varied bunch if ever there was one, a set of songs that proves both deft and divine.

Newcomers may be a bit overwhelmed by all the frenzied drive of their delivery, but the combination of irony and assurance guarantees populist appeal.

The set eschews songs in any traditional sense, opting instead for murky soundscapes characterized by minimal piano and acoustic guitar, suspended strings and a dense overlay of synths and drums.

After the third track “Christine” floats past like a lost Julee Cruise track on soulful blues guitar and vintage 50s’ keys, the LP takes a surprising but effective turn into heavy, murky territory.

Mollestad gives us a generous and welcome taste of that classic sound, which her own twist on it that would hopefully make McLaughlin himself proud.

Time Off takes its time getting where it’s going, but deftly reaches its destination.