Skyline reads as a series of tiny moments--not major life events but instead the beautiful, insignificant ephemera that falls away in the wake of life's progress.

While the band was hardly in a rut before, it nonetheless sounds revitalized here, reveling in big melodies and even bigger riffs.

Needless to say, The Wall's Immersion Edition is a visual thing of beauty, ...The undeniable black eye on this Immersion Edition, however, is the way by which they handled the inclusion of Roger Waters' solo demos... the majority of this coveted cache of rarities is whittled down to a series of poorly edited snippets that barely last a minute or even a few seconds in some instances.

All things considered, Stars and Satellites is easily this band's best effort yet.

Beaus$Eros is an interesting experiment. Busdriver is capable, obviously, in multiple genres, and has the restless, omnivorous kind of creativity that sees links between disparate styles.

Coming in at 11 songs, there is hardly a weak one on Go Fly a Kite and no real need to call out one track over the next, as all are pretty much worth the price of the album.

A Wasteland Companion belies its foreboding title, largely eschewing the hushed introspection that's cast a pall over previous efforts in favor of, well, a sound that's at least marginally more hopeful.

[Raitt] mostly returns to the quality soft-rock she perfected in her early solo career, but juices it up with hot guitar solos on almost every song.

A soundtrack for the sun-drenched summer months.

New Wild Everywhere conveys a new maturity for the GLS, showcasing the assembled talents of the members, and highlights promises of even better things to come in their future.

Band of Skulls has made a new rock and roll classic.

The entire affair is more open, relaxed and loose than he's ever been on record, qualities that appear easily and readily during his live shows.

Young Magic transform their emulation into a transformation of a style that's like nothing else out there.

The record is a stellar collection of power pop rock songs.

In terms of pure triumph, Port of Morrow provides its listeners with safe harbor regardless.

Sonik Kicks may prove his most intriguing effort yet, an album awash in psychedelic suggestion, cosmic noodling and swooping, soaring performances driven by fresh enthusiasm.

A furtive solo debut, Simone Felice provides the perfect setting for meditation and musing.

Guitar player Wymond Miles plumbs deeper, existential questions on this four-song EP.

Musically Stew and Rodewald hit a new peak, deftly mixing the psychedelic pop that's TNP's usual stock-in-trade with the musical sophistication acquired from writing for Broadway.

The textures of this material will transport its listener in ways that few albums of its ilk have achieved in recent memory, implementing the hallowed harmonies embedded in the Sunday mornings of Coldwell's Catholic upbringing to a new level of impassioned cohesion.

Earle has proven that he can embrace the past, look forward to the future and find peace through his music.

Dispossession works as a whole, rather than a collection of songs.

There's not an obvious departure from their last few releases, but there doesn't need to be as the band has settled comfortably into their sound.

While Memoryhouse might be demographically marketed to the youngsters, there's something in the retro-alternative beauty of The Slideshow Effect that aging Gen-Xers raised on the golden age of college radio might appreciate a little more.

Andre Williams, ladies and gentlemen: one of the last living links to the heyday of dirty R&B, super-soul and first generation booty funk. And certainly one of the few left who still brings it like he means it, every time.

Their strongest collection by far.

Contraband pushes Taylor's music forward, if by short, measured steps, and the qualities that make him the 21st century's classic bluesman keep his sound deep and true.

Vee Vee is a ballsy record, and hard to love.

With a sympathetic producer in Don Was, who worked with Ryder in the 1990s with his own Motor City band Was (Not Was), Ryder is able to make a late-career statement that stands tall alongside anything he's ever done.

The overall sound feels live, where Van's ear-splitting power chords might drop out briefly during a verse, only to return right when it's time to drive things home.

Most of the record finds organic urban grooves, frosts them with sweet pop-soul hooks and serves them up hot and fluffy.

Shimmering and ethereal, A Church That Fits Our Needs finds the band as ambitious as ever.

If this is his starting point, his future seems limitless.

He knows exactly how to build and sustain interest in a song, even the ones that don't hit you over the head with obvious hooks.

The level of familiarity turns out to be one of the records strong suits, and something that distinguishes it from the Bragg/Wilco records.

The band seem as if they're still evolving and putting new ideas into play without a definitive idea of where they're heading. No worries though; Delta Spirit's spirited impulses are clearly capable of determining any new direction.

Lung of Love come[s] across like another breath of fresh air.

It looks like Bruce Springsteen finally has some help defending Jersey's street cred.

With that, this Wrecking Ball is more about a carnival of living souls moving in solidarity than a giant iron orb meant to destroy.

The most noticeable thing about the new Xiu Xiu album is ... how disarmingly vibrant it sounds.

The time apart from one another has given the band a more expansive sound and Dirty Three have pushed themselves to create one of the most dynamic releases in the catalog.

Taken in tandem, both CD and DVD provide an intriguing look at an album that ranks as one of the most dramatic accomplishments in modern Rock realms.

Those two indelible songs ["Small Bright Doses" and "Rogue Highway"] alone more than warrant the price of admission, but while the rest of the album is far more ambiguous, its dream-like melodies and beguiling intrigue provide plenty of reason to succumb to its spell.

Tunes that are both brainy and catchy, full of life.

A progressive dance-pop album that, maybe because of her background, feels a heck of a lot hipper than what her new genre counterparts can offer.

If you like good tunes cranked up on pogo beats, you can hardly do better than Meltdown

The Something Rain is not just the band's best since they reconvened in 2008; measured against their earlier work, these nine songs shadow the younger Tindersticks in all kinds of compelling ways, trading in youthful adventure for expert-like craftsmanship.

This is quite overtly a party record.

The more I listen to Jonquil, the more I l-u-v these guys.

Temple Beautiful is the product you expect from this highly original and creative artist.

Methinks come the end of the year, a lot of people will have adjudged it a keeper.

Musically, Plumb is both rapturous and jumpy.

The trademark ingredients that turned Hollywood Town Hall and Tomorrow the Green Grass into seminal classics are retained via Olson's yearning vocals, the sun splashed harmonies and their adept meld of Americana, vintage West Coast rock, strings and psychedelia.

What sets the Fray apart is that they use their music to tell other people's stories in literate, compelling ways.

This is pure, un-concentrated psychedelic boogie rock rooted in West Coast mysticism, Stax R&B and Memphis blues without pretext or pretense.

She's taken a more reflective direction that emphasizes tenderness over tenacity and subtlety above sizzle.

Hellfire is a brilliant album with no weak cuts.

Flumina is an arresting and beautiful work as deep and open as the body of water that graces its cover art.

While it's hard to shake Heartless Bastards' unforgettable prior release The Mountain (2009), Arrow is indeed pointed in the right direction with a fresh sound.

While the intricacies of Dreams Say, View, Create, Shadow Leads could be exhausting to a casual listener, those with attentive ears will be enamored by the myriad sonic nuances present in the album.

Van Halen have found their dazzle without a hassle.

Jordanian remains pleasantly understated as a frontman, letting his voice and knack for raw melodies take the focus.

Throughout the tunes, you can hear that McCartney loves the language of the old songs. He enjoys the phraseology, tickles and teases each lyrical phrase. You can hear that he's waited forever to do as much such as this.

Thomas' honesty, as much as any performance herein, is the commanding factor overall, making it easy, and in fact, all but unavoidable, to fall in love With Love.

This album is just a few hairs (a couple of tracks and/or segues) short of being a transcendent gem, or masterpiece.

The Black Session is a fitting testament to the current state of one of the English underground's most unshakable acts.

Their often-dark songs have a triumphant dimension.

The 5 songs in 16 minutes breeze by, barely after you've had a chance to absorb them, leave you hungering for more.

Not all of the songs are hits ("Met Before" falls way short as a flat, unmemorable filler), but it's much more cohesive and really helps Chairlift establish a more recognizable sound.

Points in a direction that he'd almost certainly be wise to follow on future projects.

Wallop[s] you upside the head with an acid-induced mash-up of rollicking glam, gunky metal and ghetto-fabulous art rock.

Born to Die has more hits than misses and more solidly strange fabulously femme fatale interludes than naff ones.

Leonard Cohen has made the best full album of his career (song for song, sound for sound, lyrical point for point; yes, this is true) and most certainly the best album of 2012.

No one could have predicted that they'd get to Attack on Memory's savage impact so quickly, or indeed, at all. No telling where they'll go from here.

It may seem a somewhat unassuming entry, but regardless, We Love Our Country creates a favorable first impression.

Ultimately, Old Mad Joy may not signal the breakthrough that this outfit deserves, but by rekindling the savvy sound techniques that have taken them this far, hopefully the rest of the world will catch up soon enough.

He delivers a stirring counterpoint to Quartet with an atmospheric combination of organic and digital feels that offers a stirring dual portrait of the landscape of his motherland.

He delivers a drastic shift in style that anyone enrapt with the gauzy pop euphoria of the first two Crayon Fields classics never saw coming.

She is better than you would expect, flexing a style that exists between Woody Guthrie and Def Jux as she calls out hypocritical hippies, turtle burning oil companies and the overdose that nearly killed her with effortless wit and grace.

Hospitality's debut is a sugar-rush of an album, albeit one given acerbic snap by Papini's delivery.

This is more adventurous fare but never forgoes its footing in melody land--well, with the exception of the off-putting "Rolling," a short track that unfortunately opens the record and sounds like a symphony warm-up with six instruments headed in different directions.

There's plenty more good and bad.

Urick is a remarkable electronic musician who pushes mainstream music to its outer limits, and as the listener explores those outer limits, expect goose bumps to appear on the skin.

It could easily pass for one of the group's previous efforts. Anyone familiar with the Weakerthans' catalog will realize immediately that's a good thing.

He and his group put everything they could into every track--or at least the every one collected here.

This is a wonderful, subtle album, whose songs seem simple at first, but open up and grow more interesting on repeated listens.

A good rock record is a good rock record, and The Stars Are Indifferent to Astronomy is a good rock record.

Finn's compelling without the usual bluster that provides him momentum--his voice never approaches its old roar but his nice melodic sense comes out here more.

Given this combination of tangled travails and expressive voices, it's hard to imagine any way these songs might be better served.

Reconvened 17 years later, Cardinal shows their hushed melodies and chamber pop sensibilities gel just as well now as they did originally.

Voyageur resonates with the kind of drama and daring that Edwards has been perfecting all along.

The melodies aren't so easily embraced; loping, ephemeral and often sounding blithely disconnected, they defy any attempt at grasping an easy hook or chorus. What's more, the loose grooves sometimes run counter to the tunes' sense of profundity.

This music is big enough for a hall, but soft and heartfelt enough for the quietest corner.

All this adds to a gentle atmosphere of regret, of unhurried contemplation of things and people who are no longer around us.

The combination of hardcore punk songwriting and a pop tunesmith's sense of melody and composition gives the latest venture for this DC scene giant an appeal entirely unique to its branch on the family tree.

While some of the beats seem recycled from Thursday or House of Balloons they still sound good and don't detract from the songs [here].

This collection should be as essential to your listening rotation as your favorite album from any of the bands who continually drank from the unique brand of introspective intensity pioneered by these unsung heroes of indie rock's mean season.

This is fun music, gut music, music you can freak out to or just nod your head, depending on your mood.