This is a record of experimental sound, no more or less, and is arguably as important an element in Batoh's musical makeup as anything involving guitar chords. But that doesn't make Brain Pulse Music particularly compelling, especially not to anyone craving a helping of Ghost music.

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.

Listeners are best advised to head directly to disc two and regard the set with strings as a curiosity and an example of eccentric experimentation best left on the shelf.

Talent and skill overflow from the fingertips of the members of Trans Am, but that doesn’t mean they should let it make a mess on the carpet.

These are lonely outposts in a landscape without distinction, where the most depressing aspect isn’t what happened to Landes and Ritter, but what happened to Landes’ songwriting.

The band draws from the members’ mutual admiration and concerted input, but while it’s an admirable first attempt, it never quite gels into anything of enduring interest.

More a series of half-drawn soundscapes than actual songs per se, No Elephants comes across as an exercise in the abstract, in which the artist makes almost no attempt to color inside the outlines.

Though there are portions of We Are Undone which could definitely be considered unhinged, nothing here suggests they’re even close to being undone at this stage.

Afraid of Heights is ok, it’s Wavves most sophisticated, it’s fun for one or two spins on a sunny day and the duo due take a few chances but at the end of the day, the thing that Wavves are most afraid of isn’t heights, its originality.

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.

Like other such endeavors-acoustic re-imaginings, that is-the results aren't that poor. They're just boring.

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

The songs vacillate between solid, classic McClinton and ho-hum and you can’t help but miss the more raucous, wilder Delbert.

While Rowe's deep-baritone delivery conveys intimacy, his lyrics are a grab-bag of overwrought, secondhand images.

The shift in sound is subtle at best, and only the most astute listener will sense any real progression. At times it’s lovely to listen to, but all in all it best serves as somnolent sounds for insomniacs.

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

Even stripping off the gloss doesn’t help, because there’s not much under it.

The second half of the album finds the foursome relenting and mostly mellowing out.

The production has gotten bigger, slicker and more surgically clean, but the tunes haven’t.

This is no disaster on the level of, say, a Leonard Nimoy or Don Johnson album, but given Laurie's outspoken love for New Orleans and the involvement of Henry and his crew, Let Them Talk still falls well short of expectations.

This may be as good as it gets for Dreamers of the Ghetto, and it's really just fair.

More Than Just a Dream is a perfectly ok record that can even boast one or two above-average songs, but ultimately the result is pretty underwhelming.

To be sure, Blitzen Trapper can be commended for breaking down the boundaries between roots and rhythm, even though they may alienate those more accustomed to the tried and true.

Individ challenges its listeners to discover the elusive melodies that reside below the surface, even though the clattering arrangements and oddly oblique atmospherics might prove to be a distraction.

If energy and enthusiasm count for anything, then The Pack A.D. comes out a step ahead. The problem is, they don’t seem to know when to pull back.

These songs work well in small doses, but start to grate after repeat listens.

Those that deem this effort too weird or erratic are best advised to consider the deluxe edition with its live bonus disc recorded with the Metropole Orchestra at the Paradiso in Amsterdam.

It’s tranquil, amiable and very familiar.