Though not as great as their last few albums of all original songs, Play The Hits is still a fun holdover until the band comes back with another record.

There are some songs that sound like they were last minute add-ons (“Alchemy” is so plodding you can almost watch time stand still), but taken as a whole, Fool still finds Jackson playing some of the best pop music out there, immune to fads and current trends.

In the best cuts, the dance elements win out over doom-y post-apocalyptics. “AS A.W.O.L.” layers metallic-ringing keyboard notes (like a music box made of tin) over a sinuous, vaguely ominous beat.

Probably not the best soundtrack for you Christmas Eve Open House, but destined to be a Holiday classic for Crowell diehards.

There are a couple of stumbles here, like on the somber “Easy Love,” but for the most part, Late Riser is crammed with stunning songs strong enough to make you forget what else is going on in the world--at least for 30 minutes or so.

Not all the songs on Hardly Electronic are as affecting--and some of them are just good bubbly pop fun. There are some misses--the country-ish “Bye Bye Crow” isn’t very good--but most are at least solid and surprisingly fresh, and a few are much better than that.

Stokes lacks Barnett’s songwriting diversity, worldliness and clever wordplay; too many of the songs on Future Me Hates Me are interchangeable, built on quiet, jangly verses and fuzz-button sing-along choruses that lament the usual litany of “I” and “me” woes.

While there are some great intimate moments (especially the beautiful “Wayward”), ultimately that lack of a more consistent balance between upbeat and slow tempo drags the album down a bit.

The one thing missing from Dude, The Obscure, are a few more raucous, upbeat tracks, but that can easily be rectified with a new Diamond Rugs record.

The band is tight, and the music ebbs and flows as usual; it just doesn’t go anywhere original. I hope the band will be able to right the shjip on their next effort.

Eric’s new album Construction Time & Demolition is all the title implies, an erratic set of songs that’s decidedly left of center but boasting the ebullience and energy that’s so critical to his motif.

Though there are still plenty of the Fleet Foxes-meets-Beach Boys elements to much of this new record, it also finds the band branching out with new sounds.

Wright relies mostly on covers — she’s only credited with co-writing the final track “All the Way Here”--but her choice of classic material--Dylan’s “Every Grain of Sand,” Allen Toussaint’s Southern Nights,” the timeless standard “Stars Fell on Alabama, as well as newer, but equally impressive choices by k.d. lang, Rose Cousins and Ray Charles--testify to her ability to make the material her own.

The results come off like the soundtrack to an imaginary video game, one where environmental exploration is more important than staying on task.

The disc’s first half is most engrossing, especially the slinky, smouldery swagger of “Lady and Man,” which whips up funk intensity with explosive starts and stops. ... Late album tracks drift and drone, pillow-padded with angelic “oohs” and paced for motionless contemplation.

The point of Alright is not to churn out hit singles but to create an experience for its listeners, to create a concept album. Lindstrøm has successfully done so!

There are a few more hooks on this latest release and the production is clearer, but it certainly doesn’t water down the sentiment.

Woodland Echoes, his latest solo album, is cohesive and strong and despite being a little more mellow than some of his earlier offerings, would fits nicely alongside his work from the ‘80s and ‘90s.

It’s a little regrettable then that his last officially studio album, coming out less than a year after he died, is so overproduced and kitschy.

It’s all quite pleasant, nicely played and sung and recorded, but perhaps a little distant. These tunes flow by like sunny afternoons and when they’re done you can’t remember much.

This former power pop band currently eschews the pop in favor of the power. Melody is less of an essential, but the sheer verbosity suggests that they’re opting for a stadium-sized sound.

L.A. Takedown often errs on the side of too much perfection, but here, a little messed up, it soars.

Though only seven songs long, at least two--“Mallow T’Ward the River” and “One Can Only Love”--offer multiple movements that provide opportunity to explore more exotic environs.

Though solid throughout, without hooks like the best ones on Goes Missing, Untouchable suggests the more random approach suits Kelly and his fans better.

Love Is Love isn’t clear cut, reading at times like the various stages of grief.

No matter how synthetic and mechanical things get, the stain of cosmic psychedelia never completely fades.

The World’s Best American Band is all about cutting loose and having a blast via the method of catchy guitar-based rock & roll tunes--simple, direct and oh so very effective.

Hoop’s experimental tack often requires repeated listens, but it’s creativity and not mere quirkiness that ultimately leaves alingering afterglow.

In the end, Pure Comedy isn’t anything close to the laugh fest the title implies, but it does provoke a deeper reaction regardless.

Songs like “Preludes,” “Tracking Shots,” “Tangletown” and “Rescue Blues” find his pliable vocals emitting that certain verve and swagger.

This album may not prove to be everyone’s cup of tea and may require a bit of hope and patience to listen to Samurai. Joakim has made an album that is simultaneously familiar yet unique and sets you on a creative sonic journey.

The lack of anything that’s decidedly uptempo may be a detriment to some, but the blend of strings and acoustic instrumentation more than compensates for the subdued stance.

The acapella gospel of “True Religion” aside, this is a gritty set of songs, performed by an obviously unhinged individual who takes pride in his warped weirdness.

The mix of blues, with their standard, folk and country is a nice addition, but may not be enough to win over folks who aren’t already Son Volt devotees.

Wholly enjoyable, but nothing revelatory.

Future Standards feels a little too respectful, well-done but static and without much animating fire.

Musically, expressive and thematically sound, I’m Glad Trouble Don’t Last Always is as promising a pronouncement as its title suggests.

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

Contrary to its title, Do Not Disturb might prove disturbing to those whose tastes don’t necessarily allow for introspection of intrigue, but for those that miss the adventure and ambition British prog rock once had to offer, it’s well worth the risk.

Whether the new album will get them anywhere close to the mainstream remains to be seen. Most likely it won’t, but that doesn’t mean we can’t root for them all the same.

It has, not surprisingly, an elegiac quality, a mournful, melancholy cast to its elliptical phrasing. Like the first iconic first lady, the music is polished and well reined in.

It’s an odd little record, a kind of confessional chronicle that gradually gets under your skin. In this era of fractured self-identification, Ten Hymns From My American Gothic nicely serves as a soundtrack for all the searchers and seekers out there.

There’s a feeling of triumph and celebration imbued in these tunes, although Joan’s voice remains cautious even in the midst of the revelry. Ranging from wistful to giddy, this is an uncommonly expressive effort that boasts clear allegiance to modern pop while still remaining a step or so out of reach.

Much of today’s music draws inspiration from more recent antecedents. Arguably Freedom Jazz Dance: The Bootleg Series, Vol. 5--even as a collection of material originally deemed unsuitable for release--is superior to much of what is new.

The same basic sound is here, but a bit dancier and more electronic groove. Not nearly as much of the straight pop or shoegazey stuff.

It’s always comforting to know that certain stylistic bents of rock never go out of style. That’s usually because someone puts a new spin on an old formula. That’s arguably the case with E.

The sonics, as you might imagine, vary from one track to the next, coming as they do from multiple sources. In general, though, they’re quite acceptable, so rating them squarely in the middle seems logical enough.

Away has some fine moments, but is an LP completists will get the most mileage out of, perhaps as that curio figure in an artist’s evolution to somewhere else.

The lack of a rhythmic anchor sometimes gives the songs more free form than they actually need--there’s a difference between playful interchange and self-indulgence. But most of the music simply translates deep musical respect and chemistry into moments of artistic fire and great beauty.

A little mellower and a little more introspective, but just as impactful as he was two decades ago when he first started showing up on the radio, Collingwood is proof that growing up and growing older isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Nothing may not be particularly imaginative, but it’s so competent at its craft it’s hard to imagine any fan of the style complaining.

It’s exactly the kind of album you’d expect to emerge from a deserted cave full of records--dark, solitary, a little mad but extremely well-versed in musical style.

The production values are practically negligible due to the archival effect. Still, Stoneking’s intents are obviously pure and prone to imperfection. A curious listen, Gon’ Booglaloo goes all out.

As incisive a crime story as ever committed to a groove, Juarez is striking and surreal, a torrid and twisted pastiche stirred from decadence and desire.

It’s hard to imagine the circumstance that led Low Anthem to assemble this effort. Was it psychedelic substances or a fascination for Faust? Whatever the case, Eyeland marks a trippy transformation.

Smith matches oddball narratives with clever, catchy tunes; he’s a really good songwriter. If he were a little happier or a little less prone to baroque eccentricity, he’s probably have a bigger following--but he wouldn’t be Sonny Smith, and that would be a shame.

The songs on Blanco first appeared on Bazan’s monthly 7” series, so it seems clear that using synthesizers was one way of differentiating them from their original versions. (He must like doing this, since his last album was a collaboration with the Passenger String Quartet.) But he seems to be onto something interesting with this electronicized approach.

If you’ve heard their main/prior bands then the sound of this won’t surprise you, but it’ll still feel like an old friend that you always pick up right where you left off.

Lyrics are hard to fathom, and, apparently, mostly improvised, but snatches of words suggest the same general mindset as the music.

The album is a good beginning for Will Toledo and crew one on which they’ll hopefully build upon. Some of the tracks though seem too reek of an “indier” than thou attitude that’s best left at the door.

There are no hedonistic celebrations at the level of Wild Onion’s “Strawberry Smoothie” here, as many of the tempos have downshifted to soulful; nor do any of the hooks sink quite as deeply as “Mirror of Time” did.

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

All in all, it’s Rodriguez’s way with both a samba and a sway that helps elevate this effort while making it one of her best yet.

While the melodies are occasionally amorphous, the poetry and passion are clearly conveyed.

Let’s be honest: the [Brian Jonestown Massacre] hasn’t hewed to its classic sound in some years, so why not let Psychic Ills take on the drug pop mantle instead? As this album proves, they [wear] it well.

Quieter and striking a more somber tone than their Grammy-nominated first record, it sounds as if the band went out of its way to tone down the catchiness of their initial offering. But the softer focus put the lyrics front and center and that’s, in part, what separates The Lumineers from the slew of bands that came after trying to replicate the success of “Ho Hey”.

Though not for every taste, Felder has enough going on to be more than just aural wallpaper.

Over accessible grooves derived from the same source used by groups like Tinariwen and Terakaft, Brahim sings with an easy tone that coils her passion into a tight spring, rather than shoot it out of a cannon.

Side Pony is a solid starting point for anyone who has yet to discover the band.

They still sound as brilliantly odd as their seminal self-titled debut.

Night Fiction is beautifully played, full of the clean, lovely sounds that can be made on traditional rock instruments, but it’s not very memorable.

Repetition and simplicity balance the sadly beautiful sounds on Wabi-Sabi; an eccentric album that will find its home with those who seek something creatively different in their music on a mellow, rainy day.

This is a very good album, sure, but it adds not so much to the Rangda catalogue.

Some tracks prize vibe over structure to their detriment.

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.

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.

Suffice it to say those looking for an album on the order of early Squeeze classics like Argybargy or East Side Story won’t be disappointed. Packed with winsome melodies, joy and jubilation (made all the more expressive by titles like “Nirvana,” “Beautiful Game,” “Sunny” and the all too appropriate “Top of the Form”), Cradle to the Grave is a stunning example of the brilliance Difford and Tilbrook seemingly command at their fingertips.

Sermon on the Rocks should speak to anyone with an ear for melody and an appreciation for a commanding, compelling delivery. Whether or not this broadens Ritter’s reach remains to be seen, but even if it falls short, be assured that it’s still excellent regardless.

One interesting thing about Ty Rex is how Segall nicely balances the more familiar glam/Seventies side of Bolan with the early folky-faerie side that characterized his Sixties output.

A rather smooth and relaxing affair, Best Blues proves that sometimes less is more.

There’s a cover of Billy Joe Shaver’s “Georgia on a Fast Train” tacked onto the record (only available on the limited edition CD and LP) that doesn’t quite do justice to the classic, but there are still more than enough bar room sing-alongs on Holdin’ the Bag to make the album worth it.

What might have been a great album merely becomes a good one, due to fact that much needed variation is in such short supply.

For all its shattered circumstance, Carry the Ghost makes the most of its heavy baggage.

As so few acoustic instruments joined each song, placing them all together lends a flattened feel to the LP. That is not to say the songs are not worthy of several listens, Oran Mor Session displays Twilight Sad’s great lyricism and Graham’s impassioned voice.

What you might miss in Fake Yoga, if you’ve been around for a while, are the mordant, Wilco-ish ballads that dotted Hesitation Eyes.... Still Fake Yoga is a very solid album and much more compelling than 2010’s Bible Stories.

Graveyard incorporates as many repurposed elements of Free and the Faces as it does from Sabbath, putting more melody into their attack, and Nilsson responds with the most nuanced vocals of his career so far.

They play one too many Springsteen cards with the dark “Cadillac Road” (at this point, Bruce pretty much owns any lyrics that revolve around mills shutting down), but the record ends on another strong track, “Across the River.” Taken as a whole, All Across This Land is one of the group’s strongest offerings in years.

Modestly presented but expertly crafted, Incidental Hum does exactly what a solo album from a well-respected bandleader is supposed to do: show off a different side of the artist’s talent and provide plenty of entertainment in the bargain.

Though only nine songs long, Saturn’s Pattern is as close to heavenly as Weller’s ever been.

Good Sad Happy Bad is more an interesting record than a piece of music you’ll return to for enjoyment. It’s a fun place to visit, but you might not want to live there.

Like his debut, 2012’s Clear Heart Full Eyes, Finn’s solo records tend to be a little darker and more-sparse than Hold Steady albums.

At over an hour, Instrumentals may try the patience of anyone not already acclimated to Pearce’s mood-driven vision. But fans who can’t get enough of his distinctive approach to composition and performance may find this record to be the purest expression of FSAness yet.

The record, produced by John Congleton (St. Vincent, Swans), was pulled together after a year spent on the road, and it shows.

On record, Teen Men come across as your average, edgy modern pop combo, all shimmery, engaging songs with few constraints and even fewer darker designs.

Non-converts won’t miss anything, but psych rock fans will eat this up and belch happily.

Whenever they appear close to becoming unhinged, that rowdy, reckless approach is even further affirmed.

N.E.W. feels more like a victory lap than a new beginning. Nothing inherently wrong with that, and every track is here is at least solid, but it’s best to put expectations of revelation out of your mind before hitting the “play” button.

Look Closer sits in a similar wheelhouse as most Daptone projects, working a familiar vein of late ’60s/early ’70s soul.