An impressively ambitious feat no doubt, but this album would probably be better served with a little more restraint.

Seeing this is Grossi's first full-length, it's an achievement, and although it fizzles out near the end, the killer tracks far eclipse the lesser numbers.

It’s unlikely that Carrier will be the offering that brings that promise home. Yet it is a superb showcase for the pair’s ample prowess.

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

On balance, then, exactly 68.5% of this record is worth listening to.

To be sure, low fidelity contemplation has generally been Johnson's stock in trade, but even so, there's no denying that Scorpion simply lacks sting.

While not nearly as great as seeing the band live, this record does a commendable job of capturing the band at their energetic, playful best.

Although it’s easy to lament the fact that Petty and the Heartbreakers don’t vary all that much from their usual template. Hypnotic Eye also affirms the fact they remain an austere and unapologetic outfit.

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.

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.

Despite being together for more than 35 years, their sound is tight and refined without sounding tired.

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

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.

The London trio has hit its stride, churning meatier, heavier grooves without sinking into sonic muck.

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.

Despite the obvious care for craftsmanship, no standouts emerge.

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.

The record is a slow built; one that will likely take a few listens to finally grab the listener. But when it does take hold, these songs are hard to shake loose.

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.

Long Slow Dance is a schizophrenic album, at times frustratingly so.

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

Unfinished Business doesn't breach new terrain, but then again, there's really no need.

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

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.

Melodic, dark and captivating.

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.

It’s been an odd and unpredictable mix at times, but Mould’s always made a point of indulging his interest with passion and integrity.

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.

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.

With twenty tracks and plenty of impromptu circumstance, it may not offer the same potential for pure appreciation that a standard anthology of studio tracks might provide. Nevertheless, there’s an adventurous spirit contained herein, and The Chills show they’re adept at heating things up as necessary.

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.

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.

This latest effort is underscored by sweeping arrangements and a turbulent pulse that only serves to accelerate that sense of drama and defiance.

There are times when Wilson's meandering style emphasis on ambiance turns on a twilight sound.

Calling to mind everyone from Dinosaur Jr. to The Pixies, Boston indie noise rockers follow up last year’s great full length, Major Arcana, with the solid, but frustratingly short vinyl 12” EP Real Hair.

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

It captures an aura of domestic bliss through songs that are unfailingly effervescent and jazz infused to the max.

Family functions more like a sampler than as an in-depth insight into their collective prowess.

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

This LA-based hardcore band turns out their most consistently solid set of songs yet; a dozen tracks of distorted guitars, machine gun drumming and throat-reddening vocals.

Hatfield more closely follows the model of her most popular work, with multi-tracked vocals and hooky arrangements to boost the pop quotient.

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.

The formula--and the tempo--never really varies, although some of the musical settings are craggier than others.

An admirable effort in terms of daring and experimentation, Choir of Echoes reverberates ever emphatically.

The problem with 4everevolution is that it takes too long to get to the good moments.

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

Darkly defiant, Nothin’ But Blood is turbulent and tempestuous to a manic extreme.

Brousseau possesses a certain spirit and shine, but a bit more spark would give Grass Punks more of a means by which to elevate the intrigue.

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.

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

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.

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

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.

Unfortunately, while the singers add some variety to the down-tempo dance stew that Green comes up with, they also fade into his lounge-like, bare-bones background all too well without adding much flavor, not to mention bite, to the proceedings.

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

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.

It’s as if the quartet decided to pay tribute to one of O’Malley’s chief inspirations: Earth. That sounds dull, but there’s something hypnotic about these songs.

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 ferocity in their delivery and the sheer sweep of their eager entreaties create an anthemic exposition, resulting in a series of songs that make it impossible to sit still.

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.

Shadow of the Sun sounds like Moon Duo is still working its way out of a corner, trying to find a way to expand its limited-palette sound without leaving it behind entirely.

The band’s pretty much stuck in nuevo Nirvanaland.

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.

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.

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.

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

Their return is certainly great news to the diehards out there. For everyone else, at least the bar hasn’t been set too high for the follow up.

Given the earthier sonic aesthetic of the band’s previous LP, the gauzy mist of Warpaint may be hard to accept at first, but given time, the record’s sensuality becomes clear, making it more of a next step than a radical rethink.

Long Vacations isn't a bad album per se (Rouse is too gifted a songwriter to make a genuinely bad album), but it has the sound of an uninspired one.

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.

Though hardly the type of platter meant to accompany any sort of festive gathering, Little Heater still manages to stir the senses.

You have an album that on balance is worth the effort it took to produce. But it's a precarious balance.

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.

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.

Ministry of Love may wax gloomy but proves to be an enjoyable album that fans of IO Echo just may happily play repeatedly.

It’s a cerebral, sometimes sinewy sound, but one which leaves a lasting impression regardless.

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

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

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!

Ultimately, Dagger Beach isn’t the easiest listen--“bewildering” and “bizarre” are perhaps the better descriptions here--but for sheer daring and intrigue, Vanderslice finds fruition.

Black Radio would have been more successful if the music used some of jazz's subtle spontaneity in the arrangements instead of satisfying itself by going for the easy laidback vibe.

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

Clark's talent is undeniable, but only when he's not flogging it half to death.

The quality [on End of Daze] is solid to great.

Their music, those influences intact, circles around a classic rock genre, but without any mediocre redundancy or artificiality.

Well-constructed, sophisticated, relaxing, and pleasant.

There’s an elusive aura that surrounds this set, suggesting Lord Huron will never pry its door open entirely. Then again, that’s what makes this outfit so fascinating…and possibly so essential.

Good as this is, it could be that much better.

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.

While not his best effort to date, there are still some standout songs on this one.

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

Every Step's A Yes is a stylistic mish-mash with a few notable gems worthy of downloading.

Essential Tremors hides some of the bands’ strongest songs in years. You just have to dig for them.

They ply the same general furrow as American contemporaries like Wooden Shjips, though with a tighter, more consciously limited focus.

Quever’s songs are meant to provide sweet succor, not catharsis, and in that Life Among the Savages proves to be pretty good company.

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.”

Though Thompson remains in the same contemplative state lyrically, In the Pit of the Stomach is a great follow up to Walls and unveils an orchestral maturity form the four gents.

At its most affecting What We Saw from the Cheap Seats is a sad and touching record, filled with love and the memory of .... Parts of [the album] feel either disposable or a revisiting of old ground.