Shout Out Louds have produced a great, light-hearted and warm album that will lift your spirits, mellow you out and make you dance.

This is a well-crafted album that manages to reach some rare sonic ground save for a few missteps. The band works best when it is allowed to let the songs build and layer over one another.

Follow Me Home sounds like 1966, but like it’s happening all over again, organically and without premeditation, and it rocks.

Oftentimes, it’s an odd juxtaposition, and one that isn’t always in sync.

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.

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

With Eno at the controls, the Turbo Fruits straighten up, fly right and in the process bash out their most enjoyable work to date.

Strapped is a marked maturation from their San Diego start five years ago.

Yin & Yang is an earth shattering 45 minutes of street urchin dub punk that not only reveals This Is PiL for the anti-climactic milquetoast sham that it was, but re-establishes the true soul of Public Image as it was originally intended by the vast sum of its initial parts.

Yessir Whatever may not be as essential as other titles in the extensive Madlib library, but is definitely worth checking out if you dig the id of his art.

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

One should not have to turn in anywhere from one-to-two-hours of wages to hear the old coot warble out Willie Nelson’s “On The Road Again”, regardless of how novel the way by which he crafted it.

Though it may not be perfect from start to finish, there is plenty to like about It’s All Just Pretend and serves as a great argument that the band is much more than just another neo folk also-ran.

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

Barfly's 11 tracks find a band unsure of which direction to take, eventually settling on a version of muddled garage rock.

Sweetheart of the Sun is something special, easily the second best album of their career.

If you're looking for something that's groundbreaking, thought provoking, unique and ultimately worth the money, don't bother.

Occupied with the Unspoken is a headphone trip that ultimately proves to be an enjoyable listen in spite of the complexity of its craftsmanship.

There’s a sense of importance and profundity that emanates from practically every groove. Stirring, striking and flush with tunefulness and tenacity, I’ll Be Your Girl is more than a promising proposition.

A Place to Bury Strangers hadn't yet reached the point where it needed reinvention, but giving its sound a few well-considered tweaks pushes its creative momentum forward even faster.

The rest is a mix from great (Glen Hansard’s “Pressing On” and Deer Tick’s “Night After Night”) to the not so much (Aaron Freeman’s “Wiggle Wiggle”).

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.

The LP’s few highlights--the thrumming “Cremated (Blown Away)” and “Bridge By A Tunnel,” the only track with a memorable chorus--can’t rescue Proper Ornaments from the ugly truth: there’s a bomb already in this Foxhole.

There’s a lot to like here and hopefully these three will keep working again, trim the fat and lock in for an even more thrilling ride next time.

With their latest offering Carry Me Back, the banjos are ringin', the mandolins are singing at the speed of a hummingbird's wings, the fiddles are sawed upon with vigor, and the fog of the Tennessee hills calls to all of us.

You're not going to learn much in this hot tub, or perhaps remember much about it afterwards, but come on in, the water's fine.

From the first few notes, it's clear that the duo's signature blend of worldbeat rhythms and ancient melodies with rich electronic atmospheres is still potent, if leaning toward the synthesized side of DCD's lush sound.

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.

Across eleven cuts Parallel Thought utilize their deep knowledge of Del's Elektra years to weave a beautifully updated pastiche of early '90s throwback grooves.

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.

This is a case wherein open minds--and some patience--are likely to be rewarded.

Terraplane, though, is the sound of a man utterly rejuvenated.

For all that remarkable restraint, Dennison creates a stirring impression, making this convergence of emotion and execution equate to nothing less than pure, evocative bliss.

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.

[A] sensational self-titled release. Mixing the album’s overall tone with soul, rock, electronic, and hip hop, the album has a vibe that is something close to Mike Patton’s baby Peeping Tom.

The compelling 46-minute result shape-shifts with graceful ease, never losing touch with its pop song aesthetic.

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

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.

Tha Funk Capital Of The World, is one of his best ever records as a front man and one of the most outrageously funky records released in years.

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.

Marr has become a more assured singer, which is one of several ways this album improves on Boomslang.

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.

It’s a little too smoothed out and indistinct now--most of the songs are well crafted but a little TOO well crafted.

It would seem as if she’s making music from a disengaged point of view.

All this noise stays in service of the songs, which remain as self-reflective and personal as ever.

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

The songwriting ... takes a bit of a dip on this one. Oh sure, the first few songs are pretty good but that's it, just pretty good.

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.

True to its title, Solid States is, again, a solid workman-like affair, flush with resolute integrity, catchy choruses and songs that sound tailor made for instant gratification.

Sure, Kool Keith lets some profoundly dumb lyrics loose on Love and Danger, but they all seem in service of some improvisational rope-a-dope that ultimately finds him landing a knockout punch.

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.

The news is, basically, modest: On the whole, Hairdresser Blues picks up where the first album left off.

Blue Songs has impressive diversity and variety.

Underrated Silence is never less than pretty, and often strikingly so, yet it lacks the grit that might make these compositions emotionally involving.

Their strongest collection by far.

Playin' in Time With the Deadbeat is the right kind of challenge, its knotty twists and cranky attitude adding to the noisy, visceral thrills.

Somewhere along the line, this became an amazing band, and songwriting/arranging this masterful elevates Blur The Line to modern-classic status, fully justifying the 5-star rating applied at the top of this review.

As a tribute, Dead Man’s Town: A Tribute to Born in the USA is fine enough; just falling short of the material it champions.

Fortunately, most of the singers feel a kinship to Drake that comes through. They communicate that this is a cause worthy of their most thoughtful interpretive skills.

Admittedly, Taylor’s patented droning mantras can be a bit numbing when stretched out to an hour. But when his artistic vision hits exactly the right balance with his emotional thrust, it’s hard to imagine the music sounding any other way.

If Witching Hour was the finest apple the band ever produced, this is their finest orange. But as a whole, it probably is their best and most well-rounded record.

Sky Full of Holes is the perfect sound of a band staying within their comfort zone while not forgetting the power of the almighty hook.

Maybe it's just a question of getting used to this new Mangan, but you can't help but lament the old one's demise.

Some of the half-crazed momentum is missed, particularly during the meandering tracks that end the LP. But mostly the Warlocks thrive in this environment of release-free tension, letting Skull Worship seethe rather than rage, and it’s no less effective for the restraint.

The songs on their second full length Baba Yaga are not immediately sticky, in fact they take some time sink in.

Indigo Meadow is an assured, exciting piece of work.

There are hints of a potentially great band on Strange Land, just not enough to sustain a full length.

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.

There are no boundaries here to be broken, but there's clear indication of new-found confidence that obviously serves her well.

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.

He sounds more at home and natural on these [jazz] songs than on the country music for which he’s most celebrated, making Let’s Face the Music and Dance one of the most effortlessly enjoyable records in his large catalog.

Melbourne is easy to listen to, but hard to make sense of.

It’s always good to know there’s someone out there still doing straight-up guitar pop without irony or pretense.

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.

An equally engaging sonic concept entitled Drums Between The Bells.

Neil Young and Crazy Horse just never disappoint.

Like 2008's The Living And The Dead, Blood leans on judicious electric guitar solos, most often from Shahzad Ismaily, who co-produced the album, but also from Grey Gersten and, on one track, Marc Ribot.

Rhythm and Repose [is] the superb solo outing from Glen Hansard.

These 14 songs sound as wholly irresistible now as they did when they were such an essential part of a soundtrack for a now-distant decade.

If you’ve ever fantasized about Hawkwind going motorik, Rehumanizer is your dream come true.

While that sad waste of talent and potential deals the album a serious blow, the rest of the set proves mostly satisfying, even when the song selection remains relatively unknown.

Gone are the raucous “Whiskey River”-style jams, but in its place are an albums worth of lazy afternoon porch songs that you can’t help but love.

Ultimately, True Sadness is a confessional set of songs, revealing in many ways and vulnerable in many others. However, honesty has always been an inherent element in their sound, so in that sense this album’s no different.

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.

Consider this music a salve for the soul--restful, resigned, pretty and pensive... and yet as fragile as it is fleeting.

On their fourth album in a decade, the Donkeys don’t have surprises so much as a more confident and accomplished execution.

Something this eerie has rarely sounded so enticing.

While this isn't going to make you toss your copy of George Best, it shows the guy still has some gas left in his tank and is far from embarrassing himself.

Newcomers may not find Similar Skin the ideal place to begin, but longtime admirers will probably swoon in awe.

Far from sounding like lesser cast-offs, the songs here are just as worthy as anything off those earlier albums.

These songs show a band in its prime-and cast a much wider net of influences, finally shaking that garage band label, bringing in folk, country and some damn fine bar room rock.

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.

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

Chain Letters is a solid album and Big Harp brilliantly adds to the growing plethora of artists crafting stark, raw music that strikes the core.

Those who loved the Del-Lords in the 1980s will be delighted, as should anybody who missed them but thinks passion, skill, and commitment are a pretty good combination in music.

The album is a holiday classic in waiting, even if you don’t own a single pair of skinny jeans and couldn’t grow a beard to save your life.

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.

Taken in one extended listening session, Hold/Still proves titularly prophetic because you’re left exhausted from all the foregoing textural and tempo twists. One could liken the experience to ingesting a handful of lysergic tablets and then deciding to run a marathon that lasts all night. Once you’re done, you’re done for good. Hold still, kids.