So while songs such as “Beautiful Dream,” “Run” and “Gloria” may be anchored with a touch of techno, there’s also plenty of sparkle and substance to keep most folks satisfied.

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

Perhaps for the first time ever on a Chili Peppers record, it is Flea who takes the reigns as the lead instrument here, going Jaco all over this mofo so to speak, which ultimately proves to be this album's saving grace.

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.

No one's asking Jackson to bare his soul. Still, there's a surface-y, writing-exercise quality to many of these songs. (I Can't Get No) Stevie Jackson doesn't really give us much Stevie Jackson, just some clever jottings and puns and tunes he's scratched out in a notebook.

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

If Laswell hasn't made his masterpiece--and it's easy to argue that he has--clearly he's come close.

Ultimately, Whispers suggests a kind of sublime sensibility, sentiments that will hopefully encourage all potential fellow travelers to quickly get on board.

It’s neither time capsule nor curio, but rather a valid projection into the collector-archival ether that should hold up for future generations.

Fans of Rundgren’s more song-oriented LPs may balk at Runddans, but fans of experimental electronics will grok the vibe.

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.

Breaking away from their by now trademark South Jersey, cruising with the radio on brand of punk rock that first got them noticed, the band is likely to alienate some early fans with Get Hurt. In doing so, however, The Gaslight Anthem is doing much more to preserve the band in the long run, evolving at a steady, but satisfying clip.

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.

Heavy Mood has some good songs on it, but if you'd ask me which way to point I'd still say Bottoms of Barrels (the band's 3rd record).

Of the 13 songs here, roughly half are by male vocalists who, because of the twang in their voices or their choice of instrumentation, have a predictable, even generic, alt-country sound.

The final product can both unnerve and captivate, though not at the same time. As far as consistency, well that's another story.

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

Ersatz G.B. is a lesser Fall album, not as good as Your Future Our Clutter or The Real New Fall LP, and certainly not on a par with earlier landmarks like Slates and Hex Induction Hour.... Even so... there's enough fire and venom here to excuse occasional soft spots.

Swimming in catchy melodies and tantalizing music (along with Wilson's vocal abilities), it may be difficult to select a favorite track within Glowing Mouth--but it's quite easy to enjoy.

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.

Mr. Impossible [is] a record that shows a band evolving, as it embraces full-on melodicism with a cheeky goofball spirit.

Signs of Light fulfils the aim the band’s handle appears to indicate. This is after all, music that connects with the head and the heart, and imparts a dual sense of resilience and delight in its wake.

Few albums dare to even come close to this stunning degree of grandeur, but with Here the Magnetic Zeros not only raise the bar, but easily scale it as well.

Do Things has a few missteps, but May just keeps smiling and charging forward.

Newcomers may be a bit overwhelmed by all the frenzied drive of their delivery, but the combination of irony and assurance guarantees populist appeal.

An entertaining album that follows no musical rules, a record interconnected by one common denominator--that there happily isn't one.

Spectral effects and pulsating tones swirl through each selection, but it's the persistent rhythms that steer the aural acrobatics, making Den a harbinger of fascinating efforts yet to come.

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

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

A band that started with Can's hypnotic propulsion has ended up floating in Tangerine Dream's weightless free formity, but it's gorgeous stuff.

Meteorites is a clarion call to all of their followers, from the Flaming Lips to Interpol, that Echo & The Bunnymen have finally come back to reclaim their rightful place back in front of the spotlight.

The rock instruments--drums, keyboards and guitar--set the framework, but it's the chamber music instrument that blows the doors down.

Shakedown is less about method and more about attitude.

It takes a certain like-minded political sensibility to wholly appreciate both the music and the mantra, but rebels in search of a cause will likely share sympathy for Morello's fervent muse.

Since only 42 seconds of the album is new material (the opening self titled track), it can, at times, feel redundant, almost unnecessary, but, with a musician of Claypool’s caliber, to see boundaries being pushed--and classics revisited--there is obvious value here. And, at the very least, it’s a hell of a lot of fun.

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.

Shows him clearly confident on his own.

Though the songs can come off as occasionally sterile (“On A Day” quickly comes to mind), it’s still a pretty impressive collection of songs from a band that’s only been around for a few years.

This debut from Dangerkids is ambitious only in the fact that there is so much wrong with this record.

Brett Gurewitz’s buzzsaw guitars sound cool, but the blend of punk rock and carols turns out to be too predictable, so you know whether you need to hear this one even without hearing it.

Count Yer Lucky Stars is sure to be high on the critics' picks again and finally garnering the band the limelight they so richly deserve.

Majestically sad (“Almost Home,” “Saints”), soulfully sad (“A Case For Shame”), atmospherically sad (“Going Wrong”), trip hop sad (“The Last Day,” “Tell Me”), Northern soul sad (“Don’t Love Me”) are all interesting but often too subtle variations that almost make you want to force feed him Zoloft at times.

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

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.

Her Space Holiday brings together all the key elements of Bianchi's decade-and-a-half of coloring outside the lines of the pop infrastructure to deliver a swan song appropriately fitting for his underrated one-man-act.

The songs on Deeper Into Dream don't manage to connect with listeners like some of Lee's previous work.

The band’s timbres are more distinctive than its songs, which means that even the shorter tunes are best when they let the instruments do the talking.

This pet project of Jack White uses all the clichés in spades on their self-titled release, The Black Belles.

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

If you are looking to enjoy a continuation of the gals' intriguing blend of Breeders-esque harmony and Tall Dwarves-ish bombast, you may find yourself listening to this otherwise fine record Again and Again.

Form & Control exhibits a duality that splits the difference in the disparity of the Clap's soulful psych-pop/dance club fusion.

Jackson's love for Ellington but unwillingness to play it safe puts The Duke much closer in spirit to its inspiration than rote copies of originals would ever have done.

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

Excellent.

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.

Another solid step in their ongoing evolution, These United States constitutes a genuine declaration of independence.

No One Knows is a subtle album, one that requires time and patience to allow its hooks to sink in.

If you dig big choruses, the sound of a heart breaking and just the right amount of sweat on your brow, then Like a Fire That Consumes All Before It is for you.

This album is a wellspring of the bandmates' combined creativity and an ode to free-spirited artistic expression. Bravo.

Todd tended to distance all but the most devoted, thanks to an album that was, to say the least, rather difficult to digest. So while Global draws from the same synthesized setup, fortunately there’s plenty here to keep everyone enthralled.

Some tracks prize vibe over structure to their detriment.

There is little if anything redeeming about this CD.

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

While the band may seem more aware of emphatic expression overall, many of the melodies maintain the anthemic perspective that ‘s always been so inherent and inspired.

The raison d’etre here is warhammer shred, with little mercy and less restraint.

As Yes is now in its sixth decade, the prog rock band shows on Fly From Here that it can still make music that is fresh and lively.

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.

As long as those instrumental additives remain intact, Poco will always excel in more than name alone, but with fewer voices in the mix, it also remains a challenge to reach that high bar established so early on.

The Midsummer Station isn't a terrible album; it just sounds as if big studio influence overshadows much of the reliable metaphors and creativity that made songs like "Fireflies" a hit.

Unfortunately, there’s little of anything redeeming about the music on this album.

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

Friedberger sits at his keyboard noodling around on little motifs with slight variation here and there, which do evoke cinematic cues. But without the images on the silver screen, it becomes the music of buttons being pushed which gets old quickly.

The fuzz of "Fighting the Smoke" and blend of twang and sincerity on "Red Rubber Army" prove that he's not going to run out of great ideas any time soon.

It turns out that "Brandenburg Gate" is one of the only songs with an actual melody. The rest of Lulu is full of recycled, repetitive riffs; endless drones; more sex and violence than a slasher movie.

Live in Japan is more valuable as a historical artifact than as a concert recording one is likely to return to again and again.