It all ends too soon. OneTwoThreeFour is a 10-minute sprint, fitting of a band that's never released more than four songs at any one time.

It's too often a shell without a filling to serve as a ride from front to back, on drugs or otherwise.

Killing Time brandishes an entertaining personality that breathes fresh life into a tried and true trend.

Green shows a new depth and further proves the jump from shaking walls in a post-hardcore group to melting hearts with his current project was the right move.

Bandleader Adrian Pillado and the rest of the group work their way through their retro surf-influenced blasts of pop with ease.

With the jazz-flute-driven “Walking In Your Footsteps” rounding out the highlights, it’s these tracks that radiate the most, but the whole LP serves as a welcome illumination of the otherwise abandoned dance floor we call February.

Middle Brother is nothing revolutionary, but it is an enjoyable throwback to the good ol' days of classic Southern living.

It’s by no means Rogue Wave’s seminal work, but it manages to come off as an honest and hard-earned statement from a band that’s been dealt more than their fair shares of blows these past few years.

The masks are still up on Free Reign, and the hints at human emotion lying behind them aren't strong enough to attempt to pry in.

Dr Dee is more of a musical fog made for sipping tea while blankly gazing onto a desolate street.

The key word for this album is pretty.

My Damnation serves as minor evidence that Chelsea Grin might not become a throwaway copycat. Fans can only hope polish doesn't push these Utah rockers away from their current path and towards the poppier territory of their more famous neighbors.

Elsie begs for the late-night meanderings, sometime after the party, when your mind needs a personal escape.

The album is more a loving revival than a modernization of some of the Everly Brothers’ lesser-known songs. But when the duo’s influence can still be heard trickling into everything from Fleet Foxes to Animal Collective, it’s hard to claim that What the Brothers Sang does much more than reminisce.

She's a wreck and she's out of her element, but she's flesh and blood, and that's something to love about her. It's just a shame there's not enough of it here.

The success of the album is ultimately dependent on the listener's familiarity with the original songs.

Valhalla Dancehall is more of the same from British Sea Power, which is not necessarily a bad thing, but the band has done most of it before in a more memorable fashion. Nevertheless, fans of British Sea Power will likely find their visit to Valhalla Dancehall an enjoyable one.

He might lack a sense of direction personally (at least right now), but it's this lack of clarity that has produced a very focused record.

It's a changeup from the group's traditionally untraditional post-rock, which is exactly what it's supposed to be, and perhaps that's a success in itself.

Girls Names reproduce favorite sounds admirably, and they’ve chosen an extremely popular era to recall, but perhaps a little maturation in this New Life will get them to an exciting place equal to the one they’d already reached.

Light Asylum is intimidating, but the band's goth pop comes with an undeniable groove that's still easy to enjoy.

There’s nothing particularly weak about the record, but it sacrifices the band’s singularity in service of a punk sound that, while plenty amped, ultimately feels a bit by the numbers.

If you're willing to dig around a little bit, you'll unearth a small handful of moments showing Hiatt at his very best. You just have to get your jeans a little dirty.

A more or less identical tempo on all songs and very little variation in the synth timbres aid and abet the disco vibe, yet they also come off as a bit monochromatic.

Night Beds offer a fine experience to listeners who are looking to hear saccharine pop with limited twang.

Given enough time, these experienced musicians should be able to pare things down to these more focused moments, finding the right songs to drape with their ultra stylized vision.

Overall, McAndrews’ solo endeavor is a strong first impression that explores post-dubstep twists and turns in awe-inspiring fashion, though over saturation in places makes the record difficult to completely comprehend.

Alberta Cross sticks to its Atlantic Ocean-spanning guns on Songs of Patience, and more often than not, it hits the target dead on.

Between Abi Fry’s lilting viola and Wilkinson’s cogent, sentimentalist vocals, BSP sails through Machineries of Joy without any fatal blunders.

Far from capturing their kinetic live energy, AMOK feels as isolated, distraught, and feeble as the characters littered about in Donwood’s tragic portrait.

While the former saw some structural variety, most of Babel is content to follow in its older brother's footsteps, delivering a slow build from nothing to eruption on practically every track.

Not all listeners are likely to enjoy the moments of instrumental experiments, but the varying forms of psych rock that pack the 53 minutes of Beard, Wives, Denim are enough to please both fans of Pond and those waiting for a Tame Impala follow up.

DRC Music may save the world after all, but they haven't done enough to make this a truly lasting effort.

While more or less a collection of bastardized leftovers from the False Priest sessions, longtime fans should rejoice as the band finally rekindles their longtime relationship with unpredictability.

The glossy pop songs will disappoint fans who liked her more unusual aspects, while the weird bits may put off the more casual listener.

The Carpenter, like many pieces of art, is a record that becomes more relatable with age and, most frighteningly, loss. For those of us that have been lucky thus far, we'll have to wait and see.

The songs just don't stick long enough to make more than an impression in the pillow.

Although punchy, vindictive standouts “First Shot” and “Faithbreaker” do manage to elucidate some tender scar tissue, The Love Language would be wise to look back to their earlier offerings, lest they fall victim to superfluity and excess.

Production issues aside, this record proves that Soundgarden still have their muscle but also hints that they are in the process of figuring out how to flex it again.

First-time listeners might find the record a tough initiation. But for diehard fans, Meat + Bone is a long-awaited return to the wild side, with the Blues Explosion offering up all the mutated musical goodness as you can stomach.

Slow Summits sees the band producing less shadowy than their peers and fellow Scotsmen Belle & Sebastian.

Unfortunately, Scott is more often than not lyrically uninteresting.

Unfortunately, there are as many lows as there are highs on this debut.

The 10 tracks of Elephant Stone are concise, pop song-length statements that more clearly reflect Dhir’s vision--one he’s learning how to bring to life.

It's an album that inches the band ever so slightly toward simply showing audiences their beliefs, rather than telling them.

While it may not hit the heights of Madvillainy (to be fair, what could?), there are some strong verses and some equally strong production.

The seasoned tone and familiar production lend Wu Block ease and listenability, but also result in empty posturing on tracks such as "Take Notice" and "Do It Like Us."

When Fink sings, “I think still after all these years, something still burns,” on the chorus, seven tracks in, we’re left feeling less like teens trapped on an island and more like parents who have beaten the odds and stayed together. Similar disruptions that take us away from “teenland” are the records’ main fault, though it’s largely successful as a sunny summer album.

Props are in order for Green stepping out of his comfort zone. However, subsequent LPs are going to need to be more refined before they're ready to be deemed truly beautiful.

Our Nature ties the song's stories a little closer to earth while allowing the music to dreamily swirl its listener into reverie.

Aside from a few enticing revelations of Bloom’s potential, Glow & Behold takes the band to a calming low after too many safe turns, diminishing the exciting luster they once exuded.

Emotion is the string connecting the album's 13 songs, which don't quite feel cohesive but never fail to surprise.

By being so low-stakes, the album struggles to justify itself as anything more than a cozy sweater’s worth of songs.

Sonically, The Path of Totality feels culturally authentic and trendy, while at the same time, pounding enough for mosh pits and dance floors alike.

Alone Aboard the Ark doesn’t tackle any major challenges that might have elevated The Leisure Society above an expanding pool of indie folk artists they’re now swimming amongst.

A fair amount of the content on the debut can be summarized as dull or even expected. That said, this is a solid pop record, and one that should find an audience, namely the same audience that found the band's biggest influences.

It redeems itself by demanding careful listening: There's always something unexpected around the corner.

Instrumentally, it's one of the stronger efforts from the band, but altogether it doesn't do enough.

Because Heavy Rocks can't seem to figure out what it wants to be, it falls short of other Boris albums.

An intriguing if uniquely disjointed experiment, and one that likely benefits quite a bit from familiarity with Charles Reznikoff’s work or seeing its theatrical accompaniment.

All that's "green" isn't necessarily gold here, but most of it shines.

Permanent Signal’s lack of ambition and almost-there mentality will leave mouths craving something a bit more flavorful.

James Morrison drizzles his velvety-as-butter voice all over each of the 12 songs on The Awakening, his most recent foray into contemporary soul, where the balance between the cheerful and the cheesy works more often than not.

Though some of these songs would work well on their own, as a full length, they lack fluidity, consistency, and an overall theme that usually binds songs together.

Despite standout moments within most of the songs, nothing on this album except perhaps the closing number, "Till the End", truly stands out as recognizably Raveonettes.

That being said, though, while Codes and Keys is a pleasing listen, it ultimately does lack the depth to make it really memorable, and some of the sacrifices made to create its poppy aesthetic are terribly unfortunate.

Like Clinic or Mind Spiders, Hooded Fang perforates their darkest parts with music that laughs at itself.

There are special moments to be found in this disjointed musical grab bag, so if nothing else, the record at least gives enough reason to keep an open ear for what comes next.

Like One Love, Nothing But the Beat is about what gets people moving on the dance floor.

Nothing on Adios, I’m a Ghost offends, and in fact it’s often pretty good. But it doesn’t leave much of a lasting impression, either.

Lerche's pretty falsetto around an unexpectedly funky beat before blossoming into a harmonious choral chant that evokes the kind of hard-won joy depicted at the end of movies, where people with tear-stained but smiling faces sway back and forth with their arms around each other.

With The 1975, the Manchester group has crafted a skillful pop album that you can listen to while you stare out the window at some dreary weather or while you drive around with the top down, not an easy expanse to cover.

Overall, this is a very accessible album, but it might not be enough to push anyone from one camp into the other.

It’s a Moby album for sure. No gimmicks or schlocky attempts at something trendy like dub-step, and no curveballs to polarize fans.

Had Nero not loitered on their cozy euphoric plateau, Welcome Reality may have given those Tron: Legacy co-conspirators a good fight.

While the album will draw you in, you may find it hard to stay there until the last track.

A mix of danceable synth grooves, lo-fi Norman Greenbaum guitar throwbacks, and Baroque pop.

Sometimes too much is super exciting, and sometimes too much is just a little too much.

PDA is “affectionate pop”--an album with little to no heed about making you feel comfortable.

The Vaccines are clenching onto rock and roll, and this album is an amicable chapter in the genre. Amicable.

Themes include perseverance, climbing mountains, parenting, etc., although at times, they do wander into Cupid’s playground on songs like the title track.

Buoy never seems to fully achieve what makes his music with Akron/Family so enthralling.

Their sophomore effort, Out Of Frequency, is an otherworldly fantasy where disco isn't dead, chipmunks evolved from Adele or the Dee-Lites, and an iPod Touch is your gateway drug to euphoria.

For every fiery, self-serious verse here, you'll find at least one maladroit dud.

It's a watered-down Earle, perhaps more than we'd expect, but it works.

This is a really pleasing album. Just don't listen too hard to the words.

For the most part it’s a good record. The first two thirds are much stronger than that last third.... On its own merit, it’s a solid three stars.... The first couple of tracks had me firmly in its corner, but then the album took a complete nosedive on the back half. [Three reviewers in one]

For the most part, though, this show feels like two different concerts, one Veloso's and the other Byrne's.

While he succeeds fairly well at ensuring that Lupercalia spends its every minute displaying his emotions on its sleeve, it's fairly safe to say that this record won't exactly storm the charts.

Despite the occasional retreat from formula, Delayed Reaction is very much a Soul Asylum record, and one fans should be quick to embrace.

As a purely noise-laden entity, Wolfe is pleasant to the eardrums, and that makes for a modicum of interest.

Lost Control refines Dog Party’s tone into a crisp and punchy power duo dynamic that stays sickly around the edges.

Tourist could have benefited from more calculation and an emphasis on the things that have paid dividends for these guys in the past.

This is just a starting point, but it's obvious he's found his footing.

He may not be the most verbose artist, but the temperament of a reluctant romantic is a quality he shares with some great ones.

At the end of the day, Nothing does not seem groundbreaking because everybody is still digesting Dedication, a record that fleshes out the anachronistic ideas Nothing hints at.

By the end of it, there's little doubting Gaga's sincerity. For all of her schlock and posturing, it's hard to remember the last time a pop star was this sincere.

Ten albums in, the singer proves he still has the juice to keep things interesting, even if he ultimately falls short of his own headstrong expectations.