Hometowns may not be the amazing album some had hoped for but it is an honest debut on many levels: sometimes great, most of the time decent and a good while just being there.

Picking through Blurry Blue Mountain in stages, there is evidently a decent fistful of individually strong moments but taken as a whole its meandering, undemonstrative nature does make it feel like a somewhat makeweight collection; one that will appeal to few people beyond the existing Giant Howe fanbase.

It’s somewhat troubling to see Jurado abandoning the genre of folk that served him so well on his last album. More unsettling is the simultaneous presence of the mopey indulgence of some of Jurado’s faux-gothic breakup stories and the honed, spare excellence of tracks like “White Center,” “Lottery,” and “Fuel.”

The problem is the songs. Oh, the songs - they're pretty, all right, but there's no substance.

The tracks with fuller arrangements are the more interesting and surprising tracks here, and they suggest Vile would do well to seek out other strong personalities to write and record with.

Barrett combines his best strengths to deliver one of the album’s few shining spots; it’s just a shame there aren’t more of them on here.

Noir... writes some really genuine, cheery, memorable songs, but it’s just too much to digest on one record.

Despite the overall melange approach being a little uneven, there are some genuine delights to be found within.

I’m Wide Awake is an uneven product, full of everything there is to loathe and love about Oberst.

This is an unwieldy yet infectious compendium that will satisfy those who need it most.

It's hard to dislike this album because it is capably performed and the sounds and voices work up a dreamy headspace, but it's also difficult to be really enthusiastic about it.

Come Home to Mama is lyrically stiff on top of instrumental complexity. The lyrics need to be pulled way back. What does work are the opening beats and rhythms awash in a mix of sonic, ambient environments.

There is a solid amount of quirkiness to realize and I Was A King surely have a knack for turning out strong songs but maybe next time a 'less equals more' approach would be more fitting.

These initial songs are noteworthy by any measure; the remainder of the album, then, is a bit of a let-down, especially on first listen.

Too much of the edge is gone, too much emphasis is placed on guitar solos, and the guitars sound, at times, rather flat and listless.

It's this robust fervor and subject matter that fire up and lift up many of the songs on Ceremonials, but the constant exhortation comes at a price. Listener fatigue sets in as the relentless, up-tempo pace and sharply exclamatory vocal tone overwhelms over the course of the album.

Daedelus is a master at what he does, and what he does is different than virtually everything else around him, but he’s playing a little too close to the vest here, trading much of his style for a little more beat.

Packing both studio polish and meandering melodies makes for a largely safe yet inconvenient marriage.

This isn’t a horrible album by any means, but it also isn’t very good. Sitek has done an astounding job of creating misty atmospheres and it’s these small touches that aid the album in becoming an interesting listen.

If Edan can sort out the dismayingly schizophrenic nature of Beauty and the Beat, he could harness his immense potential as both a rapper and lyricist and create something pretty cool, especially if he gets guest-MCs who perform as well as Insight, Percee P, and Mr. Lif do on this album.

On the whole, Grey Oceans seems to be the same old thing. I wouldn't recommend this to a first time listener of the band.

There are few efforts as noble as Fink’s attempt to express the realities of human suffering. It’s unfortunate that Invisible Ones can’t consistently relate these messages musically.

It’s not quite the doom-laden disaster that provisional plays suggest but neither is it an easy-to-recommend addition to the Low catalogue.

Nocturama isn't the weakest album in Nick Cave's canon, but it's far from being a particularly good one either.

Codename: Rondo showcases a softer sounding group and it's one that sounds neither confident, nor too amusing.

Dumb Luck has [its] share of intriguing moments, on a few shining tracks.

The guitars and drums machines and electronic selections are a bit unlistenable. There are some redeeming qualities, however, with a solid groove-ridden guitar fashion show with "I'll Sue You" and an eccentric but extremely tasteful European guitar ballad in "Lisbon".

The way that Howling Bells constructed Radio Wars relies on strong melodies, hooks, songs, songs that aren’t really there, ideas not quite developed.

Temper, an album that stays the course in terms of facade but for the most part lacks the great songwriting that elevated "Précis" above other singer-songwriters.

Ultimately, it’s the combination of thwarted ambition and lack of proper recognition, which is apparent, that prevents Beware from ever fully taking flight as a listening experience.

At each fork in the road, instead of going one way or another, Lerner takes the fork.

The album would be yet another trademark Strokes outing if not for its glaring inconsistency in the later tracks.

So if you can make it to track six - the lush “Only Love Can Set You Free” - Love Songs For Patriots becomes far more palatable from then on in.

This synth pop rhythm and blues album is nothing out of the ordinary. I do believe, however, that there are some clever twists throughout the album but unfortunately it all becomes a bit repetitive both musically and lyrically.

Eternal Turn of the Wheel just seems to pack too much of an antiquated, overused style into it without any new innovation and I just can't get behind this album.

Sure, sometimes, House makes for an enjoyable listen--but when those little electronic beats come in, and when autotuned vocals slip into the picture, it becomes increasingly more apparent that Le Concorde--or at least House--isn't special, but it sure thinks it is.

Overall then, Whatever, My Love is a mixed affair. Die-hard lovers of Become What You Are will have few real complaints but might perhaps overdose a touch on déjà vu. For the less pre-devoted, a cherry-picked yet economically-unviable EP selection from the album might have served this reunion better artistically.

Hippies is hardly song focused, the record's 16 tracks tend to mesh together into a blurry, tape-fueled haze--there aren't any obvious highlights here.

Adamson is certainly adept at replicating the sights and sounds of the Bond and Blaxploitation films that inspired him in his youth. But is he celebrating his passion or merely mocking it in a hamfisted fashion? Sadly if feels like too much of the latter, even if it is by accident.

Incumbent crescendos and contemplative guitar interludes notwithstanding, Mono has chosen to cloak itself in the inescapable fog of its forefathers and influences rather than transcend the sum of its parts.

Year of the Black Rainbow is not a bad album. It has its moments, but it is a far, far cry from the greatness Coheed & Cambria possessed on all four previous albums, especially the masterpiece of melody, dynamics, musicianship and continuity that was "Good Apollo I."

Surprisingly enough, it lacks a strong sense of focus (something the creative basking of Sea Lion honed in on) and for all of its elements of sweeping grandiosity, they never seem to have much of a purpose.

A staggeringly uneven salad of powerpop alt-country and even R&B that succeeds as often as it fails.

Brokeback And The Black Rock reveals itself as a flawed yet still sporadically rewarding long-player.

A decidedly mixed bag that offers many captivating songs but not a consistently high-quality artistic statement.

There are a number of ear-worthy gems on the album but it’s difficult to muster up enthusiasm for a band that doesn’t seemingly have much enthusiasm themselves.

Roadkillovercoat, though possessing several arresting and infinitely entertaining moments, lacks the overall effect and a certain cohesion to render it an instant classic.

Although annoyingly inconsistent, Infiniheart contains enough interesting tunes with odd arrangements and instrumentation to convince us that Chad Van Gaalen is a talented songwriter and multi-instrumentalist and is capable of producing engaging, lo-fi, ambient pop.

While tuneful and solid, [In Time To Voices] is not as spectacularly primal as their initial offering Box Of Secrets.

The album feels like a grab-bag of the band’s process, but not a cohesive expression of their craft.

Drums Between the Bells is by no means an embarrassment, but don't look for it to be lumped into the upper echelon of Eno's output either, where triumphs like Discreet Music or Another Green World reside.

There are nine tracks of somewhat forgettable spacey-psych 70's songs that are packed with confusion from start to finish. It sounds as if the band skipped a few pages, assuming that their immediate debut success would carry over with the risks they took for this one.

Is this a "mature" album? Probably. But I can't help thinking that without Nina Persson's beautiful voice, Gravity just wouldn't have garnered a whole lot of attention.

The question then arises whether this double album is “necessary” in the overall scheme of Sigur Ros’s work.... When listening to Hvarf, the answer is decidedly “yes” for sustaining their known output, but on the Heim side of things, with its stripped down, string-focused, acoustic sound, the answer leans towards “no”.

It is both a timid musical experiment and a relatively directionless one at that.

A shock in the uttermost worst way because Wale has suffered from the over-production, guest-crammed, lack-of-ideas style that usually follows with a major label release.

Lo-fi recording and lackluster production force the songs to rely on the comforting characteristics of the understated indie-twee-folk, of which there are too little to make it real appealing.

There are some genuinely good songs on this album. But good bands make music that their listeners don't have to really try to enjoy.

The indulgences and overreaching take away from the really good songs.

Yeah, they're good at what they do, but what they do is just not that palatable.

Arthur & Yu's inconsistently brewed blend of neo-psychedelic indie-folk is definitely an acquired taste and the home-recorded, lo-fi production along with uninspired songwriting renders In Camera incapable of being a worthwhile investment of your listening time.

The Thrills still have more musical verve than many other second-album victims, but too much of this album seems as if The Thrills have wearied of their own sunny musical dispositions.

Despite the band’s annoying lyrics, their beats can be catchy and they have a kick-ass bass player.

Horses in the Sky has some melodic, attractive moments, though these are drowned by yelps and off-key vocals that grate and stain the whole work.

Whilst Songs and Other Things may still attract loyal aficionados of Verlaine’s idiosyncratic solo work, it’s certainly unlikely to win over any sceptics.

Alas, it feels like In the Absence of Truth finds the band both spinning its wheels and running out of ideas.

Unfortunately one great number can't save the whole act.

Minus the instrumentals (eight), tracks featuring guest stars (three), and songs whose only redeeming quality is their cool title (at least five, including "Son of a Bitch," "I’m Going to Stop Pretending I Didn’t Break Your Heart," and "Whatever Happened to Soy Bomb"), you’re really only left with a handful of bonafide Eels tunes.

Even the better tracks fall a little flat.

Based on the simple songwriting and the nauseating lyrical content, This Addiction is sad, and to the die-hard Alkaline Trio fans such as myself, it will greatly disappoint.

“Something Hyper” and “Xian Undertaker” are exceptional and worth hearing. However, the rest of the album provides very little payoff.

The songs here seldom rise above the level of being really cute.

When the band operates under more traditional songwriting styles they can be quite catchy, but the more wandering, abstract moments can sometimes wander a little too far into non-structured noise.

A bland alt-pop stew that meanders aimlessly.

For all its aural pleasantries, it seems bored, lethargic, strapped, bounded and paralyzed by mysteriously viscous elements.

The lack of complexity, tension, and propulsion in most of these songs is a big disappointment because the soundscapes are not grand and glorious enough to overcome the simplistic musical lines and repetitive nature of the lyrics.

The group's sound is, at times, difficult to simply listen to, so it comes as no surprise that expanding upon it in such a drastic way would produce several miscues.

Once the songs on Lion the Girl are over, they are as difficult to remember as those wisps of dream that dissolve upon waking.

Contrary to what its title might imply, there’s really not a whole lotta "new" goin’ on here.

Cansei de Ser Sexy is just so acutely gaudy and trashy that, despite an abundance of spunk and sneer, it comes off as disaffected and impossibly irritating.

The Bedlam in Goliath is an exhausting listen and it seems like the guys have tried to pack in as many prog-rock clichés as possible.

It's unconvincing and bland.

Unfortunately, the mere manufacture of unique sounds isn’t enough to rescue them on La Forêt.

This is a grating, difficult, unsatisfying album.

If you wanna hear some Killing Joke, do yourself a favor and go get a copy of the band's original debut self-titled record or What's THIS For...! (which were complete trend-setters), because this latest release comes off as nothing but a lifeless self-parody of those albums.

These songs are painfully uneventful.

Wasif aspires for the guts of Neil Young and the tortured soul of Ian Curtis but captures neither, instead sounding like an inappropriately self-pitying, passive-aggressive whiner.

The music itself isn’t quite as bad as the singing, but it still lacks the sincerity needed to keep Sun, Sun, Sun from sounding like a collection of Eagles’ outtakes.

It sounds like 4th generation Stooges impersonators.

Wading through the next 70-plus minutes of wandering noise and blank hissing for the gems was painful, to put it mildly, because when I got to them, they were played off-key and incredibly quickly, as if the band wanted to get it over with and get back to banging on the guitars and making nonsensical noise.

This record is easily on par with Corgan's solo record as one of the worst things he has ever done.