It's the album you wish the Strokes would've made.

The audio equivalent of a warm bubble bath.

It'll charm the chaps off both diehards and the folks who've discovered these backwoods sounds because of the O Brother, Where Art Thou? soundtrack.

A sprawling, varied disc that's as laid-back as a cool summer afternoon.

It's a massive success.

Evokes Jamiroquai, Steely Dan and Curtis Mayfield--all at the same time.

If you haven't already pledged your allegiance to Radiohead, this isn't gonna turn you.

Keep an ear open for this solid effort's best moments: the soulful "Full Frontal Fridays" and jubilant "I Get Cravings."

Costello's most exciting album in ages.

Holland gracefully achieves the spookiness and timelessness artists like Tori Amos and Cat Power have been chasing for years.

Let's hope we don't have to wait until 2040 for something else this good.

The group cuts through style in pursuit of substance, using Fever to Tell's slow-burning hit "Maps" as a jump-off point.

Imagine a dance floor where Steve Reich raves, Talking Heads reunite and disco divas shake their booty with pierced punks.

In the tradition of Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, Woody Guthrie and even Bruce Springsteen, Earle has a knack for hard-nosed poetry.

Pawn Shoppe Heart is all sensational glam riffs and massive shout-along choruses.

It's killer stuff for any frame of mind.

Astronaut takes a few songs to warm up, but by the time the band hits naughty dance-floor fillers like "Bedroom Toys" and "Taste the Summer," it feels like 1983 all over again.

These are just good tunes, no matter what the window dressing is.

Another cool chill-out album.

Simply great.

Think of it as more of a mix tape because the British quintet's jam-band explorations dip into everything from Beatles-esque pop and Delta-blues-influenced ballads.

With dashes of Nick Cave darkness, surf-guitar twang, ugly '60s pop and Velvet Underground-y noise, the Raveonettes offer more variations on the dense tuned-down sound that's overtaking America.

The joyful "I Love the '80s"-style disc fans have been yearning for since she took up yoga.

The Killers sound like a delicious puree of Blur, Pulp and the Cure, loading Hot Fuss with stylish synth-pop effects and big blazing choruses.

[It] shows things are as loony as ever in Busta's camp.

Futures goes back to the band's roots, sporting 11 sparkling gems that carefully balance balladry with bombast.

A well-crafted mix of hardcore bluster, determined melody and anthemic grandness that boasts depth and texture rarely heard from the Warped Tour ilk.

Frontman James Walsh channels Jeff Buckley's soaring vocals so perfectly over those lovely acoustic guitars and pianos that you won't be surprised when you hear the band's named after a Tim Buckley album.