Despite how thunderous Thatcher sounds behind the drums or how dirty Kerr's bass tone is, unfortunately there isn't a pedal for more robust and compelling songwriting.

For Tweedy diehards, these intimate reworks may come off as a nice fireside chat with an old friend, but those less familiar with the singer are better off starting with the originals.

"I'll Fight for Your Life" makes up for its unremarkable melodies with a percussive synth pulse, while the charming "Head of the Horse" is a curveball ballad from a project that has always been better known for upbeat pop tunes. Beyond that, however, this album is a 50-minute slog.

It makes in confident swagger what it lacks in memorable hooks, but at 19 tracks, it's too imbalanced and stuffed to be considered a classic.

While McVie's voice seems to have held up quite well, it's all but lost behind multiple layers of effects, combined with gratuitous use of shakers and other percussion. As for the songs themselves, most are simply fair-to-middling pop songs.

At over an hour in length, Teenage Emotions is more quantity than quality.

Evans tries to preserve authenticity by enlisting producers like Chucky Thompson, Stevie J and DJ Premier (who all worked with Biggie in life). It's an understandable move, but the album's production is simply too dated to resonate.

There's a handful of above-average tunes here, and an earnestness that suggests Harry Styles will have a fruitful solo career.

The genre is wide, but Stapleton's Room is so narrow and old-fashioned that, despite its quality songwriting, it feels stifling at times.

The fact that it's essentially more of the same might make it uninteresting to some, but to fans of the band or any of its widely known predecessors like Jimmy Eat World or Taking Back Sunday, that sameness will bring a welcome sense of comfort.

In•ter A•li•a feels like a band trying to recapture the sound of their youth.

Wiesenfeld's hazy side project is nice, but it would fare better if he punched it up slightly-- for active listening

Visuals is drenched in grandiosity, but many of its songs are devoid of proper exploration; instead of pushing the limits, they often feel idle.

Be Myself is hardly a classic, but it's another solid, light-hearted sounding collection with some clear standouts on it.

On Electric Lines, Joe Goddard shoots for something eclectic and exciting, but settles for something sporadically enjoyable at best.

DAMN. is the first time in Lamar's career that he hasn't broken new ground, explored old themes in new ways or exhibited sonic growth.

Wrangled lacks ambition.

August By Cake gets interesting when tracks like "Warm Up to Religion" and "What Begins on New Year's Day" tap into the melancholy that's occasionally haunted Pollard's melodies. Aside from those tracks, though, he shows little interest in the tinkering that made his earlier work so interesting.

The result is a better-than-most modern pop record filtered through an indie aesthetic that nevertheless lacks the forward-thinking drive of the best of either genres.

Unlike their past efforts, though, Silver/Lead is sluggish when it needs to be spry and dull when it ought to be meditative.

We All Want the Same Things won't quench the casual fan's thirst for new drunken bar rock anthems, but for those willing to listen a bit more closely (and quietly), Finn's solo work still provides some stories worth hearing.

It isn't without its flaws, but Rather You Than Me positions Rick Ross as the boss he's always claimed to be, his raps reinforced by lofty, gold-plated production and added lyrical depth that's as refreshing as a glass of Belaire Rose.

So Joy Comes Back might be on your shopping list, especially if you're already a Ruthie Foster fan, but take this advice: It's only half a great album, so keep it on the B side.

The first record without co-founder and lead guitarist Matt Mondanile, who left last year to focus on his Ducktails project, it finds the band struggling to find their footing in his absence.

It's a lack of originality that turns the sound stale rather quickly.

Reassemblage is compelling, sure, but perhaps only for those who have the patience or curiosity for an exploration of the sonic predecessors of electronica.

Sensorimotor as a whole isn't as strong as Lusine's previous efforts for Ghostly International.

On Last Place, the band returns to the same well again, and while there is enough here to sustain some nostalgia, that well seems drier than ever before.