Reaching even farther back to the jangling, surf-tinged guitar work of the ’50s and ’60s as inspiration, the three-piece has created yet another charmingly melodic record.

Loud Like Love’s loudest moments (“Exit Wounds,” “Purify”) are all puff and no power. But on the tormentedly bemused “Too Many Friends,” we get incisive philosophical reflections on technological alienation and the swelling meaninglessness of modern existence.

On his band’s fifth album, On Oni Pond, the experimental-rock showman sharpens his Frankenstein mash of genres down to a gleaming point and plunges it deep into his carotid artery.

The blackened Ski Mask listens like a work in progress about how one would read an unfinished manuscript. Yet with every page turned, it’s a promising step forward towards what Islands are working to become: fulfilled.

With lush instrumentation so rich that non-vocal versions of the songs are also included on the album, these pills aren’t exactly chewable, but they’re easy to swallow.

This is an album hard to grasp at first, let alone on second or third listens.

It’s a throwback, but there are some new twists, from the entrancing (“Listen”) to the goofy (“Inquiries”).

In a world that increasingly rewards short attention spans and encourages distractions, Callahan’s music is well worth taking the time to patiently absorb.

Singer Phil Benson still croons in a tone much like that of Morrissey or Robert Smith, and the guitars still crunch through each urgent track, but we’ve heard it all before, and rowdy, noisy punk songs lose their luster quickly.

What unifies the record is Beal’s ability to create concrete images within his abstract menagerie of sounds, which he then animates through his oddly charming and less paternal Screamin’ Jay Hawkins persona (also a good thing).

Sound System drives home the foursome’s adeptness at boundary hopping, while never forgetting the value of a good hook and a politically righteous lyric.

A short film accompanies the release, but it hardly seems necessary, given the music’s powerful cinematic evocativeness.

It’s easily the most-realized project from the guitar-wielding freewheelers, shy in the right spots but also unafraid of boogieing down in a dive bar.

As soon as AM’s 12 tracks are over, you’ll be lunging for the play button again--it’s that good.

It retains Califone’s signature continuity effect--with slowed acoustic guitar and droning, industrial electronics--burning a 50-minute album into a grand, cinematic waft.

Every album tells a story and, thankfully, Wolfe’s story changes all the time, a morphing type of self-expression with completely pure intent.

Visceral and immediate, if this album doesn’t make you feel something, at least we know it did to Ms. Case.

Gymnasium is yearning and wide-eyed, steeped in action figures and Atari. Where this record veers from its predecessors is in its pervading optimism.

Sure, the societal spying and corruption Reznor forecast in The Slip has played out, but Hesitation Marks is a triumphal I-told-you-so, still whispering for rebellion.

Repave is not just an album created in the interim of Bon Iver releases, but a project that weaves something together that has been there all along. In that sense, the album is both unfettered and cinematic.

The polished sheen on each track dulls any inquisition into what (or who) is behind this music. That said, there is an undeniable human brilliance at the album’s core, and the tension of those aspects makes it an irresistible listen.

Although airing also-ran tracks, Belle and Sebastian have proven their idiosyncratic voices shout the loudest.

Right Action finds Franz Ferdinand embracing their seductive musical strengths, but this time, the usually emotionally charged tracks drenched in lust, loathing and sarcasm are replaced with lyrics blessed by the priceless gift of hindsight.

A well-produced and sunnier combination [of Aerial Ballet and Sunflower].

At times, Nika Roza Danilova’s opera-trained voice sounds overly formal against the string-only instrumentation. But the compositions benefit from her willingness to shed her electro goddess skin.

The lyrics on Carrier stand as the most meaningful in their catalog, making their newest album stand once again as the band’s best yet.

These post-punk/new-wave tracks rumble by with a forcefulness not heard since the ’80s. Soak up the gleaming destruction.

Superchunk continues fishing for perfection--and, as always, the band brings the hooks.