There is nothing here that pushes past what we expect from New Order in their current incarnation, but it is facile, shiny, bright and well-behaved around strangers.

Through all the fascinating genre shell games, the constant on Trying To Never Catch Up is a smart pop sensibility that rarely expels an unoriginal thought.

A dark carnival for pale shoegazers who burn up when the sun hits their papery skin, Surgery is acid rock cloaked in leather jackets and chains.

It's only now though that Patton's fully manifested his passion project minus the avant-garde overlay--and ironically scoring an unheard-of #2 debut on the Billboard classical chart in the process, possibly the strangest highlight yet of a strange talent's career.

While Johansson's debut is not as pleasant as Zooey Deschanel's work with M.Ward, Anywhere I Lay My Head will surely surprise Johansson's doubters; having grown to appreciate Scarlett Johansson for being more than a pretty face and mediocre actor, I can speak from experience.

The Mountain Goats find a way to bounce back from the psychiatrist-worthy lyrics with strong, vibrant but subtly crafted compositions.

One coup this unexpectedly friendly record makes me miss is when my favorite records used to have a string of highlights as moments rather than memorable refrains.

While there's merit to the charges that songs suffer from sameness and that musicianship is a secondary facet of the band, the Girls' detractors don't consider tradition; walking in the footprints of Bikini Kill, Ramones, and other like predecessors who faced similar criticisms, their flaws serve to be their most interesting, differentiating features.

Favourite Worst Nightmare finds the band getting louder, more aggressive, and, as a consequence, losing some of their youthful charm.

So when Era Vulgaris comes as a bit of a disappointment, well, that's all relative, since it still rocks mightily.

Smalldone's solemn and controlled croon, though subtly emotive, amounts to dismal verbosity. The Red River is a serious, introspective project that, like the narrating wanderer, shows no signs of its roots.

Easy to hate and easy to love.

Although it teases at the contrary for its first half, the idea that we really have no idea quite what to expect from the future of Bon Iver is the greatest gift this four-song breath gives us.

It's every bit as enjoyable as the last two. Which isn't to say it's a masterpiece, just that the abrupt backlash is proportionate to the fawning affection she received on Kala and Arular.

8 Diagrams is intricate, inoffensive, interesting.

Despite the similitude of both discs, their respective modesty and muscularity present variety without overreaching. To put it into trite punny terms, Well has some depth.

Depending on how interested you still are by the record's third act, this can be either good or bad. It depends on your taste for disorientation.

With plenty of talent, the Raconteurs have a unique sound; they only need to spend more time trimming it down.

There is experimentation for the sake of experimentation and experimentation for sake of enjoyment. Money, unfortunately, is mostly the former.

Real Close Ones will likely leave listeners dumbfounded, but the album should nonetheless be lauded for its break from convention.

Despite its lack of youthful anarchy, The Hawk Is Howling is an impressive record. Mogwai are among the world's most gifted musical collectives; perhaps they have just been making music too long to want or need to reinvent the game again.

Unfortunately, the opener is really the musical peak of this self-titled disc and as the album slowly slumps toward its egotistically long final track, listeners will probably have already tuned-out.

Kill Them With Kindness works on some levels, but overall it lacks the gravitas of other contemporary pop specialists like... Stars.

This is the kind of headphone or background music that won’t have you looking to change discs, but won’t distract you from whatever else you’re doing, either.

Despite their tendency to wade dangrously close to parody, the Black Heart Procession's continuing themes of despair, gloom and doom are still what make them so appealing as they continue to defy their sunny upbringing.

As much as I enjoy Stage Names, it will never be as highly regarded as the comparitavely masterpiece Black Sheep Boy, as the songs lack the depth and magnitude needed to influence a much more musically inclined indie fan base.

Overall, A Hundred Miles Off is less intense than one may expect; there is no "The Rat" on this record.

Autumn Of The Seraphs is more of the same I have come to expect from Pinback--lovely harmonies and catchy hooks, all with an underlying emotional depth.