His 12th record holds no surprises for longtime fans, and yet here it is, his best, his greatest.

It is, in fact, what almost every other Oasis album has been: Not nearly as bad as overhyped sufferers might fear, not nearly as good as its enthusiasts want it to be.

His party peaks too early, though, with the gear soon settling into a middling middle, where the songs start to sound less distinct, and the changes start to become less pronounced, and interest starts to lag, and where, eventually, like a desperate host hoping to keep the party going, Hebden stacks on break after break in a gallant attempt to remind you that the disc is actually playing.

A Certain Trigger has Maximo Park inserting enough creativity, energy and personality into their music to get away with lifting sounds directly from such post-punk bands as XTC, The Jam and Wire.

In stripping things back Mercury Rev suggest that in their case more actually was more, that bereft of the digressions and expansions they're just another band with a nasal, naïve-sounding singer, a way with a hook and a penchant for using the studio as an instrument.

While the album is pleasant, it takes awhile to open up. And once opened up, it's nice, but hardly revolutionary.

It's a relaxed and ambitious collection that confirms Ryan Adams' reputation as a top-notch singer and songwriter who easily jumps styles and evokes comfortable sadness with every turn.

Finn's masterful lyrics can't be ignored. And the music, stopping, starting and crashing with wrenching enthusiasm, is equally undeniable. But the way Finn understands the human condition in all its glory and contradiction is, simply, brilliant.

Their reverb-drenched nostalgia trip is full of enough talent and original thought, though, that the result is respectable and classy, not boorish and (yawn) retro.

Part of what makes this album work so well is that Gummere is willing to cede the mic to other bandmembers whose contributions contrast nicely with his own vocals.

Madlib's constant digressions, interruptions and little sonic jokes may make for an immersive listening experience, but The Further Adventures of Lord Quas demands pretty strict attention, and what it gives back in return is only sporadically satisfying.

A very strong -- albeit front-loaded -- album.

Ultimately the album is bolstered by the risks he takes, and though it trips a bit and never quite achieves the direct vision of previous efforts, it's rewarding nonetheless, for the perspective it brings to Darnielle's body of work.

Laughter's Fifth finds Jayne tracking back to a groovier, sillier time in rock 'n' roll, peeling back the rough riffs and celebrating the peace-and-love beat.

Her most direct, distorted disc since she did Helium's The Dirt of Luck a decade ago.

They're sure punching with more punch than they did when resuscitating the stand-and-deliver sexlessness of analog-electro past with blank face and vacant stare.

Strung with just the right amounts of room-filling tearjerkers (lilting keys and strings), the record is likely to raise a lump in your throat, or at least make you feel fuzzy inside and go "awww" at its prettiness.

It's like Bright Eyes -- urgent, personal, pent-up -- but better; less focused on the individual ego of the "creative genius," more about the group dynamics.

There is nothing here that thrills with its audacity, beauty, beat or lyrics. Instead, we are given a solid batch of songs that for any other artist would be a crowning achievement, but for Beck is just mediocre.

What really puts the album over the top is the way Edan manages to twist the DNA of two distinctly throwback styles, '60s psych-rock and '80s golden-age hip-hop, into a 2005 mutant plaid platypus.

This is The Decemberists' strongest release to date, and proves that the group's unique thesaurus-rock has a bright future.

Let Us Never is the latest sophomore album to make its creator's (actually really good) debut sound kinda paltry.

A sombre, sorrowful collection.

Akron/Family merge shifting, sometimes impressionistic arrangements with limpid lyricism. The result is an elusive -- but strong and deeply fascinating -- debut.

They play slow, but it's slow in the way that Low once did, a sort of punk-rock rebellion against speed and belligerence.

If you're a fan of tuneful, American-influenced pop-punk, Ash are waiting to burn a hole through your heart.

Suggests a progression and a retreat at the same time.

Brings to mind an image of someone stuck on a treadmill who has been fooled into believing that he's actually moving forward.