Over the course of this album, you may laugh, frown, cry, cover your ears, or reach for the remote to fast-forward. But then you'll want to listen to it again.

Dark, downtrodden, and gloomy.

It's an improvement over Standards, which sounded unfinished, but it's nowhere near the peaks of Millions, TNT, or even the self-titled first album's great "Tin Cans And Twine."

A lot of major label-imposed ideas, like rhythm guitar and a heartbreakingly conventional new bass sound, combine to utterly ruin the record's first half. If you can make it through to News' innards, however, an EP's worth of something like better-recorded, more thought-out Lonesome Crowded West material awaits.

Of Montreal are at least three indie subfads too late.

The album is arguably better than the group's much-heralded debut, if by "better" we just mean more sonically impressive overall.

It has so many promising moments, so few -- and I would say hardly any -- flaws, that I just can't help but think, "what if he saw it through?"

Rachel's has produced one hell of a gorgeous concept album - a sort of Dark Side Of The Moon for the Debussy set.

There is no doubt in my mind -- and in this I seem to have a lot of company -- that Transatlanticism is Death Cab For Cutie's best album so far.

Flaws aside, Speakerboxxx more than lives up to its billing.... The Love Below, however, is a revelation.

While the songs aren't that different from "classic" Spiritualized, the method in which they were recorded presents a whole new set of sonic possibilities.

Not unlike Wilco’s Being There, Show Me Your Tears gives classic rock lovers a new album to celebrate -- an album to drink by while mourning the fact that most aging rock icons rarely supply anything this raucous anymore.

Rouse pushes the envelope in a completely different direction, and with modest, although not total, success, he delivers an album that will rival the New Pornographers' Electric Version as the -- for lack of a better word -- most fun album of the year.

On first pass the album might feel like a lateral or even backward step. After repeated spins, however, its subtler arrangements take up digs in your head like pesky squatters who one day, inexplicably, start doing chores or even paying rent.

Yet another shining psychedelic opus.

As impressive as the early singles were, the material on The Violet Hour is often commensurate, sometimes superior.

The album has enough setbacks that Terroir Blues cannot be considered on the same page as Trace, Straightaways, or anything he did with Uncle Tupelo.

Singular parts of this disc throw forth a few pretty piano chords or guitar strums but don’t expect to gain anything from this listening.

This is fun, fun, fun stuff -- one of the year’s best albums, no doubt.

In a way, this could be Blur's best record.

By turns alluring, obnoxious, and laugh-out-loud-funny.

To long-time Jayhawks fans, the new album -- almost entirely acoustic -- is a welcome return to form.

An odd, almost schizophrenic collection.

Somehow The Ugly Organ has enough pop appeal and pseudo-uplifting sentiment to make it listenable.

While not quite as satisfying as Wilco's 1998 collaboration with Billy Bragg, Mermaid Avenue, the new record is a great document of two groups that enjoy experimenting and pushing the musical envelope.

This mixture of revealing honesty and defiant self-confidence pervades the majority of You Are Free, an affecting and unforced 14-track album that stands as arguably her most diverse and rewarding effort to date.

Once again, the enthusiasm of the delivery and the fun of being absorbed into the music belies the fact that the group's four members are amazingly talented at what they do.

Hearts Of Oak is one of those albums on which each song has the power to get you thinking, and the hooks to resonate inside your head long after it's through playing.

Tweedy, O'Rourke and Kotche push each other in exciting directions, with songs building on the contributions of each.

Most indie-somethings will scoff defiantly upon hearing the note-for-note schlepping of excerpts from Mogwai's Young Team or the Sonic Youth-isms dripping from some of the guitar build-ups. Still, the members of Kinski, like a stubborn weed in a thicket of thorns, grow past their numerous predecessors at times, unearthing moments of pure psychotropic bliss.

Although some aspects of the group's live show threaten to turn the entire thing into an ironic joke, the excellent music here betrays no such mixed messages.

Amazingly, the entire package coalesces without sounding tacky, no matter how funhouse-quirky the instrumentation gets.

Blacklisted is certainly a high-water mark for Case; a statement, if you will.

BLD is arguably Black's most straightforward rock album; his sound is becoming more and more "classic rock" with each passing record.

Devil's Workshop is the most compact realization of the group's aesthetic, and it contributes 11 solid songs to Frank's ever-expanding canon.

A maddeningly ambitious album, Lifted fits into the pantheon of the great concept records of the past few years, joining the likes of The Flaming Lips' The Soft Bulletin, and Neutral Milk Hotel's In The Aeroplane Over The Sea.

It almost sounds like Pirner is born again, and as anyone who's heard some of Soul Asylum's earlier records -- especially Hangtime and And The Horse They Rode In On -- knows, that's a good thing.

The Rising somewhat falters in its middle third, as Springsteen struggles to make this a cohesive record.

It augments the band's traditional pop sound with string arrangements and baroque instrumentation, to varying degrees of success.

Thanks to fresh melodies, a surprisingly effective voice, ever powerful rhythms, and burning guitar/bass workouts, Jason Loewenstein has coined a voice of his own.

Whether they came on board at Daydream Nation or Experimental Jet Set, true believers will relish this one.

GBV have made a record that should please any fan still listening.

A rather haphazard collection of dialogue snippets, instrumental vignettes, and the occasional proper Belle song.

The Private Press does not break ground like Endtroducing... did, but it showcases a wiser, more versatile Shadow, and in many ways it is a better record than its predecessor.

After repeated listens, Title TK congeals into a beautiful little slice of fuzz-rock-pop.

With her second solo album, Timony returns to earth, revitalized by a renewed sense of adulthood, while continuing the experiments with mood and texture.

Vapor Trails is a great, straight-forward hard rock album from a band that actually seems to be getting better as it ages.

Maladroit combines the best parts of the three previous Weezer albums: creamy guitar riffs, addictive beats, staple "hoo hoo's" and the brilliant mystique of Cuomo’s lyrics.

Retains the experience of its formative years in the heyday of psychedelic collective Elephant Six, but expresses itself in more of a straightforward manner, with a set of agreeable pop-rock tunes.

A subtle pop album that needs multiple listens and draws upon 1970s soul harmonies as much as it does Lou Reed’s repetitious rhythm guitar.

The album's songs do not attack you with bombast but rather smother you in a slow burn, like gathering frost suffocating a mournful shut-in.

Blood Money should be heard as a complete piece of music -- like watching a play -- and some tracks that might appear thin on their own will be revealed as far meatier in context.

The album leaps between influences of Hawaiian music, classic indie rock, '70s-era orchestration, and country -- all very very delicately, as is Aden's way.

It's an okay album, not nearly as overproduced as Liquid Skin nor as unnecessary as Abandoned Shopping Trolley Hotline. It isn't anywhere near the stellar debut, though, which is quickly becoming a tag Gomez is sick of hearing.

Despite the presence of a few misses, When I Was Cruel will be well worth the purchase for anyone still trying to work their way through All This Useless Beauty. It's a straightforward, catchy, and of course smart record from the meanest man in the British Isles.

A stark, mostly beautiful but sometimes mind-numbing disc.

A glossy, major-label-sounding record that’s dull, atmospheric, frustrating, and beautiful in pretty much equal amounts.

The catchy songwriting doesn't sit well next to Neil's crunchy soul, and the performances feel so stiff it makes for an unusually uncomfortable listen.

Rings Around The World takes another twelve bold strides forward, applying the technology explored on earlier efforts like Radiator and Guerrilla and the restraint exercised on the more lo-fi Mwng to a fresh set of songs that stretch the group's stylistic boundaries and provide the young century with one of its first classic albums.

It's great to love an album on the surface just for the hooks, and also realize that underneath there is some true thought going into the concept.

Although the whole thing begins to make more sense after (many) repeat listens, the overall results are at best uneven, and at worst, absolutely baffling.

Throughout, Trail Of Dead make off like indie rock legends at the top of their game.

For all its minimalist musical approach and inherent gloominess, Is A Woman over time proves a creative masterstroke.

What is really so special about Gotham! is its infectiousness.

A gentle tremble of an album.

Unfortunately, talent alone doesn't always make a great record, and Howdy! lacks the excitement to put it in that category.

More in the vein of Built To Spill's Perfect From Now On than the latest Doves or Travis albums, Asleep is structured as an epic, almost prog-rock album that, once spun, reveals itself as a comfortable listen, containing a number of classic pop songwriting turns within its vastness.

Insignificance’s length of less than 40 minutes perhaps indicates that O’Rourke is not as serious about producing a pop opus as he is interested in getting a kick out of screwing around with pop song writing.

Sounds how Radiohead should sound live: brutal (the cacophonous sample layering in “Everything in its Right Place”), catchy (the bass line of “I Might Be Wrong”), danceable (the beats on “Idioteque”) and mesmerizing (the simplicity of “True Love Waits”).

It’s hard to imagine what the Plan could do to top Change, but one thing is for sure: growing up and looking forward has rarely sounded so universally satisfying.

A strong, cohesive and surprisingly soulful record.

Comparisons aside, though, the Strokes do cultivate a sound that's enough theirs to make me wonder what their second and third albums will sound like.

While not every song is a gem, the ones that are have pushed the band's already high standard of compelling indie pop one notch higher.

The record could quite possibly be one of the best of the year with a dash of self-control.

Un-inspirationality aside, Gorky's still exhibits glimmers of sonic uniqueness and loads of pop craftsmanship throughout the record.

Fridge seem to have a knack for making odd organic instruments fit tightly with electronic gurgles and glitches. But don't be fooled, ladies and gentlemen, their new long-player Happiness is a rock album through and through.

Twelve songs of quality, with an impeccable overall arrangement.

The majority of the new songs are keepers.

The Coast is Never Clear's shortcomings fall in Beulah's tendency to recycle the same song and name it something new.... Nonetheless, Beulah is still making some of the most infectious and smart pop songs anywhere in independent rock.

A major rebirth, relegating the chirpy melodies to expedients, relying less on Sadier's monotone singing, and reaching for new formats within the group's formidable compositional skills.

A beautiful, magical, mystical soundtrack; similar to Homogenic, but in a sense, more light-hearted and full of love.

It's not that the music is bad, per se, it's just not very interesting.

The White Stripes are a great rock and roll band, and White Blood Cells a suitable coming-out party.

Eclectic to the point of sounding confused.

The album has its share of enjoyable tunes, and more than a couple great ones.

It is hard to shake the feeling that these songs may actually be leftovers.

Agaetis Byrjun stands up in overall artistic merit to any record ever made.

For the first time in a long time, one can actually listen to David Gahan's lyrics. Indeed, on Exciter, he has rarely sounded less moronic.

An across-the-board triumph.

Many adjectives have been thrown around in reference to this latest album: lush, atmospheric, beautiful, summery, melodic. All apply. This is R.E.M.'s pop record.

The first Mouse On Mars album to truly surprise.

This album is to Unwound what Daydream Nation was to Sonic Youth: the application of wild imagination and ruthless harmonies to a more mainstream format, while largely dispensing with their heritage and experiments.

The material is maddeningly inconsistent, sometimes in the course of the same song.

Unlike past efforts, the songs don't overstay their welcome, evoking more smile-enducing moments than one would come to expect from RHP

Possibly a step forward from The Boatman's Call, but far from being a return to form.

Guided By Voices sound more assured than ever before, reflecting on the travails of life in a rock’n’roll band with uncommon honesty and power.

While Live In New York City does nothing to diminish Bruce and his bandmates’ reputation as one of rock history’s finest live acts, it doesn’t offer many listeners a substantial reward for purchase.

In relation to what the Dave Matthews Band is capable of -- or even what they've recorded previously -- it's dreadful.