Policy is a quaint and breezy record that just happens to sound exactly like what it is--an Arcade Fire solo effort.

The music is strikingly less dense than before, though the production is as meticulous and measured as ever, but it’s also so deliberately bleak, so obvious in its intent to be capital-I Important, it all but dares you to turn your back and chuckle.

Hornet’s Nest certainly contains some killer moments, but, sometimes the sting is not always obvious.

In spite of improving on his past few records, Mondanile goes back to writing a technically sound and agreeable effort that falls back on familiar concepts.

The result sounds tired, formulated, comfortable, and much too safe to be satisfying. If the album does one good thing, it's that it begs us to go back and listen to the catalogue of Clutch that was so bold and exciting.

The music's not flawless, but it serves its role as come-down music quite nicely.

His music is unobtrusive without being boring, polite without being gutless.

I found each half of This Is Really Going to Hurt to be quite solid, but I couldn't quite get over how it sounds like the band are trying two separate things. It almost feels like two EPs, each with a different musical focus, shoved together.

Is Feel.Love.Thinking.Of. a textbook example of the “decent album that would have made a great EP”? Quite possibly.

If you liked Come on Over, you'll probably like Up!, which continues her signature big sound with its disco beat and perky grrrl-power lyrics.

There’s plenty of other music like the music on The Man, but that doesn’t diminish Omar’s creation.

What may get lost in all this effect and craft is that at their base, many of Linkous’ songs are remarkably standard rock-song constructions.

Sometimes it’s just too sweet for its own good, but true fans of the genre will eat this album right up.

There is a consistency to the album that is both its strength and its weakness.

The vivacious, visceral World of Joy is the musical equivalent of riding a well-worn mechanical bull.

When the album fails, it usually does so by not capitalizing on her honey-burnt pipes or by creating musical backdrops that are muddled, meandering dumps of dull.

It’s not surprising that What Will We Be sounds, then, like a relaxed, slightly crisper take on the ideas that informed his previous release. This haze of lazy Tropicalia, occasionally interrupted by an indulged moment of proggy vamp, isn’t necessarily a compromise.

The Mix is pretty much what you might expect from a big, mainstream DJ: a well-crafted blend of house and trance selections. No big surprises or groundbreaking material, but pleasant enough.

Diver isn't a whole lot more than a potentially thought-provoking record rife with as many missteps as it is original ideas, helping it emerge as just above average.

All in all, Feel It Break as a whole is a little uneven because Austra still seems to be looking to strike the right balance between its different parts.

Green Language is by no means a bad album, but there are glimpses of an adrenaline shot of a record that could have been made.

There could be some discomfort initially, but it's equally likely R&B fans who give Back to Love a shot will soon have it stuck in their rotation, learning to accept the quirks of its lesser tracks and falling more and more for its standouts.

Not all of the compositions here strike gold.

As a crossover it mixes the popular appeal of a boy band aesthetic and trite songwriting with undeniably catchy melodies and the requisite wall-shaking bass.

It's not broad, bold, or bustling enough to authentically capture what it tries so hard to get at.

The Breaks is just a pretty good pop album.

Lone Justice may have been a better performing unit before Geffen forced that ‘80s drum sound and Benmont Tench’s ubiquitous keys on them, but there’s something to be said for having Tom Petty and Little Steven contributing material when you haven’t quite gotten a handle on songwriting.

It’s a stretch to call anything timeless, and singer-songwriters aren’t about to go out of style any time soon. At the very least, it’s another 12 songs just waiting to be plucked for the montage scenes of next season’s prime-time dramedies.

Nothing is forced about Thomas's blend of folky Americana and electronic psychedelia. However, the album becomes a chore as Thomas's nihilistic tendencies overshadow the confusingly hopeful tone he was attempting on The Other.

Now, that's not to say that this process is completely cynical, or that What a Pleasure isn't, well, pleasurable. The problem is that the nostalgia it evokes doesn't seem to be a by-product of an aesthetic objective, but a goal in and of itself.

Unfortunately, Solar Power just isn’t palpable for anyone beyond Lorde’s existing fanbase or background noise for a mellow summer picnic.

That it comes off a bit too orchestrated and muted around the edges isn’t a large criticism, but it sure would be interesting to hear the band let loose for a change.

This EP is over before it fully blooms. It's not a big statement, and it's a little awkward in spots. It's just a little warm-up, a little kick in the seat of the pants. There's more to come I'm sure.

Pythons is a fine slice of punchy garage-pop, the kind to be blared from car stereos on sun-fueled, summer road trips that would coincide with the album’s June release.

Despite the excellent lyricism and genius flow, there are still hiccups. Most notably, these come from the Wu’s collaborators.

The biggest problem with the record is how often His Name Is Alive scrap[e] the bottom of this gentle pop vibe, diminishing the early efforts by continuously revisiting the same ground.

As with most DJ-Kicks entries, the record ends up being a bit longwinded, and unlike other DJ-Kicks entries, his flirtation with some occasionally atonal numbers pulls the listener out of the overall listening experience.

Even close listens won’t always make it clear. Jóhannsson doesn’t bend genres, he blends them. And as far as film soundtracks go, that’s a smidgen above par-for-the-course.

For those who have happily stuck around this long already Dig Out certainly won’t be the straw that breaks the camel’s back--by all means, it lightens the load quite considerably. But it does so with the dawning realisation that, 17 years and seven albums in, this is a high point in a career deficient in high points.

Lord Steppington is worth a listen for the production alone if you’re a fan of boom bap hip-hop. It’s just a shame because this could’ve been so much more if more of the focus went into writing.

Helter Seltzer ends up being a bit of a hit and miss album, where the biggest pluses come from the band stretching its sound a bit.

There’s nothing bad about the aforementioned tracks. They just lack the edge that makes Hubbard’s music dangerous.

When Blue Roses fails, the reasons are all-too-clear, but when it succeeds it sounds like the work of someone who could leave a lasting mark.

Not without flaws, the brilliant first half proves to be a hard act for the second half to match with similar or equal brilliance. That said, with no deal breakers, and a boatload of potential, Hands provides more than enough for some alt-music thrills.

The banality here neutralizes the complexity and thoughtfulness one finds elsewhere on this record, giving the false sense that the whole thing is more saccharine than it really is. Sadly, that's what happens when the good songs are as forgettable as the bad.

It's good enough to warrant the inevitable "return to form" and "comeback" labels, good enough to make you appreciate Jones all over again. Take a step back, though, and it is far from perfect. At times it escapes embarrassment by the skin of its teeth.

Those that didn’t enjoy Skull Orchard before won’t be won over, but it doesn’t change the fact that those naysayers have conspicuously terrible taste.

Immediately following 'Heart Beat Rock,' we are treated to a long stream of high-class filler.

White is Relic / Irrealis Mood at least has the good sense to drape most of Barnes' stranger ideas in a layer of danceable grooves, which keeps it pretty accessible. As far as the more experimental Of Montreal records go, this is near the top of the list. This doesn't necessarily mean I can give it a straight recommendation, but it's more listenable than Barnes' most outré material.

If Mesirow let herself explore these weird sounds more fully instead of relying on the tried and true synthesized percussion, this album would reach another level of interest.

The album would be an enjoyable enough lightweight ride without those moments, but when they come, they are welcome. They also give the album an air of missed opportunity.

Cliche love songs, too many similar beats and melodies, and a lack of energy all pull the album down, and when the album is composed in a way that should be fully appreciated in its entirety, the lack of variety affect the album’s success even more.

When the album quietly disrupts its meditations is when it is at its most effective. Other parts of the album draw you in quietly, but the softness of these songs can lose its effect after a while.

Solid States is an admirable piece of work, and it happens to have several killer pop songs to boot.

Take Them On, On Your Own is a good album, but some may be disappointed with just how much the band plays it safe.

Catchy pop music based on some great old soul tunes.

Ultimately, is that there is a lot more good material than bad here. That is kind of a triumph. But it would be a lot better to just hear a new Heart album.

While it’s a decent comeback effort Dystopia is nothing close to recent comeback triumphs like last year’s Purple from Baroness, or 2013’s The Next Day from David Bowie, however that doesn’t mean it’s a flop.

It suffers from the problem that comes from trying to sustain that moment of pure ecstasy: it's incredibly fun, but after awhile it becomes exhausting.

Get Gone might not show its strengths in its lyricism, but it makes up for that by being a talented culmination of energy.

English Little League just misses greatness, but if it’s not the best album they’ve put out since early 2012, it’s certainly the most interesting, the most willing to take risks.

The result is an unfortunately all-too short album that deftly and smartly balances frenzied punk, aural ambience and a little bit of pop friendliness.

There are nine distinct, quite beautiful tracks on this record. But a few of them end up getting lost in this murky landscape, and in those moments the expansion of the record inverts itself into a slight limitation.

Where Women + Country mostly suffers is from Dylan's lack of edge. Over the weeping fiddles, creaking shakes and pounds of the percussion, and howling pedal steel, Dylan's gentle baritone and choirboy-like delivery often fails to compliment the production.

Together, on Sunergy, the two manage to find a similar language while also pushing the limits of the Buchla and of their compositions at every turn.

Even though not everything here quite works, the tracks that do are a great deal of fun and show Midler in fine form.

There's talent and potential here to do so by the boatload. But if they continue down this path, holding onto the nostalgia lever on one hand and trying desperately to expand and shed it on the other, they run the risk of becoming something even worse than a handy Sugarbabes reference; in the Pipettes, our generation could have our very own Sha Na Na if they aren't careful.

This is the second album in a row where the harder they rock, the less inspired the songs are. When they go mid-tempo and slower and add synths and other textures to their hooks, the songs sound better.

The ladies in Lady show the benefits of artistic flexibility--not focusing single-mindedly on a single genre, but working with different sounds, and different people.

Riser comes close to being it, but I would still like an EP that sketches a narrative as adroitly as those six songs put together do.

With brevity missing from Toledo’s musical toolkit (see the blame-deflecting “The Ballad of the Costa Concordia” and its 11:32 run time), the pain is exacerbated by songs that are simply too long to be memorable; what few hooks exist on Teens of Denial are quickly forgotten.

Love Comes Close shows some potential for artist growth with a little more seasoned songwriting.

Cautionary Tales certainly doesn’t feel new--it ultimately feels like a retread of the orchestral and maudlin sound he tried on two records ago--but it feels true to its songwriter.

What salvages the record from being an exercise in nostalgia, are the moments where Strange Wilds drop the mid-tempo grungy gloom for moments of pure hardcore bliss.

He's trying to simultaneously stretch and stay true to his roots. It's a hard balancing act to pull off, and he's only partially successful.

For now, the band seems to get distracted too easily--or else they don't have a good enough ear for editing. But even if they do throw every idea into the mix, they could at least play a little faster to counteract the sleepiness induced by the duller, more typical '60s pop rehash they sometimes serve up.

Privateering is a textbook example of a mixed bag--frustrating.

It may not be revolutionary—in fact, if anything, it’s too safe to feel any impulse to disagree with it—but Smith’s conviction is apparent, and her commitment is respectable.

It’s an uneven, but enjoyable ride.

Cheatahs bring enough winners to the table to make their debut a worthwhile listen and promise a bright future.

Solar Bears never sound like they’re blatantly ripping anyone off, but there are too many echoes of other band’s sounds floating around in the mix to make it sound truly like something that is theirs and theirs alone.

White Hills may not be blazing any new musical pathways, but there is no denying that they’re good at what they do.

At 50 minutes, Ufabulum is a little exhausting and monotonous to be declared a masterpiece. But chunks of it are quite brilliant and exciting, so it's better to take it exactly as it is: a Squarepusher record, through and through.

Wonderful Wonderful is the sound of a band rediscovering why they’re even making music in the first place, embracing their eccentricities instead of merely playing into what’s expected of them. It will never be anyone’s favorite Killers album, but it’s the most fun we’ve had with them in years, and a hopeful sign of truly wonderful things yet to come.

LφVE & EVφL offers wild and wonderful immersion, but once you're in it, you're on your own.

Remixes is an assorted bag of impressive highs and frustrating lows.

There’s nothing terribly ground-breaking here, but it doesn’t ever sound like they’re just repeating themselves either.

The sound is top-notch and very effective. But the songwriting often comes up short.

Throughout Wakelines, MacIntyre turns his gift for that style of music to good use. He searches through the past even while working to process the present. It makes for an afternoon of wistful reflection with a gifted songwriter, but it could still benefit from a little more meat and fricti

The surface boldness of the art cannot make up for how exhausting this record is to consume. Lamp Lit Prose is not for the faint of heart.

This predominantly slow, somber album ultimately overstays its welcome.

Sound quality is spotty throughout, doubtless a result of contents being culled from original limited-run pressings, but readily excusable given the time-capsule value of the compilation.

If their classic records sounded like Newcombe on uppers, then this is the reverse: the whole record sounds protracted and dripping in molasses. Slow isn’t always bad, however. Psychedelia has a tendency to seem unhurried while keeping a tempo it can’t quite enjoy, and he hones in on a progression that works.

Sometimes it sounds like a deathly serious joke. Other times, it sounds like nothing more than a nicely produced notion that happened to cross his mind one day.

Tight as a unit, and apparently determined to create music that will, in one way or another, appeal to everyone, My Chemical Romance are in danger of forgetting that hooks, riffs, and yes, aggression, are also needed to stay on top of their game.

Major League is a volatile act with a subtle streak. If the lyrics can catch up to the tunes, the band will be tough to ignore.

Halcyon Digest is, to my mind, the best we've seen from Deerhunter, and a hint that their best is still to come. It's a fascinating document to study, but I'm not sure that makes it all great music.

Not everything hits the target, even with her hands gripped tightly around the controls, but she’s offered us something intermittently wonderful that proves she can still black us out even when she’s on the up and up.