Ultimately, BEAK> are only interested in that quasi-mysticism that endless jamming affords.

Listening to New Chain, there's no reason now to think that Small Black can't put that fine touch to making an album with a tight balance between their drowsier sensibilities and their hookier, head-nodding ones.

It's exhausting.

Even if this EP is the byproduct of a band that's working out the kinks, it's still a promising glimpse into what to expect from How to Destroy Angels' 2011 full-length.

Make no mistake, though--the music of Hymn and Her is good, and the songs are almost always uniformly excellent examples of finely-honed pop songcraft. But when each excellent song sounds just like the slow, rainy Sunday pulse of a track that just preceded it, well, a few less hymns and a few more songs for rocking are in order.

on Arrow, it's more fun when they swagger around like the road-tested ramblers they've become.

For all the noise and bluster they kick up to start off the record, Toward the Low Sun is at its best when it's an unassuming return, when the beauty and power of the songs sneak up on us.

If you don’t mind the lack of edge or grunginess--which is to say, if you like your danger safe--bring extra artillery. You could spend serious time deconstructing this album.

As a debut, In a Perfect World... does show promise amongst several solid songs and is a proper introduction, but a more distinct line between Hilson as a songwriter and Hilson as an artist will be needed to make the next album more engaging and fresh.

The tracks that don't work misfire spectacularly.

Collett offers a playful and laidback approach on Here’s to Being Here that makes that other group of his seem sadly overblown by comparison.

Bluefinger is catchy in spots but ultimately forgettable.

Not to give the Belles short shrift (they play with skilled abandon), but the record sounds like White... straight-ahead crunching blues-based guitar hooks that sound as if they were ripped from Zeppelin II, staccato bursts of noise, oceans of feedback, driving back beats and howled vocals.

Some of these songs do, of course, belong on the radio: They’re saturated with production effects catered to a generation that calls its designer drug “ecstasy,” all wrapped around indulgent hooks, sentimental lyrics, and a sweet voice airbrushed into flawlessness. But Annie flaunts too much.

Part of what makes it so distinctive is also what ultimately frustrates. The songs bleed into one another until the reverb-drenched vocals and phantasmic spirals of sound become heavy-handed, almost overwhelming.

The pace of the album (or, more accurately, the "file") is intriguing, and even though it doesn't top the band's best work, any iPod owner should be proud to have 45:33 in the library. [Review of UK release]

The about-face may be a turn off for the “neo-soul” crowd, but it also represents a confident stride toward individualism.

It does manage a nice arc in terms of overall pacing, with some interesting though not entirely successful vocal works at the end (“Testament” and “Infinitum”). Yet the album feels a bit too similar for how crowded it is.

Unfortunately, his unleashed creativity didn’t inspire unforeseen greatness. It’s just more Moby, but without a kick drum.

Adventurous listeners ignore Blackjazz at their peril, but be warned that there's quite a bite of filler to go with the killer.

There's no doubt of Sproule's ability on I Love You, Go Easy, both as a songwriter and musician, and her reservoir of talent is far from dry.

The outright space exploration of Lindstrøm's previous musical outings is sometimes lost here. His dancefloor is fun, but its been grounded this year.

Veirs' delicate, informed touch makes the album a worthwhile listen for anyone interested in taking the first step toward delving into America's back catalogue.

As a four-track EP, this would have made for an indelibly catchy collection; as an album, it plays like four lone meatballs awash in a pot of bland noodles.

The songwriting is simply the biggest flaw of We Are Him, and in an album so reliant upon the vocal performance, it's a flaw that's too hard to ignore.

You have to applaud these guys for jumping out on a limb with this strange trip of a record, but they probably shouldn’t take up the ‘60s-revival cause full time.

Decent Work for Decent Pay, a slipshod mélange of long-overdue remixes, is not what we're looking for. Unless you've been living in Kyrgyzstan without an Internet connection for the past few years, you likely wore out most of the tracks on Decent Work for Decent Pay long ago.

In the end Hospitality is a solid pop album through and through.