The Airborne Toxic Event’s gift is two-fold -- they manage to take the little things, the day-to-day ellipses of modern romance and elevate them to a level of art.

Unlike the surreality of their peers, distant and hiding behind static, múm is entirely here, wholly present and astoundingly beautiful.

In essence, under the mantle of her most pretentious album title yet (in a catalog of pretty brilliant titles), lies an earnest dance-pop album.

With help from seasoned pros, he’s delivering (to an extent) on the promise many saw in him after Clap Your Hands Say Yeah.

Spring is using her EP to carry on the torch until they can reunite, and producer Jorge Elbrecht (of Violens) provides adequate reinforcements for Spring's filmy sound.

Swan Lake has the literariness of the Decemberist's Colin Meloy, but its members are the kids with the intentional nerd glasses in the poetry workshop -- not the fiction one.

There's a lot more discipline present on the band's second album, Leave No Trace, but it's not clear if that's an encouraging development.

It’s noisy, it’s incoherent at times, but above all it’s a joyous record that's totally Neil Hagerty: inaccessibly accessible.

Ultimately, there's a sense of urgency that's missing throughout Honors. The Stampers can surround themselves with more instrumentation and a fuller band, but there's still not enough suspense on Honors to make it a consistently engaging listen.

Up From Below is an album to be commended, even if it might lead to the scourge of other hippie hipsters appearing in buses across the nation.

Rossi's music doesn't offer some great payoff, but the nice thing is that it suggests that we should keep listening because there will be one down the line.

So while it can't really stand alone, it plays awfully well with its musical sibling.

Their tics are still here--just listen to how they build the payoff of “Nova Leigh” from a variety of angles--they just aren’t the exciting focal point anymore. That’s probably better in the long run for the band, who have all quit school to rep Born Ruffians full-time, but doesn’t lead Say It to the mountaintop it could have shared with Red, Yellow and Blue.

An abundance of hook-laden choruses, New Order analog-boogie and Stone Roses-cool could not be more frustratingly baked into this crumbly crust.

I’m not convinced that the second season, while musically not that adventurous (R&B and hip-hop tracks take up a lot of the disc) doesn’t measure up (and occasionally surpass) the heights of season one and the group’s self-titled debut.

A few breakneck thrash-jazz tracks, occasionally bearing a resemblance to TNT-era Torotise, make way for a distinctly downbeat end to the record. It’s a shame, because Just a Souvenir really could have done without the insipidness of 'Duotone Moonbeam' or the languid 'Quadrature.'

Cokefloat! is a complicated punk album, all id and very little superego. It's not juvenile so much as it is childlike, and what makes it childlike makes it heartbreaking.

If the album sounds simple, it's because it is simple; it's the attitude, idiosyncrasies and Architecture in Helsinki's refusal to fall into the fey trappings of paint-by-numbers indie pop that make it such a distinguishing treat.

Those who credit Benson with the poppier side of the sonic stew cooked up by the Raconteurs can probably make a pretty good case for that notion based on his solo outings, and What Kind of World is no exception.

Risky though it may have seen (in terms of both taste and talent), this is a great record.

I Love You, It's Cool prove Bear in Heaven's 2009-10 success wasn't a fluke, and given two years, they can deliver another album of ebullient jams.

There may be moments of repetition that indicate a bit a creative bankruptcy, and even for an EP this is perhaps all too brief an outing. However, Behave Yourself easily topples most of Cold War Kids' previous endeavors.

There is something else weaving through all of this, that other mysterious thing that some great records have, that keeps you going back even while you know that whatever vocabulary you come up with, whatever modifier you hang on the album, will be inadequate.

The blindingly sunny Endless Flowers is an album appropriate for the beginning of the summer, all popsicles, poppy beats and poolside parties coalescing into warm nights

Paint the Fence Invisible couples sparseness and creative vibrancy, with every untreated strum and vocal crack complimented by a subtle twist in the expected arrangement.

The members of Cold War Kids have deepened their sound rather than expanding it.

It represents the peak of their career to date, excising the self-indulgent tendencies of before and replacing it with raw, spontaneous, and unfettered power and release that simultaneously addresses the visceral and refined.

Credit must be given to LP mastermind Jim Cicero, who at age 23 proves he's wiser than his years by crafting a set of compelling tunes that sound surprisingly distinct despite the past and present musical inspirations that could've just as easily overwhelmed it.

While Lioness may not be the perfect Amy Winehouse album, it's all we have, which seems to be enough.

Social Climbers is a valuable document of its time, place, and a reminder of the greatness that might get away.

Polysics is not cute. It is rock and/or roll.

If there's an item of ironic animal print clothing hanging in your closet or you know the difference between a porkpie and a derby, then chances are you'll find something to like about Hanni El Khatib's debut effort.

Despite the band’s mechanical leanings, they’ve always been able to let emotion seep through the swell and walls of distortion and static; it’s a trait the band shares in common with few of their louder (current) contemporaries. But the opening half of the album is not powerful enough to convince the listener of much of anything.

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.

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

White is an accomplished storyteller – and stories and music both represent the best of what a ghost can be: incomplete presences, something that seems substantial in the moment but disappears in a matter of minutes, leaving only an impression in your mind.

Sleep Forever distinguishes The Big Sleep as a force in its own right, and it’s a testament to the band’s growth. That--as well as the tracks themselves--make Sleep Forever a pleasure to hear.

Kicks is less of a cocky triumph, but it still cements 1990s’ position as the torchbearers for no-nonsense Brit-pop.

Dios (Malos)’s buoyant yet sophisticated glow incites a plethora of feelings, but the album stands out above most of the band’s dreamy indie-rock counterparts because, undoubtedly, the members of the band are enjoying themselves.

The Evolution delivers what Ciara is known for: hot beats, killer hooks and club bangers.

This is a solid listen regardless of whether or not it's breaking any new ground.

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.

McKee's voice may sound exactly like it did 20 years ago (the fate of most twee-pop ladies, it seems), but The Vaselines' trademark noise has only grown deeper, richer. Listening to this record just feels good on a purely physical level.

With only the faintest hint of retracing his past successes, Prince is still on top of his game.

X isn’t the comeback album some may have been hoping for, but it is a welcome return for Minogue.

The Blueprint 3 starts well enough. Its first half is good to great....But around the time we get to the Timbaland-produced, Limbaugh-dissing, Drake-featuring 'Off That,' a song about how far ahead of the curve Jay is, the album's quality falls off considerably.

There's nothing on Gauntlet Hair that rivals the pop-minded immediacy or the floor-stomping clamor of "I Was Thinking...," but it still manages to wade deeper into an abyss that few bands manage to come out of successfully.

His best work since 1999's Blackout.

The members of Dinowalrus deploy an eccentric series of sonic strategies on %, and this diversity is the album’s greatest strength.

The tracks span from 2003 to 2009 and encompass all of the band's fascinating, frustrating, illustrious stylistic progression. If it is truly Excepter's last release, it is an excellent send-off.

Madonna and some of music’s edgiest producers have again brought an underground sound to the forefront of pop music.

The album, weighed down by a few awkward romance tracks and a well-meaning but ill-fitting MLK tribute, drags in the second half, and there’s no one moment to parallel the odd ache of 'Doctor’s Avocate.' But it’s once again more than the sum of its parts.

Though this record's pace does not change much during its 43 minutes of playtime, each track is a slow-burning confession from Summers and Weikel's subconscious, a genuine feat that has taken them 16 years to convey.

The End of That feels like something built with the intentions of making a grand statement, but it comes up a few great songs short. Honestly it's pretty remarkable for what it attempts.

Naturally there some moments where having too producers and visions hurts them, but for the most part, the band sticks to the formula that's worked in the past.

If you enjoy church hymnals, tabernacle choirs, tunes from the Elizabethan era and all things Stratford-upon-Avon, you'll pleasantly enjoy Dr Dee's attempt at a modern interpretation of the ancient, packing a lost piece of history into 2012.

Taken as a whole, the music on Hungry Bird is at times lovely, but also has the tendency to become unsettling.

What is here, a mixture of jagged dance-punk numbers with pretty sound sketches (of the type Underworld has employed for recent soundtrack work), all succeeds.

Penny Sparkle is a welcome addition to the group's carefully curated discography. Longtime fans should be challenged to hear the band's growth, while new listeners are implored to seek out past works for comparison.

Better Luck Next Life, their second full-length, does lapse out of recalcitrance, but its immersion makes for a worthy distraction.

It’s all pretty cohesive, yet the album relies too heavily on its slick production and lyrical arrangements.

Sure, this record doesn't quite match their best work, on 2002's ...and the Surrounding Mountains, but it is just as strong as anything else in their discography.

By the end of the album, most of the momentum is gone, and closer "My Forevers" is really just "The Return of When I Was Twenty Nine" but sampled with the melody from "Scissors," which means that there's really only eight (and a half?) songs with good, original content.

The duo has mastered the strange art of countering divides marvelously on Red Night.

It’s a step forward chronologically but a step backward in overall album success.

The Cardigans probably still won't shake the one-hit-wonder reputation... but Super Extra Gravity proves that the group deserves more respect than that.

This album is the sound of just scraping by with a shitty job but not letting it get you down because there’s more than enough beer and guitars to make life worthwhile. Maybe in the next life or maybe in another world, but for right now The Bronx are right now. Welcome back, boys. We missed you.

Squarepusher's wide range is bound to disappoint some listeners.

Take My Breath Away is a techno album, and it will probably be listened to either by people who know what they’re getting into or anonymously at a bar on the Lower East Side.

Ultimately, Dross Glop cements the versatility of the second version of Battles, establishing them as both a powerful singular and collaborative force.

City of Refuge offers the refuge that comes with being aware of your surroundings and trying to make sense of both good and bad emotions without flinching. It is the refuge from ignorance that makes these songs timeless.

What’s funny about the album is that despite all it hard-rocking aggression, it’s a collection of mostly love songs. And it works.

Benjamin Verdoes and his bandmates have put together a debut of impressive songs that can be infectious and inviting, but also caustic and surprising.

It's a perfect chill-out record, readymade for a sunny day or starry night, and it straddles the line between evolving style and signature sound brilliantly.

The fifteen-song album may have two or three cuts too many, but the core of The Big Bang... is some pretty damn good hip-hop

That darker side of Persson gives Colonia many of its most beautiful moments and includes some of her best vocal work to date.

In Panic of Looking, he keeps speech in the realm of analog, not digital, and still makes it into music.

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.

But for at least 10 tracks, Gucci is able to sustain a hell of a run, forming perhaps commercial rap's best dispatch this year. There have been, and probably will be, better rap albums this year. But none will be more fun.

Given the track record Clipse have maintained through this decade with their other two albums and three mixtapes (I’m not counting the official Re-Up Gang album, and neither should you), this is a fine album, but it's still a letdown, plain and simple.

This is her best album to date.

Some of the artist's best work to date.

It's a member of a rock band that plays tightly controlled music stretching his compositional abilities to new instruments and more subtle arrangements. They're not all successes.

As a funk or electro album, As U Were is fun to listen to. A little cheesy, maybe, but it gets the proverbial party started, which is always a clear sign that something's going well. It's when Lyrics Born tries to hang on too tightly to his old roots that things start to get messy.

When the songs are spare nothing feels left out, and when they're grandiosely band-heavy not one harmony or piano fill comes off as pilled on.

Sure, it’s nowhere in the same league as the seminal CrazySexyCool and the innovative concept album FanMail, and the absence of Left Eye--apart from a touching brief posthumous appearance on “Interlude”--is still keenly felt. But there are still a handful of tracks here which can sit comfortably alongside their incredible mid-late 90s canon.

With its shameless pop-punk anthems and wonderfully irreverent lyrics, Donkey finds the members of CSS at the top of their game.

Behind all the artifice, behind the production and underwater effects, is some simple but solid songwriting. The catchy, cheerful melodies combine with the psychedelic production to create a trippy beach-music feel appropriate for their St. Petersburg roots.

It’s encouraging to hear Coldplay finally tackle something timely and weighty, even if’s taken 17 years for them to do so. Kaleidoscope’s other two offerings aren’t quite as essential, but are still worthy of taking a spot on one of the band’s seven studio efforts.

Ross is better when he's more ambitious, when he goes beyond the tired hood-rap/pop-rap divisions.

Although The Cross Of My Calling ostensibly provides an outlet for the band’s Marxist ideologies, its impeccable musicianship, arrangement and production make any political sloganeering irrelevant.

Paper Tigers proves the Caesars are capable of releasing more than one memorable track.

Time to Die by itself isn’t a bad album, necessarily, but it’s not even close to the same level as Visiter and what made Dodos different to begin with. I hope that on their fourth album, these guys return to their roots.

The Outsider shouldn't be framed as the second coming of a masterpiece but as a stepping-stone.

If they want to match the intensity of the singer's emotional performance, the band needs to loosen things up a bit.

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.

Glowing Mouth isn't the ultimate revelation it sets out to be, but Milagres put on a charming show.