It is a cleverly barbed normality.

Formally, it echoes the 2010 fan club giveaway The Fall: radically shortened guest list, written-on-the-road simplicity, songs named for locales (in this case red, blue and otherwise--"Kansas,” "Idaho,” "Magic City,” etc.) The songs are better, though, and they don't waste too much time on regionalism.

Human Ceremony is a very impressive record for a band that's only been putting out music for about a year.

Consisting of songs left over from Vol. 1, this second installment places Rhett Miller's articulate, off-the-cuff songs right between the composure of the control room and the looseness of the barroom.

Ditching the occasionally somber tone of some of her later records, she seems to have rediscovered the glories of a classic Sheryl Crow record. Working with producer Mike Elizondo as well as longtime collaborators like Bill Bottrell and Jeff Trott, she’s tapped back into what lured us into her music three decades ago: shamelessly big-hooky records that sound terrific blasting from a car stereo and remind you that only the likes of Tom Petty could match her in that regard.

Regions of Light and Sound of God is all heated feelings and extravagant gestures. It is also what solo albums are for: the leader of a great band out on a limb, in rapt self-examination, getting weird and interesting.

Greene's meticulous creations are still slow-rolling and thickly layered, but this time he and returning Animal Collective producer Ben Allen slather on less futuristic sounds.

These guys aren't just reliving classic sounds, they're giving them a frantic sense of dread that's perfect for our own dislocated, paranoid times.

The result is some of most charming music he's ever made.

System of a Down's sophomore album thrives on this sort of urgency, the adrenal rush that insists there's no time for ambiguity.

The album's producer, Gil Norton (whose crescendos for the Pixies were an alternative-rock cornerstone), has subtly filled out the sound of the Patti Smith Group without losing its handmade, jamming essence. Guitar tones resonate through the mix, and new lines snake through what used to be hollow space.

In Fall Out Boy's world, tongue-in-cheek always trumps heart-on-sleeve. That's certainly the case on Folie à Deux, their most exuberantly cheeky release yet.

They better themselves by refusing to try so damn hard. [8 Sep 2005, p.114]

Rod Wave’s brush with legal danger gives Beautiful Mind’s its structure as well as a sense that he’s charting new territory, and not just the themes of success and alienation that fueled past hits like Ghetto Gospel and Pray 4 Love. Some listeners might be wary of this chastened figure who nevertheless doggedly sticks to the “trenches” and complains on “Better,” “I thought it’d be smiles on they faces, tears coming out they eyes, hearing congratulations/But they make it no better.”

One of the best albums Beck has ever made.

[A] smartly produced arc-of-a-love-affair concept LP.

Heroes & Villains is entertaining enough as a man’s, man’s, man’s world. It’s better conceptualized and executed than Only Heroes Wear Capes, even if 21 Savage can’t quite match the ASMR pleasures of that album’s “Don’t Come Out the House.”

Lightning Bolt is the sound of anger and brooding depression. In Pearl Jam terms, this is reason to be happy.

Doomsday is brutally emotional, but Perkins' band adds a sense of defiance, making it safe for closing time.

Many songs ache with Eighties troubled-youth flashbacks, especially the Pixies-loving "Brother."

Tobacco's Tom Fec just made one of the year's best stoner-rock records--only it's powered by synths, hip-hop beats and vocoders instead of guitars.

Like many of the band's best, it's packed to bursting with sometimes inscrutable pleasures. [16 Sep 2004, p.79]

What redeems Trice is his workmanlike emphasis of craft over style. It's not flamboyant, but it's impressive.

Jump Leads escalates the surging energy infused in their up-tempo and electrifying approach.

On Bluefinger, it sounds like the Pixies' fantastic reunion shows have allowed Black to finally shed his ambivalence about rocking out. So he does.

Like PJ Harvey's Rid of Me, Peggy Sue locate the precise point where heartache gives way to bloody vengeance and mine that darkness for all it's worth.

Her immaculately crafted LP sounds like Jill Scott, Feist, Tune-Yards and a 1940s film score simultaneously cranking on a vintage gramophone.

From the glacial, droning opening track to the head–scratcher folk finale, The Hazards of Love takes its time, inviting you to grab a seat in front of the fire, stoke your Meerschaum pipe and take a trip.