Rehearsing My Choir is too self-consciously hip to be a twilight reflection on things past and is filled with personal asides only blood relatives can relate to.

Feels doesn’t trump earlier, more intimate Animal Collective releases. It’s just louder and messier.

For the initiated, there’s true primal joy to be heard in this mammoth creation. You’ve just got to be willing to shed those tightly guarded notions and listen.

Sadly, Tanglewood Numbers just doesn’t sport enough memorable Bermanisms to make it a truly satisfying Silver Jews album.

As regrettable as it is to trot out the old “strong first half, weak back half” reviewers’ cliche, the Constantines’ third release, Tournament of Hearts, cruelly forces the issue.

The Runners Four is simply another interesting collection of tunes from a group that refuses to curtail its trespasses across musical boundaries.

Like a deliriously evanescent pep rally from the Outer Limits.

While the lyrics tend toward the generic and vapid... the primary appeal of Magic Numbers is the lovely harmonizing.

Apart the two versions are about equal, combined they could have been amazing.

The group has lost some of the accessibility of You Forgot it in People, which wore its heart on its sleeve with fewer emotional contradictions, but has maintained the same emotional neediness at the previous album's heart.

At its best when working under the three-minute mark, the Scottish four-piece still has nothing relevant to say, but has managed to serve up a tighter collection than its crazily hyped debut.

Yes, it may not hew faithfully to past MMJ records, but its wide-open range perfectly exemplifies the group's adventurous spirit.

There aren’t as many memorable cuts as on Adams' stellar solo debut, Heartbreaker, but Jacksonville City Nights reveals an older, more seasoned performer.

A little less formula and more personal expression would have gone a long way toward making this one an essential addition to their discography.

Apologies to the Queen Mary gets by more on energy than chops.

Cripple Crow does a wonderful job expressing the range of Devendra Banhart’s musical interests, uneven though the actual payoff may be.

The pair overextend themselves often enough to appear to be posturing, costing them some of their charm.

Odditorium contains the best and worst aspects of the Dandy Warhols.

In the Reins will please fans of both Beam and Calexico, and perhaps bring crossover business to each.

Shifts into a cruise-control comfort zone, blissfully coasting on what has come before.

Unhurried, smooth and easy on the ears.

The Invisible Invasion is far from a masterpiece... but it encouragingly signals a definite progression in the Coral’s thematic and arrangement skills.

Unmemorable and inoffensive, Death Cab has gone from oddball indie-pop kids to mature professionals who now have a lot more people counting on their success.

West is still a better assembler of talent than he is an MC.

A refreshing and revelatory palate-cleanser.

Twin Cinema has the winning distinction of being the most rocking set from the Pornographers to date -- and also the strangest.

Pixel Revolt doesn’t reconcile the political and personal, and that may be the point. But it nonetheless makes for a frustratingly uneven listening experience.

Idlewild may still be figuring out exactly how to juggle its conflicting elements, but there are more than enough truly bright spots on Warnings/Promises to remind the listener of what the band is capable of when it fires on all cylinders -- and even when it doesn't.

Penn’s most unified sounding record.

Body of Song is patchwork and spotty, dappled with a handful of sparkling additions to Mould’s estimable catalog.

The Understanding is one of those bold sophomore efforts that will most likely split fans of the duo into two camps, with the Air/Boards of Canada downbeaters lamenting the new direction and the dance-oriented, Basement Jaxx set reveling in the unexpected vibrancy of Röyksopp’s present sound.

Despite taking few chances thematically or musically, the reincarnated Son Volt delivers a tight, nothing-wasted set.

This isn’t a band looking to be loved so much as it desires a swift kick in the teeth.

An over-baked confection that falls well below its primary chef’s abilities.

But if the album feels less personally tied to Illinois than Michigan was to Michigan, the cost is worth paying: The style and overall sentiment of the new album are more sophisticated than those of its predecessor.

Multiply sacrifices cohesion in its quest for stylistic diversity, but it’s a bravura tour through the smooth sounds and hot jams of yesteryear.

A whatever-sticks debut with meritorious replay value.

Sadly, the album's consistency is also its failing; you can only take so much softness... before you're just listening to elevator music, and after 19 tracks that's what this becomes.

Barring a few notable exceptions, these are the songs that either weren’t good enough or didn’t fit into any of the New Jersey-based group’s proper releases.

Obviously, the peerless craft and genuflecting reverence are beyond reproach; those desiring a more progressive form are out of luck.

"One In Seven" is the best song on the London-based four-piece Engineers' self-titled long player.... The problem: "One In Seven" is the last song on the album. The ten tracks preceding it simply don’t measure up.

Chávez Ravine suffers from an uneven flow due to the varying quality of the material.

On the whole Electrified offers too much syrup.

The majority of the vocals are so tweaked and treated, morphed and modulated as to simply lose any sense of the man himself.

Discover a Lovelier You is a modest triumph, and certainly not indicative of the group’s best work.

One of the stronger debuts released this year.

For the most part, the album's money shots -- the singsong guitar of "The Hardest Part," the eerie U2 evocations in the assured chorus of "White Shadows" -- are fleeting, strung together by unremarkable verses and remarkably generic lyrical sentiments.

This is a mature, reflective work (read: repeated spins are expected to reveal the deeper layers), the sound of a veteran group content with its cult status and simply playing to its strengths: Smartly crafted guitar-pop that will appeal to the faithful and perhaps add an adherent or two.

Get Behind Me Satan lacks the confidently muscular (if sonically overreaching) ambition of Elephant, the raw, bruising intensity of White Blood Cells and the appealing hooks of De Stijl.

Emphatically validates just how fresh and alive Kraftwerk’s heavily manipulated compositions sound.

JackInABox lacks the consistent flow of The Optimist LP and doesn’t match the sturdy songcraft of Ether Song.

Out West’s main drawback is pacing; despite being drawn from a trio of sold-out shows at the Fillmore in San Francisco earlier this year, there’s little sense of momentum.

Faultless sequencing, an array of clever (and comfortably familiar) beats, and a refreshingly optimistic, apolitical vibe make We Are Monster a keeper.

At times, Callahan's penchant for clever phrasings gets the better of him.

Everything Ecstatic doesn’t come together as solidly as prior Four Tet releases, but it unquestionably contains the blueprint for far greater explorations to come.

Granted, the world isn’t exactly better off since since the last Gorillaz album, but that doesn’t mean we need to be reminded of it by a loose collaborative outfit that will never be mistaken for the Clash when it comes to political or social consciousness.

The fact that a band spawned over ten years ago is so willing to try new things is refreshing, but with The Woods, Sleater-Kinney has surpassed even its most ardent supporter’s expectations as to the artistic heights the trio can attain.

As solid a listen as it may be, one can't help but yearn for a little bit more of the testosterone-charged hard-rock muscle that the band members' resumes evoke.

Face the Truth is paradoxically the most intriguing Malkmus album and the weakest of his post-Pavement career.

Be won’t win many points for daring, but in terms of user-friendly hip-hop charged by a refreshingly positive undercurrent, it more than hits its hard-to-miss mark.

An immaculately crafted, every-note-in-place recording that is as confidently executed as it is formulaically inoffensive.

In addition to simply being a package for the band's more obscure tracks, the album nicely spans its shift from folksy, melancholy introspectiveness to light summer-pop.

The Secret Migration is a beautiful-sounding record, but Deserter's Songs managed to sound spectacular and still work in adventurous detours.

Mezmerize is on par with 2001’s Toxicity as SOAD’s best offering to date.

Missteps aside, Magic Time delivers that familiar blanket on a chill winter’s day vibe, and Morrison fans will thankfully bury themselves under it.

Lack of energy and a dearth of hooks adds up to one of the most tepid releases Matthews and his crew have released.

Fiction finds Daniel and Eno exploring the tension between a tight rhythm section and chaotic production techniques (from messy guitar parts to bizarre samples). And that provides an edge to the music that not only makes for an attention-grabbing collection, but also rewards repeated listens.

Make Believe might sound more sincere if the clean, precision-metal production didn’t steamroll Cuomo’s lyrical misery in bombastic arrangements featuring factory-issue power chords and a MOR-safe rhythm section.

Considering that Fillmore isn’t drawn from a single show, it’s baffling as to why the slower numbers are bunched together and the more exhilarating songs pushed nearly an hour into the listening experience. As a result, the album falls somewhere between Thin Lizzy and Zeppelin on the double live barometer.

Cold Roses’ first set is by-the-numbers, brokenhearted MOR fare, sometimes maudlin (“When Will You Come Back Home?”), infrequently dramatic (the piano-driven “How Do You Keep Love Alive”) and mostly forgettable. The second disc redeems Cold Roses from an even-less-enthusiastic recommendation.

The range of styles is impressive, which trumps the lack of logical or elegant transitioning. Snaith may be showing off, but at least he’s backing it up with strong and memorable arrangements.

If 2000's The Friends of Rachel Worth was a tentative warm-up and 2002's Bright Yellow, Bright Orange a encouraging but inconsistent workout, Oceans Apart is the sound of two artists hitting a self-assured and motivated stride.

Separation Sunday isn’t quite on par with Almost Killed Me, primarily because it won’t stun listeners with its freshness.

Once the contrivance of The Forgotten Arm’s vaguely sketched plot device crumbles, there are still solid tracks to be found.

Reznor doesn't attempt to bludgeon the listener with either overreaching musical ambition or awkward lyrical poignancy, making With Teeth that rare animal: a Nine Inch Nails record that doesn't force a false sense of visceral urgency.

Throughout, Madlib impressively manages to keep the proceedings from slipping into total chaos. Even so, there’s a frustrating sense of intentional subterfuge throughout.

By the halfway point, it becomes too easy to zone out and for the music to fade into the background.

Blinking Lights is an astonishing mélange of life and sound cycles, as much about the ghosts of the past as it is an optimistic hedge toward a pensioner’s age bracket Everett clearly endeavors to appreciate.

Folds has mastered his material to the point that he no longer relies on a smartass punch line to deliver the goods.

It's as if, having played the crowd-pleasing rock card, Springsteen feels the need to validate himself as a "serious" artist, but has mistaken a certain affected intimacy of approach for thoughtfulness and dramatic substance.

Sunset Tree is Darnielle’s finest hour.

Awfully Deep is another strong release for Smith, and while it doesn’t sport the effortless flow of his debut or the rich variety of Run Come Save Me, its considered assessment of where he’s been and where he might be heading helps the album more than live up to its title.

Untilted lives up to its title, finding Booth and Brown unbowed in their belief that clinical repetition and street-smart hip-hop beats can coexist in the universe. But it’s a big universe, and there are times when locking onto the exact coordinates Autechre’s transmitting from can be a long, cold and lonely chore.

As long as he continues to believe those who trumpet his vices as virtues, no amount of musical exploration or pretentiously titled solo albums will set him free of the straitjacket he's written himself into.

Stylistically, In Case We Die is like a Jackson Pollock drip painting, chaotic and bustling.

The second half lacks the spirited kick of the first.

Imagining an all-acoustic version of Martha Wainwright hints at the true potential lurking beneath the strings and high-calorie programmatic flourishes that, while undeniably pretty, detract unnecessarily from the eponymous focal point.

Despite obvious talent and wit, it fails to leave more than a marginal impression.

Lost and Safe is an expression of two artists who are neither lost nor playing it safe.

Another solid addition to Jurado’s commendable catalog.

Black Sheep Boy has bold ambitions, but Okkervil River hasn’t quite reached the point where polished execution equals or surpasses preliminary concept.

Guero is all over the map but the majority of its detours simply aren’t worth the trip.

The overall feel is of an academic exercise in hip-hop cultural anthropology.

Arular is an impressive first outing, even if it does suffer from repetitive drill syndrome... and too often favors a smart hook over offering anything politically relevant to say.

Doesn’t sport as many memorable tunes as 2002’s Lapalco.

Bloc Party will almost certainly find success. Based on Silent Alarm, however, it won't be as innovators or firebrands, but as purveyors of familiar hooks, passionately delivered and smartly promoted.

This is just well-executed, fun rock 'n' roll.