This fifth studio album is a humbly gorgeous collection, propelling an already dynamic band into even more dramatic, heart-wrenching territory.

The only real sore spot is Wes Eisold's overdramatic Robert Smith singing style -- his pain sounds fashionable and forced instead of penetrating and raw.

It's all well and good, but this experiment works best when Ditto showcases her snarly pipes, as on the break-up-themed cruncher "Open Heart Surgery." Otherwise, she's just awash in layers of electronica that dilute her Southern bite.

As long as Brit keeps the ballads to a minimum and plays to her strength as a willing pop renegade (which she does here more than on any of her previous albums), she will continue to make exciting, groundbreaking modern music.

Safari Disco Club is unlikely to find itself in the speakers of many dance parties on this side of the Atlantic in coming weeks.

Whether he's in onomatopoetic punch-line mode or scratching the Cee Lo end of his terrific range, Monch is hip-hop's superlative talent, and now he has a solo stripe to prove it.

Something To Die For has the Swedish dance/pop outfit awkwardly dipping a toe into the pool of trance music.

Here's one of the few first-quarter releases of 2011 that people will still be listening to in 2012.

It can be tricky to pin down Parts & Labor's busy sound - it's noise pop that's not too noisy, or maybe post-punk that's cool with cracking a fat grin - but it almost always has something entertaining going on.

Reliable cynicism, not artistic invention, is the band's forte (Moody blends into one big damaged canvas), but Froberg's vitriol is still intoxicating.

Over time, the Mountain Goats have explored different emotional territory. Here they prove they can still make humble, evocative music.

Of all the possible directions the band could have taken, they decided on generic coffeehouse folk pop, with predictably pleasant-yet-dull results.

Meric Long, vocalist/guitarist for San Francisco duo the Dodos, makes a lot of broad statements on the band's fourth studio album. Fortunately, the music fills in the blanks.

The Return of Mr. Zone 6 is an album pared down to the elements Gucci knows best - sinister beats fueled by snare pellets and twisted, carnival-like synths, deadpanned prioritization of cash over women, and collaboration with a slew of Brick Squad compatriots and friends (we hear everyone from Birdman to Master P to Waka Flocka Flame, many times over).

Given its origins, this could have been a morbid, self-indulgent exercise. Instead, it's a fine indie-pop album.

Scandalous, though a natural progression, takes some surprising turns that attest to a tightened-up band still figuring out just how much dy-no-mite they're capable of exploding.

The cumulative effect can be like listening to a church choir doing canons while simultaneously crushing OCs on your bicuspids, one at a bloody time.

Here, Dolls II make their move, surging forward while simultaneously nodding to a time that predates even that first über-influential incarnation.

So the Death Set essay a Jekyll/Hyde routine of dramatic contrasts, pitting lightning-fried guitars, unpredictable computerized effects, and goofy bullshit against mellow hooks and relative subtlety.

With Collapse into Now, there's enough reason to keep celebrating.

This Pleasure is known, but in the end it overstays its welcome.

The Luyas do supply some exquisite instrumental ingredients--a French horn sent through pedals, an obscure zither-like contraption called the Moodswinger, and various electronic effects--but they have a tough time making anything memorable out of them. Timidity eventually renders their work tedious.

There might be something deeper rolling around here than "There's nothing that will change me/There's nothing sure as shit" ("Bring the Fight"). Probably not, but if you want to bang your head, this will do the trick.

Mostly The Human Romance is just Darkest Hour reiterating a formula they already know. There's no need for a drastic overhaul, but some risks would enliven the flavors they're clearly intent on keeping.

He's mastered the tuneful shrug, the song that sounds unfinished and tossed off but sticks fast to your brain and keeps revealing a depth you hadn't noticed.

This ninth studio album finds long-timers Patterson Hood and Mike Cooley regaining their focus with their best set of narratives since 2006's A Blessing and a Curse.

The King of Limbs, a breezy exploration of the depths of subliminal glitch-folk, is this band's admission that the labyrinth of post–OK Computer zigs and zags they've led their audience through may never again lead to an arena-rock goldmine.

Beady Eye's eagerly awaited debut represents Liam Gallagher's uninspiring foray into the spotlight without Noel, his battle-weary brother and Oasis's chief songwriter.