They’ve just created a good version of a great record, which may have been their intention all along.

Love vs. Money exists, much like its creator, [is] stuck somewhere between timely and timeless, kind of like a dream, the infectious, can’t-get-out-of-your-head variety.

It’s definitely an improvement over "Happy Hollow," but the band has yet to reclaim the impulse that attracted so many of their fans in the first place.

The strings and tympani gradually fade out until we are left in silence. The moment serves as an appropriate conclusion to a singular work from an extremely talented new voice.

Much like his 2007 debut, "Ash Wednesday," Perkins speaks through characters and, more importantly, though his musical arrangements to present a nuanced approach to musing on mortality and loss and loneliness.

Fair or not, An Imaginary Country can best be described as middling: competent, but certainly not what we all were hoping for from an artist whose work up to this point has been so unequivocally stirring.

Song of the Pearl, then, is well-executed, but stuck in the same gear, especially in its middle.

The album is post-rock at its best, a monumentous achievement even by the group’s standards.

The musical accompaniment, courtesy of his more-famous friends in The Minus 5, is solid, workmanlike. Unfortunately, the vocals are placed front and center, and Harding’s inflection puts added emphasis on embarrassing lyrics.

Rather than make broad statements about the nature of modern existence, Doiron takes an authorial approach, crafting brief but potent vignettes about bikes, minivans, and lovers walking through small towns.

Middle Cyclone still stands out as another strong entry from a woman who is more than proving her mettle as a revered indie veteran.

Truly, though, I like to think that The Bridge takes the best of early- to mid-’90s hip-hop from New York, the synthesized sound of the last five to ten years, an interesting blend of MCs, and an ear for a slammin’ beat, and puts them together in a package that isn’t necessarily mind-blowing, but that is at least complete, well-intended, and meaningful.

Faust continues to embrace the former and remain unperturbed by the latter, displaying the same youthful, brave spirit on C'est Com..Com..Complique 38 years after their self-titled debut.

The music here speaks for itself, whatever else Ward might be trying to say through it.

For the most part, Trail of Dead veer back and forth between styles mined on "Worlds Apart" and "Source Tags," making The Century of Self the strongest of their recent efforts. But it’s still an inconsistent one.

A connoisseur of contemporary folk may find something to love in Andy Cabic’s latest offering. For the rest of us, Tight Knit will likely serve as little more than a relaxing soundtrack to our mid-afternoon siesta.

This is the sound you need to get for right now, and it’s built to last well past that.

The real point is that, as a compilation, Dark Was the Night far and away surpasses its predecessors-- even in an age when it should be irrelevant. Go buy it.

Like all things retro, Faunts find themselves stuck between nostalgia and total recall, unable to determine the criticality of their appropriation.

Here, then, is a songwriter capable of drawing remarkable depth from swinging pop-rock, crafting a distinctive voice among an oversaturated pop-music landscape and leaving a front-to-back winner of an LP as evidence.

Choral, never succumbing to mere regurgitation, represents talented musicians confident in their methods, who channel their influences to produce a sound that proves accessible while remaining distinctive and utterly expressive.

The true insight here is that Zu’s prowess is growing and can’t go unnoticed for much longer, especially with this caliber of material and their continual desire to try new things.

The Appleseed Cast have finally managed to get things back on track, which will hopefully influence revisionists to give these guys their proper dues.

If Watersports paced itself, if it weren’t afraid to be shorter, if it understood the power of precision, it could have been more awe-inspiring.

As hard-rock takes on the shape of minimalist composition, the repeated rhythms and snatches of melody express rage and frustration long after the lyrics have ceased explicitly stating the message. It’s the kind of song that feels as appropriate today as it did 33 years ago. That kind of fervor makes ...For the Whole World to See such a blast and a defining example of the spirit that drives not just rock ‘n’ roll, but true outsider art.

This is an album less about immediacy and more about subtlety. It’s not rocking in any traditional sense, but it reveals itself gradually, building in complexity with each turn.

His songs are built around solid hooks and show enough dynamism to keep the listener from hitting the ‘next’ button, but when the album is through playing, there’s no pressing need to hit ‘play’ again.

Demanding, absorbing, and, for better or worse, never feeling like a cohesive album, Mother of Curses is a collection of shocking truths set to stun the senses.