Gentle outlaw Cass McCombs luxuriates in sunlit California landscapes, weaving offbeat tales of carousing and yearning on Big Wheel and Others.

Like the Brian Jonestown Massacre playing the Dinosaur Jr. songbook, Purling Hiss digs deep into the concept of ragged but right.

You might find yourself wishing the band's music would spiral hellward at least once, but when the quartet hits its mark--burly "War Prayer," dramatic "Invitation," and majestic "New Topia"--it hits hard, stirring emotions like the soundtrack composers with whom the band should be competing in the first place.

They've clearly outgrown the indie rock of their eponymous 2011 debut, dialing up the grooves and down the strum.

Sean Tillman deliciously and shamelessly embraces his Motown passions.

There's no doubt that the reality rapper with "an ice maker for a heart" is steady "Thuggin'," but Gangsta Gibbs can also ride any track the Beat Konducta throws at him.

Akin to Doug Martsch's 2002 solo debut, Mascis' side work remains foreign in its acoustic aesthetic, but like the Built to Spill frontman's Now You Know, celebrates its songwriter's new stylistic terrain.

Allusions to the Birthday Party abound as Iceage thunders across the high desert of the soul, and you can almost smell the toxic fragrance of cheap liquor and stale cigarettes on Elias Bender Rønnenfelt's tortured, breathy vocal as he slurs his way through half-cocked entreaties that would make Stanley Kowalski take pause.

You're Dead begs complete listens as a whole, with tracks just long enough to capture particular thoughts before you're pushed onward.

Run the Jewels 2 gut-punches the competition into second place.

Below the Pink Pony--a tasty tangent for all involved.

Benjamin Booker might not know where he's going, but he's well on his way.

Co-produced by Bon Iver's Justin Vernon, Sand+Silence is all forward progress.

Jack Antonoff has figured out how to write an album all by himself.

Recorded in his Brooklyn apartment, Salad Days tosses off the same charmed, lazy pop songs with a balsamic aftertaste.

Iggy Azalea's a fun girl booty-shaking a few morsels of neon, hashtag-spangled pop.

If 2010 debut Broken Bells melted together seemingly incongruous approaches, After the Disco lands Mercer and Danger Mouse in a new universe entirely.

Even as Vindahl's production dazzles, Ørsted stands up to the crush.

Easy digestion may be good business, but lack of adventure remains unsettling.

The South Carolina native's sophomore platter and first for New West digs even deeper [than her debut].

Follin works aggressively on tone and lyrics in "So Far" and "Keep Your Head Up," but doesn't lose any pop rhythm amid the sonic wash and despair, even on closer "No Hope."

A stylistically diverse collection that reaches for the stars, but can't touch the gold standard of the Jersey boys' 2010 hit American Slang.

Real Estate already evaded the sophomore slump on 2011's impressive Days, now Atlas furthers the catalog.

The classic rock-scripted memoir details dysfunctional relationships, nostalgia, and insecurities lying over the hill with the same wit and effortless coolness demonstrated by the twentysomething who fronted Rilo Kiley for 15 years.

Go ahead, laugh at tongue-in-cheek lines like, "You're a sexy socialite/ I wish you were a socialist/ Instead of worrying about your name on the list," but do so knowing that Chromeo is serious about getting you on the dance floor.

Lack of focus falters the whole, but Down Where the Spirit Meets the Bone triumphs in Lucinda Williams becoming gloriously unbound.

The lucid dreamlike hold of Koch carries unparalleled allure, elevating Lee Gamble's already adept soundscapes to quicksand plateaus.

Where the singer's awkward earnestness yielded rock & roll poetry through the band's storied odyssey--Emerald Isle exodus (Boy) full circle to paterfamilias (All That You Can't Leave Behind)--his world leader pretend profile here matches Horizon by yielding only self-conscious gobbledygook.