John Lee Hooker meets the Pixies on "Bloodhound Rock" and opening chug "Desperate Love," with the payoff resembling an alternate universe Top 10 from 1962 as informed by musique concrète as by Del Shannon and Phil Spector.

The Boston foursome's anxiously blissful take on apocalyptic concerns bends toward chamber pop after past Americana leanings, the 12 tracks grounded in plucky instrumentation and energetic harmony.

Hazy, painterly, and completely unpredictable, it's all veiled in a unifying mellowness.

Each track here employs "straight" in the title, but Josh T. Pearson remains crooked as a bag of snakes.

In full, nine tracks strike a balance between pop-structured stoicism and Holy Wave's foundation in lush, active instrumentals. It's tactile enough to run your fingers through while evading a tight grip.

The trio's self-titled debut of experimental nightmare folk throbs with a supernatural presence, even if the sounds of commonplace nature--rain, chirping birds, the landscape of Dripping Springs--serve as bedrock for the sound

50 years on still doesn't obscure its frivolity. Paul McCartney dominates vocally and compositionally, and a mind-bending stereo remaster redefines the psychedelic summit while making the mono mix on disc 4 superfluous, but a pair of demo discs single out John Lennon's backbone contributions in multiple takes of pre-LP single "Strawberry Fields," plus "Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds" and "A Day in the Life."

It's a sharp look at how a major artist sees his own work, set to a soundtrack that's held up incredibly well.

For the fair-weather Bowie fan, his Berlin years are probably the least favorite next to Tin Machine, but to the rabid appreciator, this time frame is arguably one of his best.

Master of Puppets realized the band's greatest strengths, coalescing hardcore punk with progressive metal.

Savage Young Dü aches breadth and depth.

Unfortunately, the 4-CD deluxe reissue doesn't offer much that accentuates beyond the original.

The era may have confounded fans, but Trouble No More harvests some of Dylan's most remarkable performances.

Rose rolls a unique blend of honky-tonk and Sixties soul, yet her vocals throughout underwhelm against the backdrop of seasoned Nashville veterans.

Production given over for the first time (to Sam Kassirer), the sound rises to meet the heft of Ramirez's writing, though surprisingly, through melancholic, Eighties-pitched synth and guitar. The author finds focus as well, his deeply personal laments attuned with political purpose.

Consistently cheeky, head-throbbing rock ("Judy French," "Party Next Door") meets shimmering melodies ("Little Silver Cross," "Daisies") that alleviate without losing momentum.

Green Twins realizes a sound that's truly Hakim's own.

Do Hollywood offers a lesson in embracing both the origins and originality of modern rock & roll.

Methyl Ethel's sophomore LP begins promisingly enough. ... Then things go south. "Act of Contrition" and "Groundswell," whose slogging beat and island vibe sound wildly out of place, are clunkers.

Rocket is nuanced and shifting.

The title track won't drag big rock forward, but How Did We Get So Dark? will definitely scratch a riff-loving itch.

Where previously Americana-tinged alt-rock teetered precariously on the bandleader's reedy whine, here that country DNA seals a seamless blend of Farm Aid authenticity.

Arguably the most accessible album of his 16-year career, Migration finds British ambient electronic maven Bonobo (Simon Green) sounding completely at home on his sixth studio release.

Prisoner, his 16th release and most obvious homage to Springsteen's early-Eighties output, doesn't stray, though it does find Adams at his most heavy-handed lyrically.

All of it builds up to quiet closer "In Times of Cold," a beautiful and crushing duet with Patty Griffin made even more poignant by the guiding hand of George Reiff in one of the local producer and bassist's final efforts.

Toy doesn't dog-Pile its predecessor, and in eschewing a straight-ahead continuation of the same-ol', A Giant Dog continues marking distinctly new territory.

The final third of the disc hits a tempo rut, though some such selections are ripe for rearrangement and reinterpretation.

As San Fermin's best outing, Belong winds wildly through styles, but ultimately ties together its own unique intoxication.