A 2013 mix of the LP, reportedly overseen by Albini and surviving group members Dave Grohl, Krist Novoselic, and Pat Smear, and boasting an alternate guitar solo on "Serve the Servants" and a different cello overdub on "Dumb," but otherwise it's indistinct. The bonus material gets worse: ubiquitous B-sides ("I Hate Myself and Want to Die"), boring instrumental demos, and a "Forgotten Tune" that simply sucks.

Live at the Paramount--also included as a CD--comes off as otherwise bloodless. Joyless. That goes double for the lifeless remastering of the original LP.

Animal Collective has backslid into a comfortable, but unfortunately unexciting, middle ground.

Fishscale's tail-end reeks ("Jellyfish," "Big Girl," "Momma"), but then first cuts are always the deepest.

Someone please get this man his edge back.

I can't tell if The Wind is a final bid for immortality or some kind of dirty joke.

Moments, ideas, turns of phrase are jumbled together, good and bad, resulting in the sweet smell of garbage.

The new songs have attitude, but they sound like outtakes from 2000's classic Kid A and 2001's lesser Amnesiac.

Happy Songs for Happy People offers many of the thrills of Rock Action, but without the diversity and succinctness that made that album shine.

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.

All in all, though, Medúlla is far too busy. Even when you're experimenting, the less-is-more rule still applies.

It's the Ting Tings amplified past 11, and the two never stray far from the formula.

Yoshimi has its moments, but it sounds like leftover brilliance from its older, better brother, padded out with filler to make a new album.

El Camino might be the weakest Black Keys album since 2006's Magic Potion, but the band certainly earned this celebratory joy ride.

You can imagine a modern-day Syd Barrett coming up with similar ideas after being locked in a closet with a laptop.

Formulaic song-structure stagnation lingers since the group's 2005 lineup overhaul and subsequent lackluster LP, Wilco (the Album). In Fact, the sextet borders on complacency in its rock-ribbed space-rock safety net, despite that music's surface eccentricity and innovation.

Six years later, the New York trio's third LP, It's Blitz!, is only as subversive as its cover image.

The result's a bit half-baked, which is disappointing when you know Hebden's capable of far more spirited adventures in sound.

[It] tries putting everything from the buffet on your plate, even the Jell-O you're not going to eat. C'mon, sounding like a stripped-down version of the Stooges wasn't such a bad thing, was it?

It's perfect for getting some shut-eye, but the boy wonder bores when cast upon alert ears.

Without co-star Alison Krauss or marquee Texan producer T Bone Burnett, Robert Plant's latest solo outing suffers the expected sequel slump.

It all goes down like kung pao chicken and Sapporo, but you'll be at Church's in an hour.

While this summit doesn't offer enough to interest more than the converted, the magnitude of the encounter tends to transcend whatever music is created.

Though the lyrics are light ("Could We") and often banal ("The Moon"), the warm, Mazzy Star minimalism and neon-roots groove are fairly irresistible.

If it doesn't exactly blaze off in bold new directions, it does offer an opportunity for Interpol to do some fine-tuning (not that they need much) and settle comfortably into their black, velvet-lined pocket.

With Dr. Dre, Kanye West, and even Jay-Z on its guest list, Hip Hop Is Dead makes for an ample, yet ultimately morbid, party.

Gone is the glitzy art-punk, spastic freak-out, and unfathomable screaming. Here now instead is simple melody, nasal singing, and familiar songs, which begs the question: Y Control?

Neither miserable nor memorable.