Songs of Innocence is a colossal-sounding record from rock's ultimate stadium wreckers, and a quick listen reveals why no other marketing strategy would have worked.

It's 'party of one' music to overthink with and lines to quote when angry at a significant other--the soundtrack for hard times.

Along with some quiet surprises, there are also potential hits, including the first single/title track, where Lovato almost sounds like Kelly Clarkson's kid sister.

El Pintor succeeds in besting 2010’s Interpol, whose reception was so deflating, it could have killed the band’s career. But against even 2007’s ho-hum Capitol Records excursion Our Love to Admire (let alone Turn On the Bright Lights or even Antics), El Pintor fails to do much more than tread water.

Levine's hummingbird vocals and passionate delivery are as earnest as they were on their 2002 debut Songs About Jane.

As a result, My Everything is a less cohesive project than Yours Truly, although its best moments eclipse the highs of Grande's 2013 debut.

A tight, spirited follow-up to 2010’s bluesier, less essential Mojo.

A welcome, long-awaited return after a troubled hiatus, but it hums along comfortably without striking any innovative poses.

Overall, 5 Seconds of Summer is a delightful debut from a group that cannot be easily pigeonholed, and is worth paying attention to.

The Weird One delivers the reprocessed goods, though it's his original tunes — done in the idiosyncratic styles of his favorite artists--that truly warrant repeat listening.

What he's got, now, is an invigorating change-up record that shines in an already impressive discography.

It’s essential listening not so much for its quality--uneven, if generally high--but for the strange place it occupies in Morrissey’s discography. Not since 1991’s “Kill Uncle” has he given us anything quite so puzzling.

After the devil-may-care disco of "Blurred Lines," Thicke's career peak, Paula's introspection seems half-baked. It is Thicke's personal love letter for Patton--and comes off as relevant mostly just to the two of them.

x finds a hungry artist doing everything possible to elevate to another level, simply by abiding by his instincts.

It's not high art, and it won't land them on any year-end best-of lists, but it will sell a load of copies, and it's just the thing for your next lousy day.

Sprawling, ambitious and mostly well-executed, While (1<2) may confuse his fan base’s Ultra-attending electro house contingent, but deadmau5’s double album undoubtedly marks his most mature and forward-thinking release to date.

Smith bares more than his vocal cords on this record. Every story of unrequited love that's been put to song is powerful in its own right.

Auerbach offers a more sedate take on the "Born to Die" template, lightening the orchestrations, ditching the hip-hop beats, and presenting Lana as a perpetually scorned pop-noir fugitive--part Neko Case, part Katy Perry. It's a delicious contrast that makes for a surprisingly great album.

With some hits and misses, A.K.A. journeys through some predictable refrains with a handful of prospective triumphs.

On Lazaretto, White rummages through his cart and emerges with fiddles, organs, slide guitars, and fuzz boxes powered by hand-cranked generators. And is that a leftover plate of Ennio Morricone's Western spaghetti? Indeed, it is, and if it all adds up to a better album than his debut, "Blunderbuss."

The usual, more or less. Musically, it’s her typical mix of pop-classicist balladry and hip-hop-tinged summer jamming, and if Carey doesn't exactly go strutting into new territory, it’s because she knows most people like her right where she is.

In many ways, Coldplay's sharp left turn is also its most listenable album in years, an evocative concoction of sullen phrases, sparse arrangements and powerful themes.

Jackson's music mixed celebration and terror, as if he was unable to find, or maintain, the division between the two. His music offered a place to both explore and escape those tensions. On this album, it does again.

The Black Keys' eighth long player isn't loaded with obvious hits, and that's more than okay--because this is a brave, varied and engaging collection of songs.

I Never Learn is a brave album--it could very well alienate more fans than it brings in. But Li's songwriting is exquisite in its vulnerability; she has never sounded more sure of her aesthetic than she does in her most miserable moment. Like Beyonce's self-titled LP last year, this is a "grown-woman" album, but one focused on the sobering end of youth rather than the blissful beginnings of adulthood.

There are no immediate anthems like whokill's "Bizness" or "Gangsta." But these 13 tracks hum and bounce with contagious enthusiasm, posing a challenge worth rising to.

Some of the experiments on Corazón don't work.... Still, it's fascinating to follow Santana through his Latin journey.

Sheezus is Allen's most uneven record yet, but it's also her most mature.