Throughout the album, haunted-saloon piano and reverb-choked guitar conjure a murky, wobbly misaligned version of old R&B.

Lively and loose, cut with collaborators including her talented Scottish boyfriend Johnathan Rice, spooky folkie M. Ward and actress-singer Zooey Deschanel, the 11 songs (many of which she has performed live for years) encompass Southern-gothic folk, Appalachian blues stomps and 'The Next Messiah,' an eight-minute, Who-style rock mini-opera.

Where past albums documented a litany of bummers, cascading melodies now airbrush moments of depression or kinkiness--even the horny groupie of 'Natural Disaster' sounds like a girl you could take home to Mom. Higgenson’s new outlook is surprising.

Singer-guitarist Eric Earley accesses the haunted Americana Wilco nailed on "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot," with big nods to mid-'60s Bob Dylan, early-'70s Neil Young and the country Grateful Dead. [Oct 2008, p.78]

The result is severely mellow, but too sensuous--the basslines thick with libidinal tug, the vocals steeped in contented, coital afterglow--to ever get boring.

THe British balladeers have returned after a long layoff as elegantly miserable as ever. [Oct 2008, p.83]

The album is crisper than the band’s early-’08 EP, thanks to Spoon producer Mike McCarthy, who let the fury bounce around every inch of a cinder-block space in Austin--where, appropriately, "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre" sound effects were recorded.

Saadiq is a romantic who stays true to the deliberate simplicity of such titles as 'Sure Hope You Mean It' and 'Just One Kiss.' But his adaptable baritone is always crisp and cocky--he never threatens to assume the fetal position if he doesn’t get the extreme cuddling he craves.

They fluctuate between those two poles while their by-the-book hard rock continues to split the difference between Black Crowes and Guns N’ Roses--though no longer with the wit that fueled their coke-y 1999 breakout, 'Lit Up.'

Rubin pointed the direction, but credit goes to the band-which, for the first time on record, includes new bassist Robert Trujillo-for recapturing their old sound and reconciling it with what followed.

The music, coproduced by M.I.A. confederate Switch, warps and wanders too, from rock-rap to dancehall to new wave to folk.

From the way gently twanging guitar builds to toxic fuzz on 'Man Made Lake' to the whistling in 'El Gatillo' that nails the stranger-in-town vibe, the band’s best stories are in their music.

Sheff straddles the line between precious and brilliant, warbling twisty, appositive-packed tales about life on the road and crumbled relationships over cranked-up, vaguely folkish rock riffs.

[McCoy's] delivery is laudably cool for a Warped Tour MC. But it’s gunk on the gears of this dancing machine.

Torrini captures a few joyful infatuations followed by a lot of lingering wounds; she’s vulnerable but never conquered.

Sadly it's undercut by music that tirns Brian Wilson into merely another Brian Wilson imitator. [Sep 2008, p.85]

If recession-era Jeezy sounds a lot like boom-time Jeezy--describing coke cooking and the cars one gets in reward—that’s because he has always fancied himself an educator, a Learning Annex lecturer, an inspirational-desktop-calendar hustler.

Forth is that rare comeback record--unafraid to show its age, and better for it. [Sep 2008, p.85]

Although their guitar-drums set-up is reminiscent of the White Stripes, the Animals are more interested in the wake-and-bake vibe of haggard hippie bands like Love and the Jefferson Airplane.

Finding new targets for their thrashing contempt, Slipknot make ugliness sound just a little bit pretty.

It's Li's confidence to stray that gives this album its depth. [Sep 2008, p.82]

Endearing hints of '60s pop glow faintly beneath the frictionless surfaces of Gane's loops, chirps and austerely percolating rhythms. [Sep 2008, p.84]

Their sixth album is shambling and empty, spiked infrequently with a good bassline or an almost-good chorus, and even the jokes founder on the band’s contempt.

It's done two good things for the Stills: sharpened their songwriting and returned them after a dull Album No. 2. to the crystalline guitar minimalism of their debut. [Sep 2008, p.84]

Julian Raymond's production gives the good-timey guitar-and-bajo sound a sharp kick in the butt. [Sep 2008, p.78]

Yes, the Jonases are squishy, vanilla and too sweet. But so is an ice-cream cone. And ice-cream cones are freakin’ delicious. Especially when they come with a cherry on top.

Sometimes the sumptuousness feels a little excessive, like an ice-cream headache. But most of these love songs are uncommon, illuminating and elevating, just like the real thing at its best.

Oberst always projects a spiritual generosity unknown to most footloose troubadours who can’t commit.