I Sold Gold is the rare record that can poke fun at itself, the world, and its fans yet transcend simple entertainment.

What's most impressive is that he manages the delicate balance of being emotive without overwrought, something that many of the seventies pop icons never quite got right.

Despite mining decades-old forms, The Anomoanon's honest rock is hard to dislike.

Newcomers may want to start investigating with something less daunting, but even the casual fan of Cave's work will find this collection indispensable.

Two tracks focusing on guest vocalists are stand-outs.... The other eight songs are more hit-and-miss, often depending on whether Bip's headed toward rock (the blah "Eyelashings," which sounds like a mediocre U2 song, without vocals or a chorus) or hip-hop ("The Move," a nice piece of synthesizer and vibraphone chemistry).

Mansions end result is a scarred mess, a fitting aesthetic for such introspective music.

On Obrigado Saudade, Pierce picks up where he left off on his last few Bubblecore releases, melding post-rock, world music and analog electronics into rich, earthy shapes.

This is music that is both lovely to hear and challenging to ascertain at the same time.

Restraint and frustration are the dominant themes, but the short, aggressive outbursts don't always offer enough release to justify the fatiguing buildups.

The Grotto isn't the type of record that will win Hersh many new admirers, but it will send longtime fans into fits of ecstasy.

Not Them, You is one of those rare records that rewards on both repeated listens and initial forays.

Soft Spot is a winningly cohesive album -- both thematically and musically -- and shows Barzelay's songwriting talent growing exponentially.

Rendezvous is among the group's finest works.

Ten turns out a few good songs, but there are better solo records by each of its members.

Deerhoof's diversity is less a series of self-conscious genre references than a genuine proclamation of unimaginable artistic freedom.

The band sounds filthy and scorching.

[Has] a mysterious backwoods vibe worthy of Murmur-era REM.

Excise these less-than-enthralling moments and the forty-nine remaining minutes of Ultravisitor are satisfying.

For every misstep on the mostly acoustic Spooked, there's an undeniable classic.

He's simply not an authoritative enough singer to give many of his songs the treatment they deserve. Nevertheless, Lanois is an expert craftsman, and Shine is a rewarding, extremely enjoyable album.

On My Way promises to be voted "Most likely to get lost in your collection and never thought about again."

A timely twinkle of apple crisp bells, hearth-warming handclaps and belly-rubbing brass.

What separates them from their peers is a refreshing feminine perspective that draws from '60s girl groups and the conflicted teenage angst of Leslie Gore.

If Blues isn't as immediately classic-sounding as Molina's 2003 pseudo-debut, it still harbors enough affecting songs to make you pause and admire the man's craft.

A record brimming with potential.

Labeling Again as entirely derivative would be inaccurate, as Tan folds flourishes of dub and krautrock into a lascivious mix of after-hours cool.

The album cherry-picks the best songs from Farrrar's last few releases, and presents them in often superior form.

Maintains the urgency of their debut, developing ideas that were only in their infancy on their debut.

As with most things this conceptual, certain aesthetic sacrifices must be made. But Matthew Herbert is the remarkable musician, with his keen senses of rhythm and melody, who can pull off such an audacious ruse.

An album of both phenomenal concentrated bits, as well as some disappointing gaps.

It all recalls a traveling Klezmer troupe, unsure of its audience, warming up with tributes to "Schindler's List", "For Whom the Bell Tolls", and "The Godfather", while waiting to find out if they're playing a festival or a funeral.

They have all of the grandeur of the best REM ballads, but Snow Patrol leader Gary Lightbody sings with indie rock's characteristic understatement.

This is Bianchi’s tour de force, emotive but clever enough to avoid seeming self-centered or pathetic, and satisfying in its candid complexity.

Summer in Abaddon delivers an all-inclusive perfection that sets it apart from any other record this year.

Because every note is perfectly placed, and the contemplative mood sustained throughout, it's hard to notice the lack of originality and occasionally pedestrian songwriting.

The main funk base of E's sound remains consistent but is augmented with harder rock and blues elements, showing he is able to hold onto his signature sound while simultaneously twisting a piece of rose-colored glass into it.

The New Wave sensibilities and unorthodox flows become predictable, and the absence of APC's Priest and Saayid is felt by the end of Tomorrow.

While the new album doesn't quite topple 1998's Silur from its Tarwater throne, The Needle Was Traveling is certainly a more than credible addition to the band's discography.

A loose, fun collection.

Silence's instrumentals - choppy samples, organs, and horns, set to the tune of a staccato digital pacemaker - sound great, but they hardly stray from the formula laid down by Vocal Studies and Uprock Narratives.

The whole affair is polished to such mirror-like perfection that I have to dim all the lights and cover my eyes when I listen to it.

Plays mostly as a digest of fairly enjoyable if not particularly memorable shaggy-haired rockers in the Kinks or Small Faces mold with little material to rival Sunshine's radiant highs.

Despite its slowcore pedigree, Fall Back manages to stand solidly on its own haunted ground, forging a yet-to-be-realized level of tender creativity.

Lead bat Eric Johnson is a talented songwriter but his '60s lite-psych melodies and scruffy acoustic backdrop are not just tired, they're nearly dead.

Cave proves himself to be a continually fascinating and vital songwriter.

Even the most hardened, poker-faced purists will crack a smile at AIH's ridiculously catchy, hook-riddled dance-pop.

Slice Thrills up into its individual pieces, and Ellen Allien's third studio record is flawless.

As grounds for our own wandering imaginations and protesting voices, Horses' six songs are not as fertile as what's come before them.

The advantages that The Capitol Years have over many of their compatriots are the excellent voice of lead singer Shai Halperin and swoon-inducing harmonies.

Resilience is laid-back Kid 606.

Unlike Rogue Wave's timid debut, Vultures blazes forward with the kind of assured bravado not usually seen this side of U2.

More a sketchbook than a fully-formed statement of purpose, Jay Farrar's second solo release is nonetheless an excellent addition to his oeuvre.

An unpleasant record to listen to.

It's one thing to treat your influences with reverence, eyes and goals fixed on a past that brought them to you. It's another to fold them into the present, into the elusive omnipresence of the moment. And how Dead Meadow pulls this off on Feathers is an amazing thing to hear.

While Spektor possesses an intriguing voice, she uses it in such a cloying, affected manner as to be almost entirely off-putting.

The production is crisp and idiosyncratic as usual, but many of the songs fade into the background.

There’s a consistency in quality throughout the record, but nothing stunning enough to send you running to your stereo to hit the repeat button.

It's still very plainly the Dulli Show, placing his cigarette-stained voice and oversized heartache front-and-center.

More often than not it's stylish, adventurous and damn fun.

A near perfect record that will have The Rapture,!!!, and every other dance punk band looking over their collective shoulders.

The smart pop hook chops displayed on So Much For the City make it clear that this is one retro-minded band that may just make it to the future.

Delightfully pushes boundaries.

And though the album is full of promising leads and sharp-witted initiative, it's hard to shake the feeling that this album is a collection of unfinished ideas, presented with no pretensions to the contrary.

Though the dark atmosphere can weigh Cavelight down on extended listening, it is the record's most lush, emotional moments, like the operatic "Sunday Séance," that are most suggestive of Blockhead's potential.

Does it replace the originals as the definitive Gang of Four collection? No way.

There is little personality amid the speed and distortion, and no tricks or treats to keep fingers off the fast-forward button.

Whiskey Tango Ghosts is a quiet meditative listen, yes, but those who haven't followed Donnelly's career trajectory closely may find it difficult to reconcile the contrast between her old and new selves.

Broder puts art before music -- as if he's recording an audio version of a painting.

Hotel Morgen serves as a blend of some of the more appealing aspects of both the electronic avant-garde and its more mainstream dance music wing.

Both Costa and Lindsay Anderson have an uncanny ability to evoke multiple emotions through their lyrics. The downside seems to be their lack of range; all the songs feel the same.

Sometimes evocative of Joy Division on PCP, sometimes of Arab on Radar on codeine, Ian MacKaye's production maintains the right balance of tin-can sounds with bullfrog disco stylings.

Knitting Needles & Bicycle Bells is a near perfect collection of four-minute songs that recall a more ragged XTC, the skewed pop/rock style of The Kinks, and The White Album-era Beatles.

Manzanita may be too diverse to be cohesive, but it is filled with interesting songs and the continued potential for great things.

Greater accessibility does not necessarily mean higher quality.

As the album wears on, however, it becomes clear that Einstürzende Neubauten has spent more time cultivating their bristling sonic elements than exploring compositional variety or subtlety.

Little Heart's Ease is a respectable effort - just not by Royal City standards.

Particularly striking is the group's ability to mix vast instrumental soundscapes with subtle electronic manipulations, creating a synthesis of analog and digital elements that is visionary in its sonic impact.

Sewed Soles makes out decently for a greatest hits disc.

The record may have a little less electronic slink than prior efforts, but it has a propulsive energy, even in the mid-tempo tracks, that makes the record easy to like.

LaValle demonstrates that he is one of post-rock's strongest artists.

This is a headphone record of the highest order, where every last detail should be isolated against your ears and pored over.

The fusion of The Books' folk stylings and traditional instrumentation (cellos, banjos, clavinets) with Prefuse's hip-hop stutter-funk produces fresh moments, just not as many as desired.

Black Dice doesn‚t shy away from risks, and this record is just as daring as Beaches and Canyons or Creature Comforts.

Moments of the overfed ambience familiar to the band's debut, Feel Good Lost, poke through as the album drags on.

This is an ambitious album that aims high but falls short.

What the band lack in cohesion they make up for with a healthy mania.

A loose, engaging collection of songs that won’t knock your socks off the first time you hear it, but begins to work its way under your skin on subsequent spins.

Last Night is as moody as funk can get, and the results range from soulful to pretentious.

With more room to breathe, the textured synthesizers come to the fore, and it is their melodic decoration that ultimately provides the saving grace. But without the electronic textures, Love and Distance is just Bryan Adams with a hip producer and a great drummer.

Absolutely brutal.

There's a very good record in this band. This isn't it.

A debut album so confident and flawlessly developed it seems more like the work of a band hitting its mid-career creative peak.

This is an absolutely satisfying listen and a feat of songwriting that few acts could match.

So Jealous has a broad appeal, nicely connecting the dots between Avril Lavigne and Joan Jett, but shouldn't be slighted by the latter's fans for it's immediacy.

This turn for the yee-haw is a bit mystifying but hardly a mistake; Howl is exactly the cry the BRMC needed to make.

While it feels like they're still finding their way and discovering what they're capable of, it's clear there's potential for greatness and longevity.

The band plays a raucous, shifting rock heavy on drama, but light on reasons to keep listening.

The problem with Blueberry Boat is that, while it's a musical marvel, it's not an album that I'll keep listening to.