Finn's masterful lyrics can't be ignored. And the music, stopping, starting and crashing with wrenching enthusiasm, is equally undeniable. But the way Finn understands the human condition in all its glory and contradiction is, simply, brilliant.

Their reverb-drenched nostalgia trip is full of enough talent and original thought, though, that the result is respectable and classy, not boorish and (yawn) retro.

Part of what makes this album work so well is that Gummere is willing to cede the mic to other bandmembers whose contributions contrast nicely with his own vocals.

Madlib's constant digressions, interruptions and little sonic jokes may make for an immersive listening experience, but The Further Adventures of Lord Quas demands pretty strict attention, and what it gives back in return is only sporadically satisfying.

A very strong -- albeit front-loaded -- album.

Ultimately the album is bolstered by the risks he takes, and though it trips a bit and never quite achieves the direct vision of previous efforts, it's rewarding nonetheless, for the perspective it brings to Darnielle's body of work.

Laughter's Fifth finds Jayne tracking back to a groovier, sillier time in rock 'n' roll, peeling back the rough riffs and celebrating the peace-and-love beat.

Her most direct, distorted disc since she did Helium's The Dirt of Luck a decade ago.

They're sure punching with more punch than they did when resuscitating the stand-and-deliver sexlessness of analog-electro past with blank face and vacant stare.

Strung with just the right amounts of room-filling tearjerkers (lilting keys and strings), the record is likely to raise a lump in your throat, or at least make you feel fuzzy inside and go "awww" at its prettiness.

It's like Bright Eyes -- urgent, personal, pent-up -- but better; less focused on the individual ego of the "creative genius," more about the group dynamics.

There is nothing here that thrills with its audacity, beauty, beat or lyrics. Instead, we are given a solid batch of songs that for any other artist would be a crowning achievement, but for Beck is just mediocre.

What really puts the album over the top is the way Edan manages to twist the DNA of two distinctly throwback styles, '60s psych-rock and '80s golden-age hip-hop, into a 2005 mutant plaid platypus.

This is The Decemberists' strongest release to date, and proves that the group's unique thesaurus-rock has a bright future.

Let Us Never is the latest sophomore album to make its creator's (actually really good) debut sound kinda paltry.

A sombre, sorrowful collection.

Akron/Family merge shifting, sometimes impressionistic arrangements with limpid lyricism. The result is an elusive -- but strong and deeply fascinating -- debut.

They play slow, but it's slow in the way that Low once did, a sort of punk-rock rebellion against speed and belligerence.

If you're a fan of tuneful, American-influenced pop-punk, Ash are waiting to burn a hole through your heart.

Suggests a progression and a retreat at the same time.

Ultimately, Woman King promises remarkable things to come for Iron and Wine, especially if Beam continues to expand his musical palette.

His guffawing voice makes him sound like every rhyme he delivers is a punchline.

The disc essentially finds the now-quartet cleaning up and living right and letting the world see them as they are; their tracks are marked by much clean-fingered guitar playing (the added guitar meaning there's six-stringing back-and-forth) and only a recreational use and abuse of wah.

It's a classic case of debut album as faux anthology of musical influences, but it's also a successful collection with a marked sense of individuality, massively helped by Murphy's dry sense of humor, which demonstrates a willingness to embrace the contradiction at the heart of his musical personality.

All too often, this new material fails to leave much of an impression.

It's a sound that doesn't loudly proclaim itself, but nevertheless insinuates its way in, until it feels quietly indispensable.

Todd... smartly allows her soaring, angelic voice to take the lead, leaving the sparse arrangement of strings and keys to take a delicate backseat. This also means her lyricism, poignant and wry, stands out.

Much of this dreary lyricism will be seen as English-as-a-second-language charm by so many -- and the album's lyric sheets, which put forth all the spelling-mistake-riddled broken English with pride, seem to be of the same belief. But loving that about this disc is like so much faint praise at best, and a pernicious kind of cultural condescension at worst.