here's no escaping the fact that although Mazes are quite capable of a good tune, there's often very little to separate one track from the next.

King is worth a listen, but only to prepare yourself for their next visit to a neighborhood near you.

Krug is a songwriter whose craft is best when met with the editing of other musicians--left to himself, however, we are left with a very forgettable retreat into his very OMD-obsessed psyche.

Woods should take the cue from Bill Callahan and what he accomplished with Smog: if you are going to delve into the restricting realm of lo-fi, there has to be emotional and appealing substance and quality in the songs themselves. Lowering the production quality does not, as in a double helix, imply that the songwriting quality will improve.

Robinson certainly bolsters There Is A Way's meaty riffs and hooks; those guitars sound a bit more Kerrang than NME on this second album. The band's songwriting too is more restrained and conventional, but always high octane – they scream overwhelmingly through the whole album without really letting you pause for breath.

When Fish Ride Bicycles is like any high school parking lot. There are cool kids, newcomers, wallflowers and seniors that should have graduated last year but decided to stick around because it's still fun and easy.

Sometimes the beats will have an extra kick to them, or the song structures will change up, but the keyboard tone is the same throughout the record. It walks a very fine line between intriguing and boring, and frequently drifts between the two.

Parts of Two-Way Mirror give me hope for the future, but their seeming inability to hammer out a concrete songwriting method makes me doubt they'll figure it out anytime soon.

Clutching Stems doesn't hit the highs some of the band's albums have, but it features some added-in coherency that quite helps the album along.

Even though I'm not praising the comeback album in a Grammy winning category, I think many are simply pleased with the fact that Blake Sennett put down the scuba gear and got back in the game where he belongs. Welcome back, buddy.

As it is, Dedication seems like a bit of a missed opportunity; as collection of ideas it may be incredible, but as an album it's just insubstantial.

The lone connective thread found in Gardens & Villa is that of its dedication to build a vigorous gamut of synths. As it turns out, once that defining element is out of the mold, you're left with skeletal compositional biases that amount to very little.

There are some nice elements here: the vocals and vocal harmonies are reasonably solid, but they're trapped underneath layers of, well, noise.

Despite the promising influences and the strong pedigree, essentially all that Blanck Mass offers is a distorted, unusual take on new age music, and while interesting in small doses, it makes for a long, repetitive slog over the course of an hour.

The problem with this album is that it brings very little new to the table, for fans and non-fans alike. By far the strongest track on the album is the aforementioned Ross Ross Ross which, as stated above, was released five years ago now (and, in any case, the EP version is stronger than the album version).

Lupercalia, despite its flaws, does provide a satisfying sense of closure. Now, hopefully, Patrick Wolf will be able to graduate onto subjects other than himself (and an attempt to do a full-on disco record would not go amiss either).

Even with a diversity deficiency here, you have to admit that this is album is noteworthy. My suggestion is to gather up his entire catalog and put it on a random shuffle so you don't suffer from the monotony.

The way they attempt to reinvent the idea of the rock band is admirable but quixotic; they;'re intriguing but way overhyped. The album is buried in just a bit too much sonic obscurity--their arrangements are at first elating, but eventually frustrating.

I Love You, Go Easy is an uneven album, not just going from song to song, but within the songs themselves. It offers a variety of moments, some brilliant and entrancing, but not without a few distracting decisions.

Absolute II doesn't reveal anything on repeated listens, in spite of the densely woven textures. While it's another prime example of Oneida defying expectations and challenging themselves as artists, it's perhaps a step too far. It's a blip in an otherwise solid discography.

If the past had him outcast and an outsider, Leisure Seizure could be ideally marketed with those label heavyweights like a fabric hook-and-loop fastener.

Born This Way sufficient for Gaga to retain her crown? Probably, but only just. It lacks the overall quality of Robyn's Body Talk or the stand-out singles of Rihanna's Loud, yet it's still packed with hooks, killer choruses and unexpected twists.

Since Nodzzz songs rely mostly on sporadic ruminations, they communicate much more effectively when a satisfying guitar riff surprises as opposed to when they build an entire song on little life tidbits that don't amount to much.

Despite a fairly catastrophic mid-album dip in quality, there are enough of the big soaring numbers, and a smattering of new ideas to see him through. So it's just like most other Moby albums really.

So the bottom line is this album turns out to be about half good, is probably not going to mean much to people who don't remember them, and while it hits all the right notes in places, it doesn't quite deliver any moments of pure pop perfection the way they used to.

If ambition of design were to take precedence over tangible results, Laced would be a great album. It is an elaborate attempt at uniting heavy-handed artistic endeavours through exotic instrumentation and experimental sounds, with a lo-fi crass, lifelike production, giving it the feel of a bold art exhibit found lying on the sidewalk of a dirty street infested with lowly people, as opposed to a quaint art gallery.

Despite the occasional flashes of brilliance, Codes and Keys often feels like a half assed attempt at innovation.

If more is to come, it should bring with it a great deal of anticipation - Colour Trip has a great deal of promise about it, and that, it seems, is hard to miss, even through all the noise.

It's just such a boringly average release that the band seems to have retrogressed into one of the millions of anonymous and pretentious electro-drone bands that exist nowadays.

Since the lyrical content now borders on morose and even sadistic, the music also follows the leader with a muck of baseless solos and thrilling codas to compensate for the otherwise linear compositions.

Over the course of this slightly bloated track listing there is too much focus on the soft rock element of her sound and this which works to the detriment of her fascinating lyrics and bewitching theatrics.

Almost without exception it seems this album delivers good but never great: and, when you put it like that, its clear that good is not good enough.

Burst Apart is a passable follow-up to an incredible record, but that's all it is. Passable.

The English Riviera is a perfectly listenable album, and it's one that will, quite rightly, be the soundtrack to the summers of more than a few, but the often indistinct music and insipid lyrical content mean that it's doubtful if its charms will last through to the autumn.

Dancer Equired trounces for thirty minutes in the same formulaic way as before: one-note exuberance, monotone instrumentation, and washed out pop hooks. Granted, it features some of their strongest songs to date, but it's not enough to salvage the exhaustive, pouring reverberation.

Port Entropy finds Tokumaru-san at his most confident, but without the apprehensiveness apparent in the past albums, the tracks seem two-dimensional.

Noah And The Whale would have done better to focus on the more organic sound they became quite good at than become just another forgettable crossover act.

It is that sense of self that prevails over the pop sheen of Rolling Papers and makes it worth more than a passing listen.

Considering the nine other songs on this album mix lazy production with unfocused rapping, The Return of Mr. Zone Six is a largely forgettable album.

Violet Cries is the kind of album that will find a niche audience who will it defend fiercely. Broader appeal is unlikely for songs that seem so blurred around the edges and on the point of evaporating.

These delicate people really know how to solidify a pretty picture, especially when they offset their lovin' spoonful of virtue with some muffled resonance. This time around, the Kings are downright cheating instead of tirelessly studying to make the grade.

In the midst of all the new-fangled electricity that positions Mi Ami for creative growth, there is a spiritedness and innovation to their past output that is missing with this new device.

She's still one to watch, but the hype which preceded the release of Who You Are promised much more than what has been delivered.

The Strokes have managed to culture a great sense of the schizophrenic on Angles, mapping polar tones in tandem to produce a record that feels both confused and entirely deliberate.

While it shares many similarities with the quieter side of their first record, it never quite achieves the same heart-rending beauty we know they're capable of.

Lasers is an expressive album, more so than his previous records.

I'm going to give this bonus points for the admirable trait of messing with our heads and not apologizing for it. But in the end, the quirky ideas are found lacking and sheer bizarreness only gets you so far.

Fading Parade may be trodden down, and it does meander on too much diffidence to make it readily distinguishable. It is also a pleasant lull, prepped with a rich gamut of melodic rewards.

Pyramid of the Sun certainly isn't an utterly bad album--it's cohesive enough, and it can be really engaging. At the very least, it serves as a heartfelt tribute to the band's late drummer.

Different Gear, Still Speeding could be a good album if they just scaled things down a bit.

The King of Limbs is very much a rhythm-driven album; skittering, off-kilter beats underpin the majority of the songs on show.

100 Lovers has a fair few highlights, but as a whole it's merely another example of Devotchka still not managing to successfully capture the exuberance of their live show on record.

There's not a lot fundamentally wrong with The People's Key; it's just that we know Bright Eyes can do better.

Although at it's best The Gathering is an immersive throwback to a bygone age, considering there are already many records that do this sort of thing much more consistently, it's difficult to recommend.

Gutter Rainbows instead hovers between a mainstream and an indie vibe, embracing neither and potentially isolating both audiences.

Rolling Blackouts is a Technicolor, kaleidoscopic riot of a record but, put in context, it can't fail to be tinged with a hint of disappointment. There's a real risk that The Go! Team may have painted themselves into a corner (albeit with various shades of eye-wateringly luminous paint); it will be intriguing to see where they go from here.

This album simply lacks the impact that Vanderslice's trademark sound usually packs in abundance. The bare bones of his usually excellent songwriting are there, but it's more constrained by the orchestration than set free.

Hardcore... may be their most consistent album for a while but any of its tracks would have fitted perfectly on its predecessors Mr Beast or The Hawk is Howling.

Listening to this album is in effect like listening to Paul McCartney's Wings-technically spot-on, catchy, but in the long run, utterly meaningless.

As it stands, Deerhoof seems to have lost its footing a bit with this one.

The anthemic choruses largely remain but are endlessly unsatisfying and constrained. Given the unmistakeably grittier and less atmospheric qualities of this album it was the right to attempt to temper them; I'm just not so sure they pulled it off.

Is this record the cure to the ails that is the sophomore LP? Yes and no. Yes, it's new and fresh and spilling over with more of their unique brand of high-energy rock; no, as there's some missteps and growth is often traded out for immature jabs.

With Arcade Dynamics, a bit of that moral fiber is lost, resulting in a pleasant number of hooks that hone the psychedelic tag a bit too conventionally.

With Outside, Tapes n' Tapes have it really tough because, frankly, they're questioned by those who originally praised them in the first place.

Lyrically Wake Up The Nation is largely inscrutable, while sonically it remains a shambling and ungainly listen.

In lengthening the song lengths and trimming the tracklist, No Mas jettisons the spontaneous, off-the-cuff energy that made their debut so incredibly fun.

While enjoyable and familiar, this set of songs reflects a band who knows what music they don't want to be making but haven't--at least, not yet--determined what it is they want to be defined by instead.

Ultimately The Weight's on the Wheels works on the whole. Its finest moments are excellent examples of the wry electro-pop that TRF are certainly proficient at; at its worst, however, the album lacks any evidence of an evolution in sound or style, suffering from mediocrity rather than being distinctly poor.

They do rest a bit comfortably on what they do right, circumventing the idea of exploring new territory. This is, of course, a curse and a blessing. In presence or not, Azure Ray's stark simplicity will always remain intact.

At its best, it blows Chemical Chords out of the water but at its worst, it's uninspiring and dull.

There is a clear aspiration for this album to be ubiquitous, and well, overbearing with tunes. Rather than follow the typical pop formula, Rihanna gives an album specifically catered to where she is now with her career, music, and life. And blaring seems to be the point.

This brand of thoughtful ambient music is certainly not for everyone, but those willing to take the plunge may just come away surprised. After all, being perhaps too original and ambitious is often better than being trite and derivative.

Love Remains has no established coherence, disrespects the meaning of creating a full length from scratch by (reworking?) rehashing material, and frankly, relies too much on Krell's scorching falsettos.

Sure there's some nice stuff here and no one ever said Stevens lacked ideas. But I'm telling you that despite this, The Age of Adz is a major misfire from an artist of uncommon depth and talent.

If you want to hear this sort of thing done properly, you'll find happiness in the more sedate moments of the peerless Saint Etienne, but there's little to recommend The Trip. It's not much more than a Christmas bauble: shiny and polished on the surface, but with little of substance on the inside.

Hurley sums up like a consumer guide of all the musical directions Weezer has explored throughout the years.

While the concept of exploring new horizons seems like a perpetually Megafaun thing to do, it's a case of too much too soon and of a band reaching for places they have no business going toward.

It's great when artists learn to produce work that has more than one dimension to it. Robyn's has two. I'd just like to see her develop one or two more.

Carrying features stellar glockenspiel work and a beautiful chorus, but uncharacteristically poor drumming and a gaudy ragtime piano solo. Perhaps the most damning indictment is that the worst songs are all similar enough to blend into each other.

It's a fine record on its own terms, but the it's just not possible to circumvent the expectations that come with his dayjob.

Magic Kids do pull off a winner with Summer, a sultry delight of abounding strings and tropical strums that, sadly, sounds out of place with the obvious eye winks scattered throughout. Memphis may borrow from such an imaginative time period, but their explorative range remains very limited.

In the love affair of listeners to this EP, an overly ambitious singer-songwriter who seems to be far more into growing artistically then creating genuine songs will force fans and detractors alike into the arms of another.

You could call it inconsistency, but you can tell they never signed up for the mission of steering the chasm of modern rock music. Instead, they're four guys doing what they want, culling their influences and breathing life into whatever construct emerges. But regardless of where it falls on the spectrum, it's always fun.

The Five Ghosts chooses to communicate in a simpler, terser manner, which counteracts their evident vigor to test out miscellaneous musical approaches. By switching their objective, Stars' fifth effort has become their true reversal of fortune.

As convincing as she attempts to sound, Bionic does nothing to persuade authenticity.

Unfortunately, her constant insistence on being so ham-fistedly quirky and zany soon becomes wearing, and simultaneously rescues and spoils the whole album.

Infinite Arms isn’t nearly as charming nor nearly as emotive as the band’s other work. It’s an image of a band that’s exhausted their aesthetics to a point of sterility, and it’s going to take a lot of soul-searching and reinvention to figure out where to go next.

There is absolutely nobody in the world but hardcore Apples in Stereo fans that need to hear Travellers in Space and Time, it's a record as slight as they come.

In what was already an inane, washed-up concept to begin with, P&A fail to enlighten by opting to deliver trite lyrics and characterless humor for their own amusement. Evidently, consciousness suits them better.

A four-year wait is inexcusable, especially when more than half of the album exudes familiarity.

The implication is that there was some kind of journey involved in getting from Point A to Point B in Trans Am’s spaceship of Douglas Adams-worthy quirks. But after twelve tracks totaling a brief-seeming thirty eight minutes, and despite some interesting routes, it feels like we’ve barely left the launch pad.

Too much of Weathervanes is unnecessary fluff. Of the album's 13 tracks, three are wordless moments of focus-less, meaningless noise and at least three other songs could have been trimmed down by a few minutes.

None of the songs are good enough as growers or deep tracks to hold up the album.

What is frustrating about Junior is King's obvious talent. It is clear that this is a woman capable of a level of musicianship most artists can't achieve, yet she seems unable to do anything more with it than repeat a few good ideas with diminishing returns.

And Then We Saw Land isn’t a bad album, it just doesn‘t grab you.

As a longtime fan of Usher, this album has great moments and also lagging tunes.

Enter Wu-Massacre a fun, but mostly forgettable affair that comes from three of the clan’s most prominent members; (Ghostface, Raekwon, Method Man) and for the most part ends up being little more than good-natured fan service.