To long-time Jayhawks fans, the new album -- almost entirely acoustic -- is a welcome return to form.

Certainly Blonde Redhead's most accessible yet.

On first pass the album might feel like a lateral or even backward step. After repeated spins, however, its subtler arrangements take up digs in your head like pesky squatters who one day, inexplicably, start doing chores or even paying rent.

Dog has a strong, old-school rock and roll feel to it.

A strong, cohesive and surprisingly soulful record.

With White Pony, the Deftones have crafted the kind of top-notch album that Tool and Korn have been wanting to make for years.

SDRE has always flirted with prog-rock machinations, but some of these songs are just too over the top to be written off as experiments in musical nostalgia.

Maladroit combines the best parts of the three previous Weezer albums: creamy guitar riffs, addictive beats, staple "hoo hoo's" and the brilliant mystique of Cuomo’s lyrics.

The album has enough setbacks that Terroir Blues cannot be considered on the same page as Trace, Straightaways, or anything he did with Uncle Tupelo.

Eclectic to the point of sounding confused.

While not quite as satisfying as Wilco's 1998 collaboration with Billy Bragg, Mermaid Avenue, the new record is a great document of two groups that enjoy experimenting and pushing the musical envelope.

Singular parts of this disc throw forth a few pretty piano chords or guitar strums but don’t expect to gain anything from this listening.

Not unlike Wilco’s Being There, Show Me Your Tears gives classic rock lovers a new album to celebrate -- an album to drink by while mourning the fact that most aging rock icons rarely supply anything this raucous anymore.

After repeated listens, Title TK congeals into a beautiful little slice of fuzz-rock-pop.

A major rebirth, relegating the chirpy melodies to expedients, relying less on Sadier's monotone singing, and reaching for new formats within the group's formidable compositional skills.

Dark, downtrodden, and gloomy.

The album has its share of enjoyable tunes, and more than a couple great ones.

The material is maddeningly inconsistent, sometimes in the course of the same song.

A gentle tremble of an album.

It's an okay album, not nearly as overproduced as Liquid Skin nor as unnecessary as Abandoned Shopping Trolley Hotline. It isn't anywhere near the stellar debut, though, which is quickly becoming a tag Gomez is sick of hearing.

The band's most consistent, well-written effort yet.

Cure fans will enjoy this record, it's well-made and Smith doesn't break character. Everybody else, no sequels to "The Love Cats" will be found herein. Feel free to stay the hell away.

It augments the band's traditional pop sound with string arrangements and baroque instrumentation, to varying degrees of success.

The best record Lou Reed has made in a long time.

While Golden Greats features some intriguing tracks and a healthy dose of Brown's trademark bravado, it doesn't come close to ringing in as powerfully as the Roses' era-defining sound.

A glossy, major-label-sounding record that’s dull, atmospheric, frustrating, and beautiful in pretty much equal amounts.

While the songs aren't that different from "classic" Spiritualized, the method in which they were recorded presents a whole new set of sonic possibilities.

Most indie-somethings will scoff defiantly upon hearing the note-for-note schlepping of excerpts from Mogwai's Young Team or the Sonic Youth-isms dripping from some of the guitar build-ups. Still, the members of Kinski, like a stubborn weed in a thicket of thorns, grow past their numerous predecessors at times, unearthing moments of pure psychotropic bliss.