Unfortunately, the dichotomy between the chaotic glee of Akron/Family’s set and Gira’s more traditional leanings diminishes the album’s luster.

Even without the quirky, theatrical pop she offered in the 1980s, she has held up beautifully after her long hiatus from recording, creating a record that is very much her own.

Scab Dates does an adequate job of capturing what is best experienced in the flesh.

A bewildering kaleidoscopic whirlwind that retains edginess and remains splendid all at once.

It plays more like an album reminiscent of the days when hip-hop was something to catch a head nod instead of breaking new ground or shaking the dance floor.

Turns out Isaac Brock is just too damn weird to be imitable.

We Have Sound is one of those albums that rarely has a down moment, and it’s all thanks to Vek’s ability to bring his diverse tracks together.

Thrilling prospect though it may be, the result is a disaster.

The sanitized production can be a bit of a stumbling block, and Rogue occasionally gets ahead of himself with his high-spire vocals, but Descended Like Vultures is by and large not the sophomore slump such and such and so and so were expecting.

Half of the album is rambunctious and full, driving and manic; the other half charms us with melancholic lullabies fueled by a single sip from the purple bottle. The result: With Feels, Animal Collective has created its first pop masterpiece.

Campfire does little to surprise.

Even with its brief lapses, Hypermagic Mountain is Lightning Bolt’s most accomplished effort to date, one-upping 2003’s Wonderful Rainbow with a fresh sense of maturity.

[It] turns out to be a proper Silver Jews rock album, which is to say it has the feel of a drunk snapping into his second wind long enough to belt out a few.

Much of the album feels unfocused, as if Cale has become seduced by the smooth trickery of digital production at the expense of cogent songs built on icy melodies, slippery poetics and true invention -- three of Cale's enduring strengths sadly missing through much of the album's fifty-three minutes.

There is bad music here, to be sure, and although the intentions are good, they are expressed in the now-common nihilism of our generation, where nothing is sacred and everything is a joke.

The Beautiful New Born Children is the rawest of the Stokes mixed with the youthful punk energy of early Replacements.

An album that lacks the band’s trademark ebb and flow, Strange Geometry is just plain inferior to the Clientele’s previous work.

Whether they’re taking names or taking their sweet time, the Constantines pull no punches here.

The Mouse and the Mask’s levity is the antithesis of the dense Madvilliany, and it continues Doom’s steady march toward achieving legendary status.

The Runners Four may not come off as innovative as Reveille (2003) and Milk Man (2004) did, but the real innovation here is in making chaos sound so serene.

Cinder keeps things reserved, letting the sad-eyed melodies teeter around the room at a drunkard's pace.

He comes across as an unfocused sample artist who is too eager to show off all the cool stuff he can do.

Much of the record lacks the magnetism that the handful of highlights boasts.

Dios (Malos)’s buoyant yet sophisticated glow incites a plethora of feelings, but the album stands out above most of the band’s dreamy indie-rock counterparts because, undoubtedly, the members of the band are enjoying themselves.

Closing In consists of amateurish approximations of the music the duo wishes it were playing.

Celebration is as theatrical as it is guttural, with Ford’s voice bellowing above cabaret-style organs, sharp guitars and loose, spiraling drum riffs.

Thunder, Lightning, Strike is for people who love music that hits them over the head with the sheer enjoyment of the human ability to rock.

Not only have Brion’s strings been replaced by an indescribably awkward alt-rock guitar riff and a misplaced drum beat, but Apple’s vocals have lost all of their bite and passion. On Brion’s work, she seemed hungry, ready to get back into it all. Here she retains the emotion that such a talented singer can muster on a good day but none of the rawness that signifies her best work.