Rubber Factory finds inspiration in decay, and signals a hopeful future for the Black Keys.

This stylistic-tryout grab-bag exposes a quartet that has yet to find a voice solely its own.

One of the most exciting discs in recent memory.

A triumph tempered by doubt, an accomplished collection of conflicted feelings and guarded optimism.

Buffs the rough edges of Words & Sounds, Vol. 1 but sacrifices some of that record's spirited adventurousness.

Bjork’s great achievement with Medulla is in taking a self-imposed limitation and managing to craft a full-bodied, multilayered work from such a basic toolset.

True to form, there's a fair amount of unexploded duds mixed in with the direct hits.

Winchester Cathedral may be a transition album, or it may just contain a few curveballs to keep discerning listeners on their toes -- only Clinic knows for certain.

A compellingly listenable record whose thematic signal points add up to one of the very, very few viable theme/concept albums composed solely of cover tunes.

More than 40 years of combined experience results in an album that works well as music for the road or for a party thrown by discriminating baby boomers.

While the record finds Earle at his most outspoken, it also finds him treading water stylistically, comfortably wearing down the same groove he's occupied since 1997's El Corazon.

South undeniably positions the group as a hard-rocking roots act, and further as one of today's most assured rock bands, period.

It's all very commendable, but one wishes McGraw had taken a few more chances with the material, most of which is as lightweight and ultimately disposable as much of modern country.

Rilo Kiley's most consistent and sharply executed release to date.

The second disc... is the sound of a band at the height of its powers, employing a ten-piece band and backup singers, and exhibiting an absolute mastery of its material.

It's a distillation of the singer's subtly different moods and modes, a cohesive and comprehensive work that stands as the most representative look yet at his musical persona.

Whiskey Tango Ghosts is a supremely intimate, homespun album, one that isn't meant to arrest the senses so much as it strives to assuage the pain of turning on the nightly news and being bombarded with grim tidings on a global scale.

One Plus One Is One may not sparkle with surprising brilliance, as Bewilderbeast did, but it is certainly the most thematically and musically grounded album Gough has yet created.

What the band lacks in originality (not to mention coherence and subtlety), it more than makes up for with committed chops and indefatigable energy.

Dead Cities reinforces the French pair's penchant for distorted vocals and cheesy synthesizers, but the tracks here ultimately add up to far less than the sum of their assorted parts.

Scissor Sisters' debut is a brilliant ode to a musical era defined by vapid decadence and disposable dance tracks.

Tyrannosaurus Hives should add up to more than simply a tighter record with gaudier production values. That it doesn't could spell trouble for a band eager to avoid being sent back down to the minor leagues.

While it may not be the orgiastic smorgasbord of pop delicacies The Fiery Furnaces aimed for, it's nonetheless one of the most ambitious pop albums released this year.

It's a sonically interesting, lyrically diverse collection.

There's definite promise here, if not the stunning masterpiece of popcraft that a sudden deluge of impressive notices might indicate.

Ultimately, The Tipping Point is an ironic title, given the fact that the Roots sound like a group recharging its batteries rather than triggering a momentous shift in how it approaches its music and the world at large.

Porcelain's aggressively hopeful, generic alt-rock anthems just aren't very interesting.

Much of The Cure slogs along at the same churning, monotonous pace, and Smith, rambling in a croak-shout variation of his normal singing voice, does the material few favors.