Track after solid track, "Motherland" is a collection of pure, soulful offerings.

Teetering between darkness and light, Hersh's somersaults have never been more compelling.

The wildly disparate influences and sensibilities mesh to great effect on this stunning album.

The music that Bragg and Wilco have wrapped around the exquisite 15 sets of Guthrie lyrics is much more mature, cohesive and layered than its predecessor.

The refrains and horn tracks of "Quality Control" are all the ammo you'll need in your next argument about the rejuvenation of hip-hop.

"Gold" proves that Ryan Adams is capable of blending a myriad of styles and influences.

Pierce enhances his trademark electro-scapes with rich gospel choruses and grand orchestral flourishes for operatic effect.

It doesn't really break any new ground, but that's not the point. This record is about Dylan cutting loose and celebrating the richness of American music.

The quartet has cooled its eclectic babbling, and "Hot Shots II" whirrs and purrs like a gleeming silver sports car.

A typically bruised and beautiful collection of lovelorn ballads, Raymond Carveresque character studies and darkly romantic confessionals.

Slayer remains an elemental metal band, continuing to surge on something high-grade and uncut.

Much of the Painters’ power stems from Kozelek’s arresting voice, which meets its deep, moody match in the band’s exquisite renderings of rootsy gothic grace.

The most introspective and slow-tempo collection in Björk's catalog, "Vespertine" proves to be a rousing showcase of her captivating vocal talent.

Hype for the Strokes is well deserved--it's hard to imagine a more vital American rock band.

The album's meticulous attention to detail never overshadows Jackson's frisky good mood.

Part torch song, part Broadway, part cabaret, "Poses" is as theatrical as its animated creator is in performance.

But, to get right down to it, "Celebrity" is fun, like its predecessors.

"Strange Little Girls" is not a pretty album, but that's the point: the ugliness of male-female relations, which she exposes bit by bit with each cover, is a fact that is--in both pop music and pop culture--all too often ignored.

Sexsmith's gorgeous vocals and refined songwriting shine through.

Demonstrates a virility missing from [1993's "Republic"].

Their third release has no apparent monster single like "The Way," but the recording as a whole contains a higher number of strong songs. It rocks harder, and the band's previously overpowering influences--most notably Elvis Costello--are now beautifully integrated into a more developed and identifiable sound.

Some of the best music he's created since his release from prison on drug charges nearly six years ago.

Here, the sinfully motivating stew results in a record that goes on and on in its repetitive jive, sucking the listener into the blissfully happy world of Hindi-rock.

The trademark woeful brood is firmly intact. This time around, however, the Scottish duo has taken a slightly more playful approach to its music.

Smith's talent lays in his ability, like Tom Waits, to create a surreal landscape populated by crafty guitar and piano work and a haunting, layered voice that climbs cheek to cheek with his instruments to create something unheard of today.

There are moments on this album when you remember Nirvana used to open for J Mascis' old band, Dinosaur Jr. There are many such moments, gloriously ragged snatches of rock.

An unadulterated fey morsel.

In contrast to the 6ths' blissed-out "Wasps Nests," which included indie credibles Lou Barlow and Georgia Hubley, "Hyacinths" mines cabaret territory.