A short but vibrant live album... Tigers captures the boisterous good cheer of Case's live show, proving once and for all that there's more to her music than dead bodies, wounded relationships and creepy, palpable stillness.

The Anomoanon's vibe, despite their sometime sunniness, is more Led than Dead, but they bring it firmly into the twenty-first century.

A welcome blast from the past.

Key ultimately demands direct attention; while some songs seem to call out for the openness of a long car ride, this is a headphone masterpiece.

Abattoir/Orpheus is not as immediate as some of Cave's previous triumphs, but you'll take pleasure in unearthing new sentiments and innuendo within its walls.

Never, Never, Land not only escapes the expectations and pitfalls that dogged Psyence Fiction, but succeeds on a new set of strengths.

Intentionally or not, it creates a sort of natural, autumnal closure -- like a gorgeous, lazy, completely uncommitted fall afternoon delivered in three- to five-minute slices.

They've mostly dropped the songs that traded entirely on their sexuality, replacing them with tunes full of nuance and subtlety.

It's a long, occasionally ponderous listen... but it's an impressive and rewarding journey that moves between prog, space-rock and subdural transmissions in ancient alien tongues.

A strong contender for album of the year, Shaking the Sheets is a masterpiece of fucked-up mod pop: political but not preachy, insistent yet never twitchy, respectful but never blatant.

It sticks with what Jimmy Eat World have always done, but it sounds better than anything that preceded it.

A mostly "hit" but occasionally "miss" effort that showcases both the band's maturation and its residual shortcomings.

His machinegun flow is as cerebral as ever, but too much of the album's production slides by in a dignified haze of twinkling clips and clacks, devoid of real grime or grizzled substance.

It's simply wonderful -- bristling with pop masterpieces large and small, and reassuringly unburdened by Smith's deep-seated malaise.

Far more mysterious and (perhaps not coincidentally) alluring than most Buckner outings, Dents and Shells is a claustrophobic comedown album wrapped in disillusion and sorrow.

Their most musically adventurous yet artistically grounded record to date.

Dangerous Dreams' late arrival was nearly enough to doom it to obscurity, but the disc's lack of new ideas puts the final nail in the coffin.

Even though Mississauga Goddamn isn't completely without flaw -- some of Gibb's lyrical and compositional choices are pretty obvious, for one thing -- it allows you, for a little while, at least, to escape from the everyday world.

There is no shortage of understated brilliance on Love Songs for Patriots.

It's quite a treat to hear the duo create such refreshingly original music with rock's "standard" instruments.

The result is so refreshing original, it not only cements Gold Chains' position as one of today's best and brightest indie-tech gurus; it also says, coolly and effortlessly, that genre boundaries are "no big thang".

Songs too slow to dance to and too annoyingly repetitive for passive listening.

Mono singlehandedly redefines the concept of dynamics. They are very quiet, and then very loud. It will hurt your head.

Real Gone may not rock your world in the way that 2002's musical one-two punch of Blood Money and Alice did, but you'll still be glad to hear it.

Power is only a slight variation on its predecessors, yet sounds more vibrant and alive than almost anything in the band's canon.

If you peel away the pretense, there's actually a fascinating album at work here.

Damage is definitely more up-front about its hip-hop influences than past Blues Explosion records, but the core Blues Explosion identity remains intact.

Young Prayer is a visceral religious experience, its lyrics forsaken in favor of mantras that are more chanted than sung.