Although not every track here is of the highest quality, all sixteen tracks are woven together expertly.

For all the divergent stylistic ground Wood/Water covers, nothing seems forced, signaling that the changes in the group's sound have come on their own terms and are not simply change for change's sake.

Imagine a less sardonic John Wesley Harding, prone to occasional bouts of husky, Peter Gabriel-style vocal sincerity, and you'll have the basic idea.

At their best, Some Girls can sound like the Stones fronted by Margo Timmins of the Cowboy Junkies -- a contradictory mix of rough passionate instrumentals and vocals that are airy and unconcerned.

It seamlessly combines the choicest bits and bobbles of other acts into an overwhelming patchwork of sound and fury, but in the process, the band occasionally loses sight of their own identity.

Fans will appreciate Tour De France's high standard of unadorned synthesis, thematic melody and Autobahn minimalism, with epiphanic pleasure and not a little nostalgia.

Another staggering batch of Nashville by-way-of New York twanging folk-punk ditties that will all but solidify his reputation as the Gram Parsons of the no-depression set.

Not content to rely on the same old drum machine patterns and tired beats, TRR and I-Sound have concocted a vast sonic brew that blends elements of hip-hop, jazz and techno into a seriously stinging cocktail.

Add N to (X) have retained their sense of direction and honed their sound into a powerful and persuasive entity.

It's hard to put into words exactly what makes this album so appealing. The mindlessness of it all is a major selling point.

The album consistently takes control of your emotions.

The first My Morning Jacket whose songs reach the heights to which James's voice aspires.

Yoko is a much, much darker record than anything else in Beulah's canon.

Though not as darkly elegant as Permutation, Supermodified is still rife with sophisticated Brazilian lounge-jazz samples and unpredictable drum'n'bass skitterings, this time augmented with more overt nods to hip-hop and Aphex Twin-style sympho-electronica.

The songs on About a Boy are all exactly what we've come to expect from Gough, and the disc's lack of cohesion is its only real failing.

As beautiful as much of the album is, it all starts to blend together after a while.

It's encouraging to see Murphy, twenty-odd years into his career, moving so confidently in new directions rather than rehashing old glories.

Deathsentences' series of white-noise sculptures is certainly interesting, but the materials that accompany it will have a far more lasting effect upon your consciousness.

It's rather spotty (both in production and songwriting) and unfocused.

You might expect the resulting album to be disjointed and schizo, but it's actually a cohesive collection of potential hit singles held together by an incomparable performer.

This straightforward pop bias makes the disc sound more like a greatest hits package than an album.

Full of solid songwriting and catchy melodies that do not pander to the cliches so often found in mainstream pop/rock albums.

This is a big, sprawling, difficult but rewarding album, from a band whose reach exceeds its grasp, but only by a little.

While the nervous energy that has always been a key ingredient of the group’s sound (on record and otherwise) remains firmly intact, a newfound sense of responsibility and road-worn weariness occasionally rears its head, putting a bit of a damper on this otherwise upbeat record.

The disc is an absorbing listen, and a crucial weapon in any battle for subwoofer supremacy, but as far as generating an emotional response is concerned, it pretty much flatlines.

Though Faded Seaside Glamour proudly wears the jacket of its influences for all to see, the band stitch it up so well that you could never accuse it of being a knockoff.

I can't imagine a single Westerberg fan being displeased with Dead Man Shake.

Noah's Ark retrenches CocoRosie in their signature sound and gives us a glimpse of their indubitably eccentric future.