Woman King's songs are decidedly textured, rich with rhythm and reason, myth and melody.

Usually entertaining, often thought-provoking, and occasionally insightful.

Haunting, gorgeously inward-looking, yet laced with memorable melodies, Feathers is Dead Meadow's strongest work ever and an early contender for one of 2005's best records.

Nashville is further proof that Rouse is one of the best songwriters of his generation.

In the end, Tree City's quality makes its carbon-copy nature all the more frustrating.

What could have been an awkward marriage of incompatible styles turned into a vibrant, invigorating blast of musical enthusiasm, free of restrictive genre definitions.

It took ages to arrive, but LCD Soundsystem isn't the album you've been waiting for -- it's far, far better.

Outside Closer is maddeningly indirect, and the diminishing returns of its final minutes might make you wonder why you invested the time in the first place. But honestly, how many albums can claim to have so palpable an effect?

Some moments are exciting, but overall it's a bit cluttered.

A Healthy Distrust is impressively fluid; Francis fuses his experimental leanings and newer mainstream hip-hop allowances with ease.

Unabashedly mellow and reflective, Burn the Maps may not hook mainstream music fans who've been conditioned to expect a tidily rhyming chorus ever thirty seconds.

It's the sound of a man in perfect harmony with himself.

I Am a Bird Now is a sweet, sumptuous brace of noir-laced cabaret pop, distinctly out of step with just about every other album released this year.

Coxon's effortless cool comes to the fore, imbuing each song with a wiry, infectious energy.

Before the Poison is a wonderful disc, the sound of a well-established artist continuing to grow and explore.

The fact that it hides among its excesses a handful of truly excellent rock anthems seems almost like an afterthought, as if, when the band ran out of crazy ideas, they found that there was nothing left to do but write actual songs.

EMOH is a bit rambling, and could stand to lose a song or two so as to not detract from the its power, but considering Barlow's sometimes egregious prolificacy, these 14 songs are about as polished as he gets.

Push the Button isn't wall-to-wall brilliant; it has its share of lulls and, for want of a better term, dubious inspirations. However, when it works, it's so on that you won't want to turn it off.

All of these songs sound like her -- from any era or any album of her career. Her presence is too recognizable to be disguised by production or gimmickry.

The Great Destroyer is a marvel of layered beauty -- the sort of album that makes you call in sick to work so you can spend a day with headphones clamped to your head, charting its every elegant nuance.

It's complex, deeply melodic, carefully arranged and (for the most part) very satisfying.

Though sampling has been done to death, the stealthiness which which Deakin and Franglen incorporate their borrowed material will be required study for wannabe producers and hop-headz; in that regard, it's on a par with the seminal Paul's Boutique.

Effortlessly charming and strangely compelling, despite moments of complete and utter unlistenability.

Inara George's voice is so gorgeous and soothing that you'll immediately believe that you can listen to it forever. Unfortunately, by the fifth or sixth song on All Rise, you'll wonder if you have been listening to her forever.

If you skip the first track and stick mostly to the first two-thirds of the record, A Question of Temperature ranks as one of the most enjoyable albums of this still-young year.

Your senses will be sorely disappointed.

Peopled with starry-eyed lovers and draped in wistful melancholy, it brilliantly captures that lonely netherworld between love and loss.

One offers ten tracks of zipless triple-A folktronica -- bland, edgeless songs like "A Million Ways" that wouldn't even heat up the Ballroom D dancefloor on the final night of a Midwestern Regional Sales Conference.