By returning to the drawing board they used to create Ego War, Dinsdale and Franks have created a bigger, better version of their all-inclusive dance-pop/hip-hop.

Though A Colores is rather uneven, it's a compelling-- and more than competent-- effort.

Bell Orchestre don't always make good on their ambitions, but the results are often excellent, despite (and usually because of) their sloppiness.

Father Divine is that rare album that's conscious of its diversity without being pretentious about it

It is completely different from either Akron/Family's or Angels of Light's work from earlier this year, and in Akron's case, represents a startling pace of artistic development.

As you've come to expect, a small amount of the material sounds utterly fantastic and there's a solid chunk that's barely audible, but whether it's delivered with a coating of fuzz or a liberal gloss of studio sheen, Pollard's gumdrop melodies and fantastical lyrical phrasing keep us coming back for more.

There are very few artists who could pick up where they left off after ten years, or even five. To do this after half a lifetime is extraordinary.

This is a wonderful album -- and a significant advance over the excellent Sung Tongs.

There are no breathers in Hypermagic Mountain. There are only a series of knuckle sandwiches in the form of throbbing, distorting, gesticulating low-end ear bleeders.

Tanglewood Numbers' hummable songs and often-arresting lyrics are impressive, but Berman would be nowhere without a little help from his many friends.

If you like it fast and rough and dirty, this one's for you

The Clientele have crafted another lovely batch of tunes, perfect for autumnal introspection and wintry solitude -- but somehow it doesn't seem like enough.

The most remarkable thing about Tournament of Hearts is that technically, it is the Constantines' slowest, jazziest, most countrified release to date, but it doesn't give an inch of intensity when it's compared to their self-titled debut or the landmark Shine a Light.

Rather than detract from the funkified weirdness, the guest spots from the Adult Swim crew actually add to the craziness.

It's everything we've come to expect from Forrest in one gloriously hack 'n' sawed package, meticulously pieced together from his wide-ranging record collection.

Gimmie Trouble reminds us that Adult. don't sound like anyone else... Not even themselves.

Through smart songcraft, a powerful command of pop vocabulary, and skillful track sequencing, Dios Malos deliver an album that expands and grows more complicated with every listen.

This is one of those rare albums where every single track is a keeper and killer hooks abound.

Here, finally, is a goth album for people who hate goth, an electronic album for people who hate electronica, and a pop album for everyone else.

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

Slug hasn't grown a whole lot.... Still, his lyricism and delivery are generally smart and entertaining, and Ant's production goes even further toward making You Can't Imagine... a thoroughly enjoyable record.

Metric take rock 'n' roll to a smarter, more sophisticated place than do most of today's American bands.

You'd think there wasn't much left to do with the roots-oriented rock formula, but Albatross proves that there's plenty of life and passion and intelligence left in the genre.

This isn't really one of those cases where bands like Wire or Mission of Burma or Vashti Bunyan come back years later with stuff that ranks among their best, but it isn't bad, either -- not bad at all.

Apologies to the Queen Mary is almost an hour long, and there are certainly portions of it that aren't essential... but it's difficult to see where any fat could have been cut, as each track has its own fractured beauty.

The album sounds mature, weathered, tired and occasionally almost weary, but is far to dynamic to ever seem truly lethargic.

It remains to be seen whether this is the record for which American Analog Set's fans have been waiting a decade, but Set Free is definitely one of the most consistent, mature albums they've made to date.

Mitchell is a skilled producer, weaving a tangle of complex melodies and countermelodies, rhythms and accents, into a vibrant tapestry; there's a lot more going on in these songs than you can pick up in one pass.

While Rejoicing and Niño Rojo were clearer, simpler and more cohesive, Cripple Crow may actually be the better record. It feels exactly like the kind of album Devendra Banhart ought to have playing in his head -- a cacophony of cool sounds, a plethora of contradictory ideas, a patchwork quilt of psychedelically bright colors.

The music is comfortable, lacking the self-conscious over-rehearsed feeling of other new bands.

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

Not Them, You brims with all the bravado and swagger that its title suggests.

He barely sings above conversational volume -- a little bit raspy, rife with emotion and completely convincing. It's a perfect fit for his songs, and for the half-broken but lovely and endearing production style with which he has realized them.

Their expanded sound, with its explosions of noise and romantic swells, deserves reconsideration by fans and skeptics alike.

The Double combine unsettling electronic noise with simple, enjoyable vocal hooks to create a rickety, rattletrap pop collage that's too undeniably ear-catching to ignore.

Thankfully, the band's most endearing facets remain firmly intact -- namely, their timeless nature and complete disregard for the current musical zeitgeist.

Plat du Jour is a more interesting an outing for remaining ambivalent in spite of itself.

Some listeners may find the results to be a little bland for their tastes.

These are love songs destined for indie purgatory -- the emotions are too real for corporate radio, the hooks too poppy for Indie 103.

For a fractured album that spent several years in limbo, Amber Headlights does two things very well: it's an impressive introduction to Dulli's far-reaching musical talent, and a spiritual cleansing for the wry vocalist himself.

It isn't identical to Mass Romantic or Electric Version, but it differs from them in ways that probably could have been predicted, modeled and simulated.

Many fans may be turned off by the abrupt shifts in pace and style, but engaged listening reveals an overarching sensibility that guides the project from beginning to end.

Knitting Needles and Bicycle Bells is the sort of album you put on when you're in the mood for a particular sound -- and the sound in question is echoing and catchy, yet depressive.

Vanderslice's stories differ from those on earlier albums largely in setting, but Pixel Revolt's musical elements have taken an astonishing leap from their predecessors.

Year of Meteors isn't the sound of ground being broken; it's an artist growing ever more confident, but never overly comfortable, in her style.

Surgery is quite an impressive effort, sporting just the right combination of nods to their influences and carefully balanced instrumental execution.

Holopaw's delicate, subdued second album lacks their debut's sharp peaks and valleys.

A dance record for people who never leave their apartments, a rock record for the rave set, Less Than Human is the sound of people high on energy and sweat.

Saying that the man knows his way around a hook is an understatement: he throws hooks around like an incandescent bulb does photons.

Body of Song is a record that plays like a book.

Honeycomb isn't a great album -- it's too tentative and self-restrained for that -- but it's quite a good one.

It highlights their talent for finding the core of invention within repetition, and suggests far greater peaks (and much greener valleys) in their future.

This is Lanois's most accomplished solo recording in a decade, and in its finest moments it even eclipses For the Beauty of Wynona in terms of sheer goosebump-inducing musical soliloquy.

It's a well-thought out and solidly executed effort by an artist who hasn't allowed himself to become set in his ways.

In the best possible way, the album is a painful listening experience, forcing the listener into immediate and excruciating catharsis: you look into the eyes of a cold stranger, and see nothing but ugliness and painful regret.

It's hard to imagine a band coming along this year with a better or more enjoyable debut.

The band's greatest success is their ability to craft unassuming, enjoyable revival rock numbers with clever lyrics, recalling their musical forebears without ever descending to cliché.

United States of Atlanta is guilty of just about every modern hip-hop cliché in the book... but its glimmering, capped-toothed, post-millennial party platform is a rousing success in spite of itself.

While the lack of further experimentation in the songwriting becomes tiresome after a while, overall the band seems comfortable and happy to be playing together again.

This is a wonderful album, full of heart, skill and intelligence, and sure to be recognized as a classic.

In the process of refining their sound, Dressy Bessy appear to have sacrificed a little too much of their uniqueness.

So infectiously content are the Oranges that they can make even the most jaded listener bop his/her head or tap his/her foot to their power pop structures -- but this is also their downfall.

Annie has delivered a solid pop record that does a lot of things well, but -- and this is the important thing -- that's what we should expect from all of our pop records.... Anniemal isn't a high-water mark; it's a benchmark.

Man-Made is among the finest collections of pop songs any of us will hear all year.

Not just for followers, Minimum-Maximum is perfect for the old-school, drawing a new crowd of robot poppers and maybe convert a few disbelievers.

As much as it hurts to admit it, not everybody will get so much out of Smog's latest understated masterpiece.

Like Madlib or MF DOOM, Four Tet is at the crest of the electronica/hip-hop wave, forcing the genre's evolution into new realms and making everyone else look like amateurs in the process.

The impromptu feel is often charming and sometimes campy, but always sincere.

It's a perfect summer record.

Rarely has such a painfully awkward adolescence led to such B-boy-ish eloquence, but as he always has, Wolf makes fronting his own band look effortless.

As with anything, some listeners will already have sickened of seeing the words "dance" and "punk" next to one another -- but for the rest of us, this is an excellent new chapter in one of the young century's most interesting musical trends.

Again raises the standard for thoughtful, well-crafted pop.

Kidnapped By Neptune is one of those rare albums that's both sexy and dirty, and isn't guilty of trying to be either.

The intimacy is startling. The introspection is as charming as it is insightful.

Separation Sunday stands a chance of being one of 2005's true classics.

With Teeth's biggest surprise is how immediately gratifying the majority of its songs are.

Totally brilliant, mind-meltingly good, and as different from Secret Wars as possible, except that both of these albums could change your life.

There's a feeling of constant evolution over the course of any given track; subtle changes in swing, intonation and attack let you in on the secret that this is no automaton, but a living, breathing entity that's being brought into existence.

The remaining songs are uniformly well crafted, but they aren't necessarily going to please the people who come looking for more of the old "Jerk It Out" magic.

The Sunset Tree feels like Darnielle's most personal record to date, and it's certainly his most immediately accessible, musically speaking.

A unique indie-prog masterpiece that owes as much to Hendrix as it does to Sonic Youth.

It shakes the foundations of our music-consuming habits and plays with our genre expectations; it fucks with our minds a bit, just for kicks, and, more importantly, liberates us from the pernicious tyranny of monotony.

It's all very sweeping, operatic and inviting.

The relentless sweetness may be off-putting to some... but it'll be difficult for all but the most jaded listeners to avoid being charmed by Of Montreal's appealing melodies and whimsical innocence-recaptured lyrics.

Painstakingly crafted, casually baroque music for people who get off a little bit on feeling blue.

Let There Be Morning isn't designed to bowl you over with its size and scope; rather, it's a quietly compelling, lushly orchestrated affair that slowly but surely melts its way into your heart.

Elkington's wry, sodden compositions are enlivened with sparse yet crisp instrumentation and steady melodies. Imagine shoegazer tendencies jolted by the cattle prod of Midwestern edgy folk rock.

Don't look to Open Season to get your heart pounding or your blood flowing; it trades in less cathartic experiences.

If you can't get enough Xiu Xiu, this album is definitely for you.

A cracked masterpiece.... it rewards your attention with dreamy, surreal vistas, skewed poetry and flights of unadulterated musical madness.

You'll feel lost and totally submerged in a sublime experience that's timeless, exciting and free from boundaries.

The Australian band's trademark winsome optimism, clever heartbreak and bittersweet cuteness are in classic form here, only lusher and more layered.

For all his skillful sampling and solid lyrics, Blueprint hasn't broken any new ground with 1988, which just underscores the troubling tendency of underground art forms to become more like the mainstream as they age.

At first listen, it's thrilling, but not quite the statement we were made to believe would shift the world's axis by its very existence. The best thing to do is clear your mind of hype and expectations, and listen to this record -- this fun, addictive, thoroughly entertaining record -- again and again.

Unlike so many of their Gang of Four-worshipping peers, Bloc Party are that rare band that can actually transcend their influences and press clippings, crushing the fervor surrounding their arrival in a hail of splintered guitars and sumptuous despondency.

Picaresque is dense and complicated, but only rarely threatens to tip under its own weight.

Let Us Never Speak of It Again is the sticky, panting, sexually deviant album Louden Up Now should have been.

One of the most playful end-of-the-world concept albums ever created.