Following a seven year gap between studio albums, Sacramento's CAKE is back with the compelling, yet inconsistent Showroom of Compassion.

Filtered drum patterns, neo-gospel arrangements and plaintive piano jams, along with curious and catchy enough melodies, obscure Cudi's guttural talk-raps for a bit.

We Can't Fly is over the top, trying to embrace everything Vito De luca ever loved about radio, or all the music he ever loved, period. It's a cosmic mess of styles and guests. People who are fans of his DJ sets will not feel at home in this setting, with no crowd pleasers except for the title track.

It might be difficult to differentiate after nine full-lengths, but Mixed Race may be the least engaging album we've heard from Tricky to date.

Albums such as Wake Up! – best intentions aside – run the risk of coming across as entirely cheesy and contrived. Unfortunately, John Legend and The Roots are no exception to the rule.

Berlin's long-running tendency toward grit-glitz, which musicians from Bowie to Peaches have channeled in their work, is the inspiration for this fourth record of functional fun.

Surfing The Void unfortunately isn't a break-through or even a repeat of the past success.

Earnestly sung lyrics in the vein of Jack Johnson or John Mayer, 80s-style instrumentation (percussion, guitar licks, synths), and constant rhythmic switch-ups are elegantly crafted. This album isn't boring, it's just too polished for the raw sounds and styles it draws influence from.

M.I.A.'s schizophrenic style does not please this time around. The industrial and mechanical soundscape lacks both genuine protest songs or club jams.

Like many bands before them who similarly created magic with their debut albums, this Brooklyn trio can't quite harness the same level of energy for their sophomore effort.

Again and Again is an atmospheric album, but it suffers under often nonsense lyrics, uninspired vocals and borrowed production. It doesn't leave a lasting impression.

So while the music on this disc might not inspire a wave of followers and imitators like his Pixies days, Thompson is clearly having a lot of fun cranking out his latest batch of rock ‘n roll surrealism.

The record is a winning release, if not entirely novel, and the sound of a likable band honing their sound while refusing, somewhat obstinately, to alter it.

The lyrics are largely uncomplicated musings about disastrous love and lust but the band manages to broaden its musical style without compromising its core identity. A solid next step in the band's evolution and not a bad listen either.

Distracting at times is Thomas’s voice--he seems to take pride in being purposefully off key--but breezy opener “Girls FM” and later the low key “Eyes Music” calm his shrieking affinity and keep him just where he needs to be; melodic.

From the get-go the album announces itself through insidious emotive aural effects, which through a blistering barrage of time-travel sounds, encompass the listener in a feeling that although intense, evaporates rather instantly.

While it’s commendable, if unnecessary, that Whitney and Votolato are exploring new musical areas, there’s no denying the fact that if Take Me to the Sea ever ran into Hologram Jams in a dark alley, Hologram would be down for the count.

Her rhyming ability is versatile yet non-braggadocios. And it is these ingredients that gives the music world a fresh yet veteran voice.

There is a certain rhythm that begins to form with constantly being pulled along and feeling as though this will be the moment everything crescendos. Prepare yourself To Realize presents a Sisyphus-esque journey that can be exhausting.

While the new songs don't reach that across-the-board crossover appeal, there are some synthed-out gems that get a proper unveiling. [Nov/Dec 2008, p.86]

It’s enjoyable as easy-listening, but there’s nothing about Climb Up that truly grips you. For that, APSE will have to exist in electro-rock mediocrity for the time being.

Although this album is an improvement from his previous work, to fully understand this album (and his work overall), you must see him live.

Is Dead Man's Bones' record necessarily as accomplished as either of the aforementioned? Maybe not. But when one half of your band is splitting his vocations by also brandishing his face onto big studio pieces of celluloid, it's still a mightily impressive debut.

Their sound has life, culture and tiny details that could only be developed from a wide variation of instruments and worldly inspirations.

Love her or hate her, Between My Head And The Sky isn't terrible. Yoko Ono is still in the game, and if it's possible to find a deeper meaning to lyrics like "Why is [the elephant] so big/ He says because you're small honey," then more power to her.

Everything Goes Wrong is not a brazenly experimental album, nor is it rootless and shifting for cohesion.

It's a promising thought to know there are musicians this deft and so easily able to push themselves through so many sonic boundaries at once--but in the end, the overt and ultimately, stifling seriousness surrounding it proves to be the largest boundary BLK JKS stand before.

With a handful of good moments, and one standout track, this sophomore effort by one Sally Shapiro and her producer Johan Agebjörn, is mediocre.