The Lovely Feathers - Hind Hind Legs (April 20/06)

Live, Montreal's Lovely Feathers are an instant sell - all ebullient, interactive energy. On disc, they require more work, and not just because Mark Kupfert and Richard Yanofsky's hyper vocals can be jarring. There's lots going on here, and their frenetic brand of geek-rock - like a much more ambitious Weezer on amphetamines - requires multiple listens.

But with slicker production and less filler than the limited-release My Best Friend Daniel, Hind Hind Legs pays off mightily. Updates of Daniel standouts (The Only Appalachian Cornfield, Lion Eats the Wildebeast) and new efforts (Pope John Paul, In the Valley) showcase some of Canada's freshest songwriting.

If there's any justice, these guys will be huge.

The Vines - Vision Valley (April 19/06)

It's all about expectations. Two years ago, the Vines released Winning Days, a decent if unspectacular set of Nirvana-inspired garage rock and psychedelic ballads; it was widely panned. The Aussies' latest offers pretty much the same thing, and it's being hailed as a comeback.

The difference? In 2004, we expected a follow-up to debut Highly Evolved that would certify singer/guitarist Craig Nicholls as a rock genius; today, we're just impressed that Nicholls - diagnosed with a form of autism after years of erratic behaviour - could find his past form.

Occasionally, notably on the Beach Boys-inspired Don't Listen to the Radio, the Vines hint they could still evolve. But mostly, Vision Valley is their way of telling us they haven't regressed.

Eels - With Strings Live at Town Hall (March 27/06)

Mark Oliver Everett, the man behind the Eels who goes only by E, inspires a near cultish devotion among his fans. That's partly for his soulfully heartfelt songs, lined with the details of a tragic life and the dark sense of humour with which he treats his depression; it's also for his eccentric stage demeanour, which ensures his shows are rarely the same twice.

That second quality doesn't come through on this live disc, which sticks to a straight-up - albeit orchestral - delivery of his songs. But the music itself, leaning heavily on his recent double-album but spanning his career and throwing in a few terrific covers, is typically befitting of one of his generation's most underrated songwriters.

Neko Case - Fox Confessor Brings the Flood (March 14/06)

The first three tracks on Neko Case's first studio album in four years are so absurdly engrossing that when the part-time New Pornographer cedes a hint of momentum on A Widow's Toast, you wonder if she's coming back to Earth. But by the time she's followed with the moodily nostalgic That Teenage Feeling and the typically haunting title track, we know she was just pausing for breath; amazingly, later efforts easily match the early ones.

Case has always been a good songwriter, but Fox Confessor - as much folk storytelling as country - is the first album on which those skills match one of the finest voices in the business. Simultaneously melodic and adventurous, this has all the makings of a classic.

Deadstring Brothers - Starving Winter Report (March 2/06)

To cite the Rolling Stones as an influence is often a polite way of saying yet another band has found a way to rip off Brown Sugar. But Detroit's Deadstring Brothers go a different route, trading mostly in country-rock the Stones mastered in the late '60s and early '70s - and doing it exceedingly well.

The similarities can get excessive - vocalist Kurt Marschke sounds like a Mick Jagger impersonator on ballads Lights Go Out and Blindfolded (still a standout track), and even the Dylanesque Talkin' Born Blues sounds like the Stones covering Dylan. That said, if this was actually a Stones album, it would be heralded as the best thing they'd recorded since before the Deadstring Brothers were born.

The Old Soul - The Old Soul (Feb. 27/06)

Luca Maolini is a normal looking dude - a self-described "clean-cut Italian guy." But under the surface, there must be a thousand musical ideas trying to burst through his skin - and most of them have been committed to this disc.

The results could be awful, but instead they're rather spectacular. Despite a clear Brian Wilson influence (punctuated with an excellent Vegetables cover), this is totally unique - a cornucopia of horns, harmonies, shout-alongs, skittish keyboards and abrupt tempo changes, most songs sounding like several different ones thrown together.

With Maolini working virtually alone in the studio, it doesn't quite reach the sheer exuberance of the collective he assembles live. But it's still pretty awesome.

Magneta Lane - Dancing with Daggers (Feb. 20/06)

Toward the end of this long-awaited debut LP, the anthemic opening chords of The Better Plan suggest something different - a ballad, even. Then the familiar pounding drums kick in, and it comes off like every other track on the album.

That's not fatal: Dancing with Daggers is a step up from the group's debut EP, with the Toronto trio considerably tighter and Lexi Valentine emerging as a pretty decent frontwoman (think of a more aloof Karen O). But the problem, amplified by MSTRKRFT's slick (over)production, is that they're still a one-trick pony - the same tempo, the same pulsating basslines, the same chords.

Magneta Lane has honed a good sound, but they'll need a few more to match the hype.

The Cardigans - Super Extra Gravity (Feb. 13/06)

Spare a thought for those hard-working bands that spend their careers amassing cult followings with quality albums, but can never quite get past the misfortune of hitting it big with a single song. Like Nada Surf, Harvey Danger and countless others, the Cardigans deserved better than being reduced to providing fodder for MuchMusic's awful One Hit Wonders show. But such is the curse of the Swedes' lone North American hit, Love Fool, which bears little resemblance to the rest of their catalogue - especially now that they've shifted away from the electronic pop of their earlier albums.

Like 2004's Long Gone Before Daylight, Super Extra Gravity - released elsewhere last year but only now in Canada - trades synths for (occasionally acoustic) guitars. This is a considerably less sombre outing than the last, and more straightforward rock than anything they've done before. Sometimes, it's a little too straightforward; on tracks like Godspell, the normally sultry Nina Persson sounds like a Scandinavian Sheryl Crow. And I Need Some Fine Wine and You Need to Be Nicer, while fun, isn't nearly as edgy as it means to be; not with lines like "I'm a pit bull, you're a dog."

But there are some genuinely great moments here - the moody atmosphere of opener Losing A Friend; Persson's note-perfect vocals on ballads Overload and Don't Blame Your Daughter; the melodic pop perfection of Good Morning Joan. It would all be wonderfully radio-friendly, if radio didn't still think they'd stopped making music after Love Fool.

Arctic Monkeys - Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not (Feb. 9/06)

The Stones Roses...Oasis...the Libertines...the Arctic Monkeys? Such is the place in Britrock lore reserved for Sheffield’s finest, the latest to capture the U.K. zeitgeist with their debut.

Instead of a traditional publicity push, the teenaged four-piece broke via Internet filesharing. But this isn’t England’s answer to Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, getting by on unparalleled indie-ness. The Monkeys’ winning formula is two-fold: Alex Turner’s witty, evocative tales of northern England, and a unique sound that — while drawing from a range of influences — isn’t nearly so derivative as most of their contemporaries.

If not the “modern classic” the New York Times has proclaimed it, the fastest-selling debut in British history is a mighty promising start.

Richard Ashcroft - Keys to the World (Jan. 30/06)

Verve fans pining for a return to the sweeping majesty of A Northern Soul and Urban Hymns will never be satisfied with Richard Ashcroft's less ambitious, ballad-heavy solo work. But unlike his first two solo efforts, Keys to the World is rarely bland.

On the fiery, socially aware Why Not Nothing? and the moderately edgy title track, Ashcroft finally stretches himself a bit. But the pleasant surprise is that even straightforward love songs like Words Just Get in the Way have some life to them this time.

It might not live up to his messianic self-image, but at long last Mad Richard has thrown a bone to the remaining believers.

Starsailor - On the Outside (Jan. 23/06)

Starsailor's last album, Silence Is Easy, began with an improbably lofty mission statement in The Music is Saved. There are no such ambitions this time.

True, the first track on their third release - In the Crossfire - is again the liveliest of the bunch. But with the exception of stripped-down closer Jeremiah and some moderately subversive lyrics, they stick to their comfort zone - delivering a post-Coldplay brand of Britpop for those who find Keane too tame but Muse not tame enough.

Starsailor have a big, full sound they're apparently able to crank up at will, and their earnestness is endearing. But while others are saving music, they seem content going with the flow.

The Subways - Young for Eternity (Jan. 11/06)

The Subways have achieved the rare feat of simultaneously exciting the NME and O.C. hype machines. And a couple of the tracks on the teenaged London trio's debut - lead single Rock and Roll Queen in particular - pack enough of a wallop to justify some of that buzz.

But while certainly not lacking in youthful enthusiasm, the Subways sound rather like a high school band aping their influences - especially the Vines, an act that didn't even quite pan out the first time. There's obviously a lot of talent here, mostly with songwriter and lead vocalist Billy Lunn (less so with secondary vocalist Charlotte Cooper, at least for now). Hopefully, once they hit their twenties they'll figure out how to bring something new to the table.

Bright Eyes: Motion Sickness (Jan. 5/06)

Pre-Christmas live albums are generally perceived as cash grabs. But since Bright Eyes' Conor Oberst surely wouldn't approve of such crass commercialism, we've waited until after the holidays to recommend this one.

While Motion Sickness is not quite the live release a prolific artist like Oberst probably has in him - it leans too heavily on a single album, I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning, for that - it's still a pretty good snapshot of the heir to America's folk crown. Listening to the audience's reaction to When the President Talks to God, it's clear how much Oberst is establishing himself as a voice for his generation's dissenters. And for devotees, flashes of humour and a decent cover of Feist's Mushaboom offer some added value.

The Strokes: First Impressions of Earth (Jan. 3/06)

In little more than four years since their landmark debut, Is This It, the Strokes have been reduced from leading a garage-rock revolution to taking notes from the bands they inspired.

Juicebox, the lead single off their third album, could easily be mistaken for Franz Ferdinand; in general, First Impressions trends heavily toward the more danceable, bass-heavy, '80s-infused take on their genre that their contemporaries favour.

But if the need to keep up with the competition was what it took to snap out of the complacent haze that doomed 2003's Room On Fire, so be it. It's jarring to hear the New York hipsters once known for their minimalism and affected cool straining with effort, and in some ways they try too hard - no Strokes album needs to be nearly an hour long. But the energy and urgency that fuelled Is This It are back in spades, and that's owed largely to singer Julian Casablancas broadening his horizons - musically, lyrically and especially vocally.

On tracks like You Only Live Twice and Fear of Sleep, it breathes new life into the old Strokes formula. But it's on Ask Me Anything, an uncharacteristic guitar-free ballad in which Casablancas gets passionate about the band's trademark indifference, that the Strokes serve notice that they've finally moved on.

First Impressions is sufficiently uneven that one suspects there's still a much better album lurking in the Strokes. But at least now we know they're interested in making it.

INXS: Switch (Dec. 2)

Faced with an array of options, the surviving members of INXS used their reality show to choose a guy who sounds like a Michael Hutchence impersonator to replace their late front man. The result, naturally, is an album that sounds like it was made by an INXS tribute band. But that said, Switch sounds like it was made by a very good tribute band - mostly because, however painful it is to admit, J.D. Fortune has an impressive set of pipes and a spot of charisma.

Where the songwriting falters, there's not much he can do - nobody could save the embarrassing Hot Girls, with its spoken-word Japanese and lyrics about peach-eating ladies "inviting it." Generally, lyrics are not the new INXS's strong suit - whether dripping with innuendo or sentimentality, most verses sound like bad high school poetry. (Album closer God's Top Ten, with Fortune and fellow Rock Star contestant Suzie McNeil paying tribute to Hutchence and deceased widow Paula Yates, is somewhat better.) But INXS was never overly profound, trading in glossy, sexy pop-rock. And with Fortune handling the sexy part (his ageing bandmates, not so much), Switch is actually a decent pop album.

If occasionally punchless (Perfect Strangers), Pretty Vegas, Devil's Party and Hungry rock enough for mainstream audiences, while Afterglow and the moderately soulful Remember Who's Your Man hint at INXS's Never Tear Us Apart heyday.

Kick it ain't, but at least Hutchence needn't roll all the way over in his grave.

Babyshambles: Down in Albion (Nov. 16)

Back in his Libertines days, it was generally assumed Pete Doherty was being propped up by co-front man Carl Barat. But with Doherty's first post-Libertines outing, it's clear the real force behind him is Mick Jones.Whether the ex-Clash guitarist is a friend or an enabler is debatable, but he somehow managed to get England's favourite junkie poet to put down his crack pipe long enough to record an album that’s passable, if often frustrating.

At 64 minutes, Down in Albion rambles all over the place - several of the 16 tracks shouldn't even be B-sides, and promising efforts like opener La Belle et La Bete (complete with peculiar Kate Moss vocals) drag on endlessly. But Doherty remains a brilliant lyricist with a decent ear for a melody, he's surrounded himself with competent (if shady) musicians, and Jones' refusal to clean it up allows the band to maintain a roguish charm.

For every paean to junkie self-indulgence (even Pentonville Rough, the pointless reggae track handed over to one of Pete’s prison buddies), there's a reminder that before becoming tabloid fodder, Doherty was one of London's brightest young talents. Though clouded by his self-pitying streak, A Rebours is a blistering shot across Barat's bows, while Fuck Forever and Killamangiro are ragged rockers with a hint of the Libertines' old gusto. But it's Albion that's vintage Doherty - a poignant acoustic jaunt that creates a fantasy England of "yellowing classics and canons at dawn."

It's the sort of thing Doherty should be doing more, but under the circumstances it's surprising he managed to do it once.

Robbie Williams: Intensive Care (Nov. 15)

For North Americans, Robbie Williams' rivals in Oasis are like soccer - we pay close attention when they step into the spotlight every few years, then forget about them as the Brits keep obsessing. But Williams is more like cricket - an institution in the U.K. whose history (in his case with boy band Take That) we’re indifferent toward and whose popularity mystifies us.

Intensive Care won't change that. In fact, it probably won’t even light many fires in England. There's nothing approaching Angels, the massive anthem that helped make his legend; the closest he comes is the confessional Make Me Pure. Elsewhere, he descends into his usual schmaltz, rarely in original ways. Not that it matters - the album is just a means for Williams to maintain his larger-than-life persona, with which he'll keep thrilling at least one country.

The (International) Noise Conspiracy: Armed Love (Nov. 10)

Among Swedish garage rockers, the Hives emulate the Stones, Soundtrack of Our Lives ape The Who, and Mando Diao think they're Oasis. But The (International) Noise Conspiracy is more interested in Lenin than Lennon.

On their first two rabble-rousing discs, that lent the punky band of communists a certain gravitas. But with uber-producer Rick Rubin at the helm for their major-label debut and the punk turned down a notch, Armed Love is a little too slick for its own good. The odd anthem stands out (A Small Demand in particular), and it's all listenable. But if they're just going to make straight-ahead rock, their compatriots do it better.

Immaculate Machine: Ones and Zeroes (Oct. 25)

What are the chances? New Pornographers mastermind Carl Newman needs another chanteuse to pitch in, and realizes his niece sounds not unlike Neko Case. Now, the rest of us find out Kathryn Calder not only sounds like a Pornographer; she’s in another B.C. band producing similarly catchy, uptempo pop, with a bit of Hot Hot Heat’s synth-rock thrown in.

Calder’s vocals are Immaculate Machine’s strongest weapon, but the songwriting is tight enough that some of the band’s best moments come when bandmates Brooke Gallupe and Luke Kozlowski take the lead — especially on the rousing So Cynical, arguably Ones and Zeroes’ strongest track.

Inescapable as the family ties may be, Immaculate Machine will easily get by on its own merits.

Broken Social Scene: Broken Social Scene (Oct. 17)

One should approach some of the rave reviews of Broken Social Scene's latest with a degree of healthy skepticism. It's not that the Toronto collective's follow-up to You Forgot It In People isn't worthy. But considering how few listens reviewers are often forced to rely upon, there's a distinct possibility that some of the love is as much about allegiance to indie gods as an honest take.

Truth is, listening to this disc isn't a task to be conducted over a few spare hours; it's something approaching a full-time job. Layered with every ounce of guitar, horn and percussion Kevin Drew and his many, many cohorts could throw in, drowned in Dave Neufeld's dense production and driven by Drew's determinedly understated and frequently muffled vocals, all while offering nothing nearly as catchy as YFIP’s Anthems for a Seventeen Year-Old Girl, this is about as inaccessible as indie rock gets. The closest it comes to an instant grabber is on closer It's All Gonna Break - and even then, we're talking about a 10-minute opus with unprintable lyrics that meanders considerably before a comically overblown finale.

For casual music fans, or those with limited patience for artists' indulgences, the rest of the disc will probably grate. But the advantage of cramming so much into the album's every minute is that no track sounds the same twice - for that small segment of the population with the time and inclination to devote many hours to it, it will prove a goldmine. As pretentious as it may sound, this is an album to be felt and experienced as much as listened to.

Ryan Adams & The Cardinals: Jacksonville City Nights (Oct. 3)

The second of three albums being released this year alone by music's most prolific enfant terrible is a tricky one.

On first listen, it seems nearly identical to the country-folk of his last release, the double-disc Cold Roses. But that outing, despite some of the best tunes of Adams' career, was a hit-and-miss affair, dragging enough over its more restrained tracks that repeat airings of the whole thing at once could seem like a bit of a chore. By contrast, nearly all of Jacksonville City Nights' tracks are such rich nuggets that the album as a whole is downright addictive: Listen to it once and you might be able to write it off, but play it three or four times and you'll be listening a lot more.

From the honky-tonk swagger of Trains and A Kiss Before I Go to the dark balladry of Silver Bullets and the aching chorus of The End, Adams no longer seems to be doing country with a wink - a tremendous service both to his songwriting and to vocals stocked with a degree of emotion he couldn't pull off if he were merely posing. On the flip side, he's also stopped wallowing in self-pity; like most great heartland albums, Jacksonville City Nights has a whole bunch of characters telling us their stories, not just one.

Knowing Adams, it's entirely possible that he'll abandon country entirely at some point in favour of another flat-out rock album or the poppier sounds he opted for on Gold. But for now, he seems to have discovered - or rediscovered - his calling.

The Deadly Snakes: Porcella (Sept. 29)

Shifting away from the punky garage rock with which it made its name, the Toronto six-piece has produced a blues- and gospel-infused disc that positively drips with soul, but still maintains a gritty edge.

There are some pretty moments, served up with lush production brimming with horns, strings and other flourishes - including the standout Gore Veil - but it's the more restrained tracks like High Prices Going Down that really do justice to Andre Ethier's and Max (Age of Danger)'s raspy, off-key vocals. If the local cult heroes have generally been known more for their raucous live sets than their studio work, Porcella should change that.

Matthew Barber: Sweet Nothing (Sept. 27)

Four tracks into his major-label debut, Matthew Barber hits paydirt with Easy to Fall - a lament for city life in which his warm vocals are done justice by some genuinely moving lyrics. But it's one of the few occasions on which that rich balance is struck.

Outside of that track and album closer Untitled, the lyrics are so weighed down by tired cliches and facile rhyming schemes ("I left my baby hanging high and dry / I left her crying and I don't know why") that Barber's musical smarts are put to waste. If he learns to consistently use his tunes to actually say something, we'll really be on to something.

The Dandy Warhols: Odditorium or Warlords on Mars (Sept. 22)

Somewhere, there's a group of potheads listening to this disc and concluding that its indulgences - the sprawling 10-minute opuses, the mock-country ditties, the tongue-in-cheek narration - make it the most brilliant thing ever to come out of Oregon. Unfortunately, the potheads in question are the Dandy Warhols.

Enamoured with their own cleverness, they've surrendered whatever identity they had - at first reacting to the moderate commercial breakthrough of 2000's 13 Tales from Urban Bohemia by putting out a synth-pop album; now passing off utter wankery as proof of artistic integrity. If this is all an inside joke, it's on whoever wastes their money on it.

Maestro: Urban Landmark 1989-2005 (Sept. 16)

As far as greatest hits compilations go, this is a slightly odd one; bypassing some of the Canadian rap pioneer's better-known tracks, Urban Landmark seems determined to introduce fans to late-career efforts they've missed and showcase a few new tracks.

That's not entirely a bad thing: While the new take on Gowan's Criminal Mind (complete with Gowan!) is curious, and the well-intentioned God Bless Da Child boasts one of the most bizarre refrains in memory (who thought the toddler voice was a good idea?), Perseverance (off 2000's Ever Since) and the more recent Supreme Authenticity are both more than serviceable.

But even taking into account the appearance of 1998's comeback hit, Stick to Your Vision, it's the back-to-back-to-back punch of Let Your Backbone Slide (still the top-charting Canadian rap single of all time), Drop the Needle and Conductin' Thangs early on that'll bring a nostalgic tear to many an eye. Some of the best party tunes this country has produced, they hearken back to a carefree era in which every rapper didn't feel obligated to either play up his gangsta exploits or dish out cutting social commentary. And as incongruous as it would be with modern hip hop - unlike the aspiring actor's more recent efforts, which fit in so perfectly they're almost generic - it's hard not to wish he'd quit worrying about his cred long enough to reclaim his rapid-fire rapping style and sense of fun.

Nobody expects Maestro to put the black tuxedo back on, but is it too much to hope for one more amplified jam?

The Cribs: The New Fellas (Sept. 13)

If this Leeds trio's second disc had arrived four years ago, it would have seemed urgent and exciting. But even if they've turned up a little late, Gary, Ryan and Ross Jarmans' brother act still makes a good case for keeping the garage-rock party going.

Packed with as many energetic riffs and boisterous sing-alongs (or shout-alongs, really) as they can cram in, The New Fellas serves up that brand of laddish, snotty cynicism that only the Brits can pull off. And if the constant jabs at the young and trendy (opening track Hey Scenesters! sets the tone) aren't exactly cutting edge, they at least inject matters with the requisite (if possibly affected) working-class charm.

Fembots: The City (Sept. 7)

The idea of Torontonians solemnly taking stock of the changing city around them probably won't strike most Canadians as a rollicking good time. But you don't have to be from Hogtown to treasure the Fembots' third disc, which completes their transition from kitchen-sink experimentation to lush country-rock.

Initially, nothing stands out so much as Count Down our Days, which builds from Dave MacKinnon's mournful vocals to a gorgeous sing-along. But this is a complete work, every entry more affecting with repeat listens.

Quite possibly 2005's best Canadian album to date, The City will give the Fembots their deserved place on the national stage, if there is any justice.

The Rolling Stones: A Bigger Bang (Sept. 6)

It's official: This is the best new Stones album in the past decade. But considering the only competition is 1997's dreary Bridges to Babylon, that's not saying much.

Actually, A Bigger Bang is the band's most unassailable album since the early '80s, if not before - free from the embarrassing attempts at fitting with the times that have dotted other late-career efforts. But despite all of its risk-free competence - or, perhaps, because of it - this is a decidedly boring disc.

Taken on their own the tracks are quite listenable, the Stones mostly favouring a sound akin to 1988's moderately underrated Steel Wheels and other discs from that decade. Streets of Love and Biggest Mistake are hummable ballads, Rough Trade and Oh No Not You Again rock out as much as can be expected, and She Saw Me Coming assures us Mick and Keith had some fun writing together for the first time in ages. But it's all so unadventurous that after 16 songs, the longest Stones album since Exile on Main Street feels tired and bloated. With the exception of the two requisite Richards-fronted offerings, only once do they break from the formula, with Back of My Hand serving up the sort of acoustic blues they've rarely done since the '60s.

More visits to different areas of their catalogue and we might be on to something. As it is, A Bigger Bang sounds like the Stones could have recorded it in their sleep - and for all but diehard fans, that's the state listening to it could leave us in.

Our Lady Peace: Healthy in Paranoid Times (Sept. 2)

Few bands this side of Nickelback better epitomize the gulf between music critics and the record-buying public than Our Lady Peace. No matter how much joy reviewers take in mocking the political posturing and general self-indulgence that accompanies their brazenly unchallenging, radio-friendly fare, Raine Maida and the boys move a lot of units - and that's not going to change here.

Although they really, really want us to know this was a difficult disc to record (what with a near breakup and a split from producer Bob Rock, and liner notes detailing all that happened during the 1,165 days they spent making it), Healthy in Paranoid Times bears no trace of adversity. Instead, it's their poppiest effort to date, abandoning what few rough edges remained from their early days in favour of a dozen tracks that (strained political lyrics aside) sound intended to crack as many playlists as possible.

Give 'em their due: With the exception of Maida's absurdly overwrought vocals on Wipe That Smile Off Your Face, there's nary a note here to turn off their faithful following, and no shortage of potential follow-up singles after the ubiquitous Where Are You has been driven further into the ground.

It may be as coldly calculated as CanRock gets, but there's no denying the professionalism at play. And if that's damning with faint praise, it hardly matters. It's not like OLP fans will be paying much heed to what a snooty reviewer has to say anyway.

Death Cab for Cutie: Plans (August 31)

Love of mine, someday you will die/ But I'll be close behind and follow you into the dark, Ben Gibbard intones in typically melancholy fashion midway through Plans, neatly summarizing its two recurring themes.

Hand-wringing in indie circles be damned, a major-label deal and undying love from The O.C. has not gone to Death Cab's head: Gibbard, guitarist/producer Chris Walla and their bandmates have picked up more or less where they left off with 2003's Transatlanticism, favouring an array of lush acoustic and piano-driven ballads that scratch the surface of largesse without ever crossing into Coldplayesque schmaltz. But this time, Gibbard's obsession with affairs of the heart - put to good use right off the bat with the enthralling lead track, Marching Bands of Manhattan - is accompanied by ruminations over mortality. When the two collide, as on I Will Follow You into the Dark or the epic What Sarah Said, it produces the album's best moments.

When it drifts into the abstract and loses its emotional resonance, Plans occasionally grows a bit bland - as on Stable Song, which closes the album in mildly disappointing fashion after all the other highs. But nearly everywhere else, Death Cab has created another refuge for romantics.

It's unlikely that Plans will propel them to enough of a breakthrough to make DCFC the REM of their generation, as a recent Spin cover story suggested. But it should be more than enough to satisfy fans who'd be terrified of that happening anyway.

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club: Howl (August 25)

After 2003's disappointing Take Them On, On Your Own, BRMC seemed to have run their course, never living up to their initial hype. But on their third disc, the Californians have abandoned the affected cool that made them seem like a poor man's Strokes channeling the Jesus and Mary Chain in favour of a countrified, mostly acoustic set dabbling in gospel and blues. From the stomping Shuffle Your Feet through lead single Ain't No Easy Way and pretty piano ballad Promise, they respect their material enough to never give the impression of slumming.

By stripping away everything we thought they were, BRMC have found their soul and delivered one of summer's most pleasant surprises.

Alanis Morissette: Jagged Little Pill Acoustic (July 28)

Jagged Little Pill’s status as one of the biggest and (briefly) most influential albums of the ’90s is intact. But the original disc has not aged well, and what made it special is completely absent from the earnest but ill-advised 10th-anniversary acoustic remake.

These tunes worked when sung by an angry, empowered teen-queen-turned-rock-chick in her twenties, but are completely incongruous with Alanis’s current status as an apparently well-rounded 30-something — especially in the limp musical arrangements offered here. While the odd track (You Learn) makes the transition passably, the likes of Ironic and Hand in My Pocket just sound embarrassing.

The Duke Spirit: Cuts Across the Land (July 27)

Britrock's latest revival has been even more testosterone heavy than usual - not even a token female-fronted entry a la Elastica in the mid-'90s. But Leila Moss might have something to say about that.

Statuesque and ferocious, The Duke Spirit's frontwoman transcends her male bandmates' Velvet Underground leanings with some rip-roaring vocals, sounding a little like the U.K.'s answer to Karen O. And while her searing lyrics and vocals are a bit wasted on middling efforts like Stubborn Stitches and Bottom of the Sea, the storming title track, sultry Darling You're Mean and anthemic Hello to the Floor prove she's a force to be reckoned with when given some support.

K'Naan: The Dusty Foot Philosopher (July 14)

Suddenly, Canadian hip hop is alive and well. We have k-os rewriting the rules by fusing rap, reggae, rock and jazz and preaching the virtues of anti-materialism. Now there's K'Naan - not as musically ambitious, but taking lyrical content in a new direction with tales of growing up in war-torn Somalia.

With a vocal style often weirdly similar to Eminem's, he ranges between using the violence he left behind to prove his street cred ("If I rhymed about home and got descriptive, I'd make 50 Cent look like Limp Bizkit," he raps on What's Hardcore?) and sombre philosophizing on tracks like Hoobaale -- or both, as on the thrilling If Rap Gets Jealous.

Poetic and ragged, furious and optimistic, this album can't be ignored.

The Russian Futurists: Our Thickness (July 8)

If Brian Wilson had locked himself in his bedroom with only a computer, this is probably what he’d have come up with. Except unlike Toronto’s Matthew Adam Hart, the solo artist operating under the Russian Futurists moniker, Wilson would have come completely unglued — which would have produced a more compelling album.

Hart’s third disc achieves some fairly remarkable things in blending together an array of quirky instrumentation, samples and his own vocals to create a lush, symphonic sound. But while lead track Paul Simon is sure to impress, Our Thickness’ looping melodies grow a little predictable over its 10 tracks.

Still, indie fans who favour the likes of the Flaming Lips will find enough here to keep them occupied for hours.

The Ponys: Celebration Castle (July 7)

Since Franz Ferdinand helped reintroduce art-rock/new-wave/post-punk/post-new-wave (the labels get a tad confusing), it's mostly U.K. acts that have picked up the ball. But with their second album, these Americans might be taking it to the next level.

Whereas a lack of variation has detracted from discs by the likes of the Futureheads and Maximo Park, the Ponys mix things up enough - with two distinct vocalists assisting frontman Jered Gummere and the sprinkling of Stonesish chords on such storming tracks as Get Black - that theirs gains momentum over its 10 tracks.

Not all the style shifts work (the sombre We Shot the World is a bit of a speed bump), but they keep us guessing enough that Celebration Castle never gets boring.

The Redwalls: De Nova (June 29)

The Redwalls' passports may say they hail from Chicago, but their hearts are clearly in Liverpool.

That can have its pitfalls: On their first album, 2003's independently released Universal Blues, their Beatles obsession was so dominant that they sounded like little more than a tribute band. But on their major-label debut, they've captured the energetic sense of fun that's earned them a bit of buzz on the tour circuit and an opening slot on the Oasis U.K. tour - moderately diversifiying their interests and opting for a bluesier, more distinct sound.

Early Fab Four is still the dominant influence here, with all three vocalists (brothers Logan and Justin Baren, along with Andrew Langer) doing their best Lennon-circa-Ed Sullivan impressions, and frankly they do it well enough that the borrowing is easily forgivable. But it's where they branch out - the Dylanesque Glory of War, the Stonesish On My Way and particularly the soulful, anthemic Build a Bridge, which comes complete with horns - that they prove their mettle.

The FCC might be an easy target, but the uncharacteristically profanity-laced Falling Down still injects a welcome dose of irreverence. And if the politicized Front Page (basically their crack at A Day in the Life) is a bit of a reach, they get bonus points for looking beyond 1966 in the Beatles' catalogue.

To avoid getting pigeonholed, they still have a bit of growing up to do. But for a bunch of guys barely into their twenties, De Nova is a startlingly polished effort that hints at big things ahead.

Billy Corgan: TheFutureEmbrace (June 27)

Last Tuesday, the same day his first solo disc was released, Billy Corgan took out an ad in Chicago newspapers to announce his hope of re-forming the Smashing Pumpkins. It's hard to blame him: The '90s icon's post-Pumpkins career has taken such an unfortunate turn that Machina is starting to look like a classic by comparison.

What's particularly depressing about TheFutureEmbrace is that whereas Zwan was a mildly interesting misfire, Corgan's solo work is more boring than anything else. Once one of rock's most interesting frontmen, leading a thoroughly original band with a distinct, sweeping sound all its own, he's reduced to third-rate electronic pop that's distinct only because his shrill, nasal vocals are so poorly suited to it.

The most arresting thing here is a completely pointless cover of the Bee Gees' To Love Somebody - and it's not even a particularly successful one at that. Otherwise, it's all one long, sludgy mess, an uninspired pastiche of the '80s sounds of Corgan's youth that pales next to contemporary takes by younger, less talented artists. Occasionally, there's a brief verse or chorus that recalls a bit of the Pumpkins' immediacy - mostly on later tracks like I'm Ready and lead single Walking Shade - but that only jumps out because everything else is so nondescript.

And for the love of God, what's with the close-up photos of a shirtless Corgan on the cover and album sleeve?

Shout Out Louds: Howl Howl Gaff Gaff (June 22)

Shout Out Louds frontman Adam Olenius sounds vaguely like a more melodic, less angsty, Scandinavian version of Conor Oberst. But while these Stockholm natives seem to draw their inspiration heavily from American indie-pop, their debut North American release — actually a mix of songs previously released in their homeland — is of a sunnier and more up-tempo variety than much of what we hear from south of the border, boasting just the slightest hint of the garage rock that’s prevailed among Sweden’s recent musical exports.

It’s easy to understand the recent buzz on this side of the Atlantic: This is fun stuff, in no small part because the band sounds like it’s having a blast. And kudos to Olenius for not burying his accent under faux British affectations, like many of his countrymen do.

Jason Collett: Idols of Exile (June 15)

Although it’s far from his debut solo disc — that honour goes, sort of, to 2003’s Motor Motel Love Songs, although that was actually a compilation of previous efforts – this feels like the Toronto singer-songwriter’s coming-out party. Assisted by Broken Social Scene cohorts — Kevin Drew, Andrew Whiteman, Feist and Metric’s Emily Haines, among others — Collett steps into the spotlight with a gorgeous collection of Dylanesque folk, soulful alt-country, sunny indie-pop, and various combinations thereof.

Coming off world-weary one moment (We All Lose One Another) and optimistic the next (I’ll Bring the Sun), and frequently capturing the wide-eyed innocence of his youth or someone else’s (Almost Summer), Collett has taken a major step forward as a solo artist. And his bittersweet duet with Haines on Hangover Days is worth the price of admission alone.

Coldplay: X&Y (June 8)

"Very loud for Coldplay is like a System of a Down ballad," Chris Martin said in our interview last month. True enough. But that doesn't make X&Y any less headache-inducing.

Taken on their own, pretty well any one of its 13 tracks would make a worthy single - starting slow and acoustic or with mild piano accompaniment, Martin splicing in his falsetto at appropriate moments, and then building to an epic chorus accompanied by the suitably massive guitar chords for which U2's The Edge should be getting royalties. But 13 singles do not an album make. And listening to Coldplay spending an entire disc trying to one-up Clocks becomes a tiring experience.

At the start of each track, we hope in vain that maybe, just this once, they'll opt for moderation and tone it down - or, if we're really lucky, go in a different direction entirely. But there's no room for subtlety or experimentation here - these guys are so determined to conquer the world that they're busy driving their formula into the ground. As a result, even tracks that should be standouts - Fix You and A Message, for instance, either of which sounds epic on its own - get buried in all the sameness.

Only on the hidden track, Til Kingdom Come, do they finally strip down to the basics and show a bit of (falsetto-free) soul. But by then it's too late. Over-thought, overwrought and over-produced, X&Y will probably sell a ton of copies - but it still feels more like Coldplay's Be Here Now than their Joshua Tree.

The White Stripes: Get Behind Me, Satan (June 6)

For too many reasons to get into in this space, it can safely be said that Jack White is a bit of an odd dude. But he gets into trouble when he's self-consciously weird, which is why the first two tracks on Get Behind Me Satan are a little alarming. Both Blue Orchid, the sparse lead single that has White more worried about catching us off guard with an affected falsetto than delivering a decent chorus, and the experimental The Nurse (marimbas,out-of-left-field guitar crashes, and absolutely no flow) are interesting the first time, but neither calls out for repeat listens.

Thankfully, Jack's blues-loving soul resurfaces in earnest immediately thereafter on My Doorbell, and we're back in good hands for the rest of the disc. True, there's little here that has the same sense of immediacy as on Elephant, and with Meg White pushed further into the background (a necessary gesture on the vocal front, as evidenced by the mercifully brief Passive Manipulation), this is beginning to seem more like a solo act than ever. But by stepping out from behind his guitar, setting his vocals to pounding piano chords and an array of percussion, White serves up the best evidence yet of his songwriting skills. And on tracks like Forever for Her (Is Over for Me), White Moon and I'm Lonely (But I Ain't That Lonely Yet), his surprisingly vulnerable vocals inject more heart into the proceedings than on anything he's done before.

Whether it's Renee Zellweger or Loretta Lynn who brought it out, it's a treat to see another side of one of the best in the business.

Cool Britannia: The Ongoing History of New Music (June 3)

For those caught off guard by the latest British invasion, this compilation from Toronto radio guru Alan Cross offers a quick crash course.

Over its 17 tracks, the disc mostly avoids the obvious (Franz Ferdinand, Oasis and Coldplay are nowhere to be found) in favour of focusing on U.K. acts that are massive at home but have acquired only cult followings here.

The contrasts between different acts are stark, emphasizing the movements at play - the brash, druggy punks (the Libertines, Razorlight, the Others), the Coldplayesque piano poppers (Keane, Snow Patrol, Athlete), the Madchaster revivalists (Kasabian) and the old stand-bys (the Charlatans, Manic Street Preachers). And if none of that grabs you, there's always the Streets.

Gorillaz: Demon Days (June 2)*

Back in 2001, Gorillaz seemed a fun little side project for Damon Albarn – and part of what made it so appealing (surprise hit Clint Eastwood included) was that the Blur frontman seemed to be having us on a bit. But at this point, Gorillaz pretty well is Damon Albarn – with Blur on indefinite hiatus, his creative output is limited to his animated band. That means it’s time to judge Gorillaz a little more seriously. And that, in turn, means being a little disappointed.

It’s not that Albarn’s collaboration with Danger Mouse (replacing Dan "The Automator" Nakamura as producer) and an eclectic mix of guests (among them Ike Turner, MF Doom and Dennis Hopper, of all people) isn’t pleasant enough; it’s just that, despite some intermittently ambitious lyrics, it’s all so inconsequential – and not just because it’s impossible to take social commentary and political tubthumping seriously when it’s delivered by folks hiding behind cartoon characters. What really hurts is the way Albarn’s sleepy, mailed-in vocals tell us that this is still just a diversion – not something he’s going to put his full talents on the line for. (It’s no coincidence that the best moments happen on tracks like Dirty Harry, where he’s more or less shoved out of the way.)

Demon Days is a slick, well-produced bit of business that hops enough genres to find a broad audience, but it carries a depressing quality for anyone who wishes that the Damon Albarn who penned some of history’s best Britpop albums was still with us.

Oasis: Don't Believe the Truth (June 1)

Two albums after bottoming out with 2000's depressing Standing on the Shoulder of Giants, Oasis are in their best shape in nearly a decade.

True, nobody is pretending they're back to their mid-'90s heights. But much as it's become a running joke to say it before every album release, this time it's legit: Don't Believe the Truth is their best album since (What's the Story) Morning Glory.

Much has been made of the band's new-found democracy, with all four principal members penning tracks, and Liam Gallagher's evolution as a songwriter is indeed startling - listening to the pretty, professional Love Like a Bomb, or the sparse, no-nonsense Meaning of Soul, it's hard to believe this is the same guy who wrote Little James. But ironically, the album's two biggest grabbers weren't just written by brother Noel - they're sung by him, too. Mucky Fingers replaces the usual Beatles fixation with Dylan and the Velvet Underground, producing a stomping, sneering gem that sounds nothing like anything Oasis has done before; The Importance of Being Idle is a whimsical ditty that reminds us how much fun the Gallaghers were having back in their She's Electric days.

The rest is mostly standard Oasis fare - the serviceable single (Lyla), the psychedelic meanderer (Guess God Thinks I'm Abel), the lighters-in-the-air closer (Let There Be Love). But it's all done well enough that, having gotten its second wind, Oasis is no longer cruising on its name alone.

Truth is, if any other Britrock band released this album, we'd be gushing.

The Hold Steady: Separation Sunday (May 18)

Just when the garage rock revival seems to be completely played out, along comes a stocky little bespectacled guy to breathe new life into it.

Craig Finn, The Hold Steady's frontman, is not so much a singer as a really good talker. Sounding like a deranged Springsteen, he rants about drugs, religion and whatever else strikes his fancy while his bandmates produce reasonably conventional rock 'n' roll behind him.

On first listen, it sounds like Finn is just going stream-of-consciousness. But on closer inspection, Separation Sunday offers a surprisingly lucid and poetic narrative, its strung-out heroine navigating her way through a seedy underworld of addiction, prostitution and other sordid exploits before the album's religious themes culminate in a spiritual reawakening. The lyrical flow can be appreciated without agonizing over every word: Next to the band's 2004 debut, Almost Killed Me, and especially Finn's previous work in Minneapolis-based Lifter Puller, a comparatively stripped-down sound gives his vocals emotional impact even when we're only picking up bits and pieces.

After an almost draining romp, Separation Sunday appears to lose steam toward the end. But it turns out only to be a deep breath before powerhouse closer How a Resurrection Really Feels, which perfectly ties up both the narrative and the sonic arc. Presently available only on import in Canada, Separation Sunday is a remarkably complete listening experience that's worth going out of your way to find.

Sloan:A Sides Win (May 16)

This compilation isn't really for us - it's for the ever-elusive U.S. market, where Sloan is hoping to move beyond cult status to something approaching its Canadian success.A straight-up singles collection rather than a selective greatest-hits album, A Sides Win is aimed at establishing familiarity with a cross-section of radio hits rather than reminding us of old favourites we've forgotten.

That it's spread out more or less evenly over Sloan’s seven studio albums (in chronological order, no less) will be enough to irritate long-time fans who'll tell you that Twice Removed (twice voted the best Canadian album by Chart readers, or at least Sloan devotees who flooded the balloting) and Between the Bridges - or, for that matter, One Chord to Another and Pretty Together - were not created equal. And while the two new tracks - All Used Up and Try to Make It are perfectly adequate, neither will be enough to encourage those who already have the discography to pick up a copy.

But for those who've fallen off the bandwagon in recent years, there's one upside. Since Navy Blues, each Sloan album has featured a couple of standouts buried in by-the-numbers tracks nowhere near the band's early work. Now, we can enjoy If It Feels Good Do It and The Rest of My Life without wasting time on filler. And while we're at it, we can marvel at how stunning the entire collection will sound to those south of the border getting their first dose of everyone's favourite Haligonians.

Ben Folds: Songs for Silverman (May 12)

Maturity can be a dangerous thing.

Throughout his career, Ben Folds’s smart-assed humour and his cutting, sometimes caustic wit have kept his brand of piano-pop from crossing the line into schmaltz. On his second solo effort, the older, wiser singer-songwriter gets all sincere, and the results are occasionally hard to stomach; kindly though its sentiments may be, it’s hard to imagine Gracie - an achingly earnest tribute to his baby daughter – exciting anyone outside his immediate family.

Elsewhere, though, Folds hits emotional paydirt – especially on Late, an Elliott Smith tribute that manages not to sound trite. And with Bastard, he shows he hasn’t lost his knack for wry social commentary.

Where Songs for Silverman suffers is in the near-absence – notwithstanding an attempt to lighten things up with a white-boy cover of Dr. Dre’s Bitches Ain’t Shit at the album’s conclusion, which just seems like manufactured quirk - of the whimsical side that Folds usually relies on to counterbalance his weightier stuff. Without it, it starts to feel like we’re being hit over the head, and the more powerful songs lose a bit of their potency.

Ryan Adams: Cold Roses (May 10)

It figures that, in a year that's already seen Bright Eyes release two separate albums on the same day and the Eels drop a 33-track double disc on us, the reliably prolific Adams would answer back with a pair of discs of his own - and two more to follow before 2005 is out.

As erratic as Adams can be, the initial suspicion is that being so all over the map isn't the best way to harness his considerable talents. But Cold Roses is actually his most focused album in years - exactly the return to country-folk form that fans of his landmark solo debut, Heartbreaker, and his earlier work in Whiskeytown have been waiting for.

It doesn't quite have Heartbreaker's urgency, and could reasonably be accused of a little more filler than necessary, but the album is mostly packed with tight, textured, heartfelt ballads that, refreshingly, lean more toward romance than self-pity. While Adams hasn't abandoned his whimsical side entirely (the rockabilly Beautiful Sorta is the album's catchiest track), he doesn't let himself get consumed by it. Instead, Cold Roses will be remembered for soaring standouts like Let It Ride, Easy Plateau and the title track - all of which appear on the second, stronger disc.

For all we know, Adams may be back to the poppier sounds of Gold, the mopiness of Love Is Hell or the by-the-book anthems of Rock N Roll by year's end. But to start things off, he's gone back to where he once belonged.

Eels: Blinking Lights and Other Revelations (May 4)

Forever sounding like Beck's bipolar brother, Mark Oliver Everett - better known as E, the enigmatic artist who releases albums as Eels - has long flirted with eccentric genius. But despite some agonizingly personal music over his first five albums, especially on 1998's Electroshock Blues, the noted recluse has always seemed to stay guarded just enough to hold a little something back. No longer.

Returning to familiar themes - his troubled childhood, family tragedies, his bouts with depression - E lays it all on the line over a two-disc, 33-track opus, starting with his birth (From Which I Came/A Magic World) and ending, sort of, with his death.

To the uninitiated, this may all sound a little self-indulgent and a lot depressing. But it's neither. As always, E knows when to lighten the mood, repeatedly poking gentle fun at himself and throwing moments of sheer levity (notably Going Fetal, a sort of crazed retro-boogie featuring a wailing Tom Waits) into the mix. Even better, he injects the album with a persistent strain of positive energy - particularly on the second disc, where the joyous Hey Man (Now You're Really Living) throws us for a loop and Things the Grandchildren Should Know serves as a cautiously optimistic payoff.

This is a dense, demanding album that won't be everyone's cup of tea. But for those who've faithfully followed Mr. E over the years, it might just be the masterpiece we've been waiting for.

Caesars: Paper Tigers (May 3)

Prospective buyers will either be relieved or disappointed to learn that the rest of these Swedes' fourth disc sounds little like Jerk It Out - the catchy single getting plenty of play in an iPod commercial, which appears in remixed form on Paper Tigers despite having kicked around for years. From this corner, that's a good thing: Whereas Jerk It Out sounds a bit like a gimmick song, Caesars mostly trade in the sort of sunny, unpretentious Britpop that guided Dodgy through the '90s.

Opener Spirit suggests big things that the rest of the tunes don't quite live up to, but it's an agreeable enough mix even if it runs together a bit by the end. The timing of the release, certainly, is fitting: Having forsaken the garage rock that’s recently guided many of their countrymen to international success (and that they themselves leaned toward until recently), Caesars offer a perfectly pleasant soundtrack to summer afternoons.

Bruce Springsteen: Devils and Dust (April 26)

Three years after The Rising, the Boss has gotten more sombre and reflective, if that seems possible. But Devils & Dust isn't a personal reflection on the city around him; this is the Nebraska/Ghost of Tom Joad Springsteen - the one who strays far from his Jersey roots to roam around the heartland, slipping into the skin of anyone and everyone who's down on his luck, telling their stories with a country-folk twang.

Because much of Springsteen's appeal is in his Everyman persona, his efforts to chronicle the life and times of people with whom he has little real-world connection are hit-and-miss. The title track is the album's high mark - a powerful take on a young soldier trying to stop fear from crippling his conscience; Black Cowboys is an affecting tale of a ghetto kid doing his mother proud, only to have her let him down; and The Hitter's first-person account of a brutal pugilist is lyrically gripping, if a bit musically flat. But Reno - which finds our narrator wistfully recalling hanging out with the woman of his dreams and Mexican banditos amid a disappointing sexual encounter with a hooker - seems forced and a little creepy. And Matamoras Banks, a noble effort to engage us in a would-be immigrant's fatal attempt to cross the U.S. border, is both too earnest by half and strangely remote.

Still, ambition is in many ways its own reward. Three decades into his career, it's to Springsteen's credit that he's still trying to tell us new stories, instead of just serving up the same old ones with the E Street Band.

Garbage: Bleed Like Me (April 20)

Garbage and Collective Soul may be in competition for the year's least anticipated comeback by a major '90s act. But we should have known better than to think Shirley Manson, Butch Vig and co. would come up with the sort of clunker befitting a band presumably years beyond its best-before date.

If not exactly prolific (this is just their fourth album in a decade-long career, and first in nearly four years), Garbage have always been driven by a sort of quiet professionalism - with the exception of 2001's Beautiful Garbage, which all concerned seem to be trying their best to forget about, they've rarely seemed to have much trouble cranking out one agreeable and radio-friendly (if unchallenging and slightly soulless) electro-rock track after another. And despite the band reportedly coming close to splitting up while recording it, Bleed Like Me is their most consistent effort since 1995's self-titled debut - a perfectly pleasant 45 minutes stocked with a solid lead single (Why Do You Love Me), a couple of potential follow-ups (including the Elastica-esque Sex Is Not the Enemy, which is one of the most genuinely engrossing tracks the band has yet come up with) and only the odd clunker (the plodding It's All Over But the Crying).

As always, it's Manson who lifts Garbage out of complete white-bread territory and into something a little sexier and more dangerous. Still one of the better frontwomen out there, she's aged about as well as the music - which is to say, better than one might think.

Louis XIV: The Best Little Secrets Are Kept (April 18)

Serious music people are supposed to hate Louis XIV.

Why? Well, for starters, they were an alt-country band before they had some sort of overnight reinvention as glam-rockers. Their front man, Jason Hill, is yet another American mod who insists on singing - or, in his case, sometimes just delivering self-indulgent monologues over simple guitar chords - with a faux British accent. They shamelessly ape T. Rex, David Bowie, AC/DC and enough other '70s rockers that the first listen to their disc instantly becomes a game of spot-the-influence. Their lyrics are crass and chauvinistic. And the whole enterprise seems like an excuse for Hill to get laid.

But sometimes, serious music people need to lighten up. The Best Little Secrets Are Kept is not going to change the world; it's not even going to be on our shelves in a couple of years, or if it is we're going to hide it when our friends come over. But for a few months, at least, it's going to be inescapable - starting with annoyingly catchy lead single Finding Out True Love Is Blind, which mostly involves Hill rhyming off women of various ethnicities he hopes to hook up with, and no doubt continuing with another couple of hits before the act wears thin. And as a guilty pleasure, it's so deliberately over the top that it works - at least for the first eight tracks, until the thing gets bogged down in an ill-advised effort to get a bit more serious.

So the choice is simple: Let them get under your skin, or just have fun with it. The band, one senses, are in on the joke; no reason we shouldn't be as well.

The Bravery: The Bravery (April 13)

It's true - The Bravery do sound a lot like the Killers, as the latter have alleged in music's lamest feud since the Michael Jackson/MC Hammer showdown of the early '90s. But the problem is that they only sound like the Killers of the second half of the latter's Hot Fuss, where all the good stuff is out of the way and the filler kicks in - except even less interesting.

The trick for any derivative band is to convince us that we'd rather be listening to them than the influences they're leaning on. (Oasis wouldn't have sold millions of albums if they'd only reminded us that the Beatles were better.) That means bringing something extra to the table, or modernizing their sound, or something. But unlike other, more successful '80s revivalists, The Bravery don't do anything to build on their influences - so it takes about 30 seconds to realize we'd be better off just sticking with New Order or even Duran Duran.

To make matters worse, Sam Endicott (who also produced) has penned some truly stupid lyrics to go with his rather average vocals; anytime a song climaxes with "You put the broke in broken-hearted/You put the art in retarted," you know you're in trouble.

There's the odd flash of life, particularly around the middle of the album when the up-tempo Swollen Summer suggests there may be a decent guitar band waiting to break loose from among the synthesizers. But otherwise, a crushing sense of sameness has us wishing Franz Ferdinand had at least gotten its sophomore disc out before this whole '80s thing started to wear a little thin.

Martha Wainwright (April 12)

By all accounts, the standout track on Martha Wainwright's debut full-length album is about her dad. So given that it's a cutting little ditty titled Bloody Mother Fucking Asshole, she may only have herself to blame for critics' inordinate focus on her familial relations. But given the degree to which her disc stands on its own merits, it's still a bit disheartening to see international press lumping her in with Lisa Marie Presley - as though she's only garnering attention because of the celebrated music careers of her parents (Kate McGarrigle and Loudon Wainwright III) and better-known sibling Rufus.

Wainwright's simultaneously silky and smoky vocals would allow her to carry a whole album of broken-hearted love songs in her sleep. But the strength of her debut is in her unwillingness to let us get too comfortable. Though she doesn't stray too far from pleasantly folksy melodies, both her lyrics and the way she delivers them are downright disarming. Upfront about her failings, explicit in detailing everything from unsatisfying sexual encounters to crushing loneliness, she offers up a complex mix of vulnerability, world-weariness and ferocious defiance that requires repeat listens to get a proper hold of.

"I wish I was born a man/So I could learn how to stand up for myself/Like those guys with guitars/I've been watching in bars," Wainwright purrs on B.M.F.A. It doesn't appear to be meant ironically, but it might as well be; if Martha thinks she's not strong enough to stand up for herself, she obviously hasn't listened to her own disc very closely.