Unlike many bands that release notable debut albums and then take years to deliver a follow-up, the Strokes got Room on Fire out as quickly as possible after their lengthy tour for Is This It. Good thing, too; the two years between their debut and this album were long enough for the expectations for -- and the backlash against -- a new Strokes album to reach formidable proportions. And the Strokes sound like they have a lot to prove on Room on Fire, not to their naysayers, but to themselves. On the surface, the album isn't drastically different than Is This It, but it's not predictable. Instead of delivering an album's worth of "Last Nite"s, "Someday"s, and "NYC Cop"s, Room on Fire expands on their debut's off-kilter and complex tracks, like "Is This It?" and "Hard to Explain." The album's first single, "12:51," signals the Strokes' intent: its whistling, synth-like guitars and handclaps are undeniably catchy, but at first, the song seems to be searching for a structure. Eventually, though, it becomes sneakily addictive -- it's a stealth pop song. Likewise, the album opens with "What Ever Happened?," on which Julian Casablancas snarls "I wanna be forgotten/And I don't wanna be reminded" -- not exactly the likeliest start to what should be a triumphant second album from one of the most celebrated rock bands of the 2000s. In many ways, Room on Fire is the Strokes' bid to be taken seriously, which may be why they began this album with producer Nigel Godrich before returning to Is This It producer Gordon Raphael. To his credit, Raphael gives the album its own sound: it's brighter and fuller than Is This It's low-rent production. Room on Fire also has a distinct attitude. Is This It sounded effortless, but it's evident that a great deal of effort was put into Room on Fire. Yet the album's most crafted moments are its most exciting: "Automatic Stop," a playful, poignant look back at a love triangle, lopes along to a reggae beat (and features the witty lyrics "So many fish there in the sea/I wanted her/He wanted me"). "Under Control," an awkwardly gorgeous homage to '60s soul, is possibly the best Strokes song yet. Several songs recapture some of Is This It's exuberance; not surprisingly, they're the ones that the band wrote while on tour. "You Talk Way Too Much" revs on one of their most Velvets-y riffs; "Meet Me in the Bathroom"'s Motown-like bassline and shimmery guitars add some style to its underlying sleaze. However, the Strokes are a different band than when they recorded Is This It, and Room on Fire's best songs acknowledge that. There's a weariness lingering around Room on Fire like stale smoke, especially on "The End Has No End," a loop of a song about a nagging breakup that repeats its seemingly nonsensical title in a surprisingly affecting way. "Reptilia," meanwhile, sounds like a long night of partying turned sour. "Please don't slow me down if I'm going too fast," Casablancas wails (most of Room on Fire's distortion comes from his vocals, which give the impression that he's gargled with turpentine and brushed his teeth with steel wool for the past two years). The motif of moving too fast and not minding it winds through Room on Fire, reflecting its svelte 33-minute running time as well as the swiftness of the Strokes' career. This compressed feel, the precision of the band's playing and arrangements, and the way every song comes to an abrupt stop sometimes make the album sound too closed-off. Room on Fire's best moments fight against this tendency and suggest that the Strokes are continuing to grow, perhaps beyond what their listeners want from them. Some may gripe that it's never as good as the first time, but Room on Fire shows that even after all that happened to the Strokes, they can still surprise.© Heather Phares /TiVo

By the time of the Chemical Brothers' third album, Surrender, the big beat phenomenon they had done much to engender was more apt to be heard on a soft drink commercial than the world's hipper dancefloors. And with the growing omnipresence of big beat's simplistic party vibes threatening to cave in the entire scene, Tom and Ed came to grips with what is -- compared to their previous work -- a house record. The pounding four-on-the-floor thump of tracks like "Music:Response," "Got Glint," and the duo's take on KLF-style stadium house for the single "Hey Boy Hey Girl" signals that this is a transition record for the Chemical Brothers, one that could eventually take them back into the straight-ahead dance mainstream status enjoyed by acts from Daft Punk to Armand Van Helden.The irony here is that even considering the changes, Surrender still feels very similar to its predecessors. The focus on wave-of-sound production, buckets full of old-school vocal samples, and various sirens and beatbox effects sound like they were lifted wholesale from their breakout album, Dig Your Own Hole, or their first release, Exit Planet Dust. And while a few of the vocal tracks focus on new collaborations, they're along the same lines, making it tough to spot the differences from past albums -- the quavering British vocals of Beth Orton have given way to the quavering American vocals of Hope Sandoval, and the Charlatans' Tim Burgess is replaced by New Order's reclusive Bernard Sumner (a sure sign that the Chemicals have moved up a notch on the music-industry food chain). Also, two returning guests (Noel Gallagher and a member of Mercury Rev, here Jonathan Donahue) make very similar contributions to the record in the identical places they appeared on Dig Your Own Hole. Even besides its simpy title, the Gallagher track "Let Forever Be" is the very same electronica update of the Beatles' "Tomorrow Never Knows" that made their 1996 collaboration single "Setting Sun" a number one hit in Britain. And the Donahue track, "Dream On," is very similar to the indie psychedelia of "The Private Psychedelic Reel" from Dig Your Own Hole. Sure, the Chemical Brothers do this type of music very well; it's just that Surrender isn't quite the change of direction they'd been aiming for -- it's simply the same great album they'd made two years earlier.© John Bush /TiVo

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By the time of the Chemical Brothers' third album, Surrender, the big beat phenomenon they had done much to engender was more apt to be heard on a soft drink commercial than the world's hipper dancefloors. And with the growing omnipresence of big beat's simplistic party vibes threatening to cave in the entire scene, Tom and Ed came to grips with what is -- compared to their previous work -- a house record. The pounding four-on-the-floor thump of tracks like "Music:Response," "Got Glint," and the duo's take on KLF-style stadium house for the single "Hey Boy Hey Girl" signals that this is a transition record for the Chemical Brothers, one that could eventually take them back into the straight-ahead dance mainstream status enjoyed by acts from Daft Punk to Armand Van Helden.The irony here is that even considering the changes, Surrender still feels very similar to its predecessors. The focus on wave-of-sound production, buckets full of old-school vocal samples, and various sirens and beatbox effects sound like they were lifted wholesale from their breakout album, Dig Your Own Hole, or their first release, Exit Planet Dust. And while a few of the vocal tracks focus on new collaborations, they're along the same lines, making it tough to spot the differences from past albums -- the quavering British vocals of Beth Orton have given way to the quavering American vocals of Hope Sandoval, and the Charlatans' Tim Burgess is replaced by New Order's reclusive Bernard Sumner (a sure sign that the Chemicals have moved up a notch on the music-industry food chain). Also, two returning guests (Noel Gallagher and a member of Mercury Rev, here Jonathan Donahue) make very similar contributions to the record in the identical places they appeared on Dig Your Own Hole. Even besides its simpy title, the Gallagher track "Let Forever Be" is the very same electronica update of the Beatles' "Tomorrow Never Knows" that made their 1996 collaboration single "Setting Sun" a number one hit in Britain. And the Donahue track, "Dream On," is very similar to the indie psychedelia of "The Private Psychedelic Reel" from Dig Your Own Hole. Sure, the Chemical Brothers do this type of music very well; it's just that Surrender isn't quite the change of direction they'd been aiming for -- it's simply the same great album they'd made two years earlier.© John Bush /TiVo

As its title suggests, Cover Two is the second collection of covers from Joan as Police Woman's Joan Wasser (her first, 2009's Cover, was initially sold only at her shows and on her website). Considering how versatile and distinctive Wasser's own music is, it's not surprising that she's skilled at putting her own stamp on the work of widely different musicians. Even Cover Two's cover is a rendition of sorts, channeling Loverboy's Get Lucky and its iconic red leather jumpsuit. But what could be just a karaoke lark is much more in Wasser's hands: Cover Two is musically nimble and reflects a songwriter's appreciation of other songwriters. As on Cover, Wasser samples from an eclectic array of artists. She begins Cover Two with the challenge of reinterpreting Prince's "Kiss," transforming the original's sudden flirtation into sultry, slow-burning foreplay that turns the line "women, not girls, rule my world" into a mantra. Later, she closes the album with a breezy vocal pop arrangement of Rizzo's lament "There Are Worse Things I Could Do" from the musical Grease and a graceful, piano-driven interpretation of Gil Scott-Heron's "Running." In between, Cover Two's highlights include a cozy version of the Strokes' '60s soul-pop homage "Under Control'' where her voice dances over its caressing melody, and a minimalist reading of Michael McDonald's "Keep Forgetting" that showcases all the nuances of her singing. On "Out of Time," she reimagines one of Blur's sci-fi ballads into something that could've appeared on Tapestry. By contrast, she focuses on her music's experimental side on "Not the Way," setting Cass McCombs' searching lyrics to meditative drones and saxophones. As she revisits some of her favorite songs on Cover Two, Wasser brings out the best in her own music. © Heather Phares /TiVo

It seems size does not matter for Wolf Parade. Multi-instrumentalist Dante DeCaro, who had been working with Wolf Parade since 2005, left the band in early 2019, leaving the original trio of Spencer Krug, Dan Boeckner, and Arlen Thompson to get along without him. But if anyone expected the group to scale back their sound as a three-piece, 2020's Thin Mind wastes no time in shutting down that thinking. Wolf Parade sound lively, passionate, and fully committed on these ten songs, with Krug's Bowie-esque glam-conscious vocals reaching to the third balcony and easily finding their target, as the arrangements suggest the great lost new wave album of the '80s. While Thompson's drumming invests this music with a pulse that's decidedly human (even when he's paired with period-appropriate electronic percussion), the banks of synthesizers give this a feel that merges past and present, as keyboard sounds summon the ghost of classic synth pop and dance music while expressing a drama and clear focus that confirms this isn't meant to be viewed as nostalgia or satire. The tone of these songs usually leans to darker themes, but Thin Mind isn't gloomy so much as deeply concerned with the state of our culture, in large scale ("Under Glass," "The Static Age") and on a more personal level ("Julia Take Your Man Home," "Out of Control"). When Krug sings "All we are is reaching for the light" in "Town Square," it's the sound of a man who hasn't given up hope just yet. In concept and execution, Thin Mind is Wolf Parade in their classic form, but with a force and a sense of purpose that makes them sound fresh and vital. Losing DeCaro seems to have goaded Krug, Boeckner, and Thompson into showing their fans they still have the goods, and it works on Thin Mind.© Mark Deming /TiVo