Like the birth of a child, some experiences are so profound that words only cheapen them. One such experience is Blue, Joni Mitchell’s 1971 classic — an album as essential to the lexicon of rock and roll as Sgt. Pepper and Blonde on Blonde. Along with the Beatles and Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell is a 20th century musical icon, one whose style is uniquely her own, and whose brilliance eludes understanding. The unconventional tunings; the soaring vibrato; the see-sawing lyrics — Mitchell’s music is so visceral, so free, so untamed, that pinning it down diminishes it, like putting a wild animal into captivity.

Last week I reviewed little David Archuleta’s debut, and even though I gave it a positive critique, I was spurned by a plethora of Archie-loving lunatics. This week, it’s David Cook’s turn in the spotlight, and while I don’t anticipate the same back-lash from Cook extremists, treat this review as one of unbiased intention.

During much of his run last season on American Idol, David Cook drew many comparisons to season five’s resident-rocker Chris Daughtry. Not only was Cook’s style harder-edged than the competition — especially in the context of Idol — he even pulled the same advantage-grabbing stunts that Daughtry did. Cook emerged from the franchise’s most talented season primed to be the first contestant who can hold his own with his Idols.

Listening to Alight of Night is like lying on the beach listening to sun-drenched pop music — except it’s nighttime and raining and the sound in your headphones is fuzzy. You probably aren’t very happy, and neither are Crystal Stilts. However, the album’s jangly guitars and ever-present tambourine would have you believe otherwise, if it weren’t for the haunting echoes and previously mentioned hazy quality to their sound.

Any band that attempts to be part rock, part punk and part indie takes the risk of being seen as a sad mishmash of random sounds. The Kaiser Chiefs manage to generally avoid this pigeon-hole with their new album, Off With Their Heads. The most notable aspect of the album, in fact, is its unpredictability. Some tracks, such as “Remember You’re a Girl” and “Tomato in the Rain” are the mellow, perfect-for-listening-to-while-doing-homework type. Others, like “Can’t Say What I Mean” and “Half the Truth,” make you want to blast the volume and start brushing up on your head banging skills.

Following in the indie tradition of bands like MGMT and Milosh, Portland natives Starfucker combine plunky Casio riffs with slow, barely varied backbeats on their new self-titled album. Though the baseline may be monotonous and traditional song structure nonexistent, there’s something soothing about the constant repetition; combined with the breathy, incomprehensible vocals, it lulls the listener into a kind of synthetic pleasure-coma. The album does have its clever moments: the opening song, “Florida,” ends with a clip of what sounds like Hugh Laurie inquiring about metric measurements, and the clap-beats on “Mike Ptyson” will stick in one’s head for hours.

Susan Tedeschi can do the blues. And not just for a white chick. She can actually do the blues. In her newest album, Back to the River, the forceful opening track, “Talking About,” immediately pulls you into the music and not until the end does Susan give you a chance to turn her off. From the melodic “700 Houses” to the jazzy and soulful “Learning the Hard Way,” Tedeschi succeeds all the way through. She mixes and experiments with different beats, a testament to the different people with whom she co-wrote several of the tracks (including husband Derek Trucks), and never fails to give stellar vocals.

If you were anything like me during last season’s American Idol, you wanted to violently vomit every time runner-up David Archuleta opened his mouth. His endlessly flowing earnestness and gosh-darn-it shtick eclipsed his tremendous vocal abilities on the show, as little David always seemed far older than his 17 years. And yet, it is this maturity level from Archuleta that makes his eponymous debut shockingly engaging. Even if it is undoubtedly the squarest record ever to come out of the Idol machine — Archie is about as hip and cool as Clay Aiken is straight — David Archuleta is an annoying indelible listen, full of swelling poppy choruses that become engrained into your subconscious.

As someone who doesn’t really care for quiet, slow music, my first inclination was to hate (and then delete) Lost Wisdom, the emotionally-charged latest album by Phil Elverum under the band name Mount Eerie (previously The Microphones). The album is a collaboration between Elverum and Canadian singer-songwriter Julie Doiron, who make a unique pair as they alternate singing vocals on each track set against the soft acoustics of guitarist Fred Squire.

The first and longest track, “Lost Wisdom,” sets the tone of the album: slow, somber and quiet. The brightest — if any of the tracks can be described as such — is “You Swan, Go On.” The album is brief, with a total playtime of less than 25 minutes and ten tracks, but its impact is still strong.

Much like on their previous albums, the songs on Snow Patrol’s A Hundred Million Suns use minimalist rhythm guitar and piano solos to create a sense of visceral intimacy with the listener. With track titles like “If There’s a Rocket Tie Me To It,”and “Please Just Take These Photos From My Hands,” it feels as if lead vocalist Gary Lightbody is pleading with the listener directly, relying on the simplistic beauty of the swelling choruses to defeat any implication of “emo” in his occasionally overblown lyrics.

Atlanta based quintuplet Deerhunter release their third album, Microcastle, into an already overflowing indie / ambient rock scene. Announcing their third album so quickly after their second seemed courageous, but the results are less than thrilling.

The swirling guitar, bass-heavy rhythm and minimalist drumming of the single “Never Stops” characterize the new indie-pop sound the band is going for on their newest release. The record has a respectable 12 songs, but maintains the same slow, stunted pace throughout and never really picks up. Vocalist Bradford Cox, while personally expressive, merely finds a phrase he likes and sticks with it to the bitter end. “Cavalry Scars,” “Agoraphobia,” title track “Microcastle” and most of the album are lyrically uninspired.