The Donnas, 'Bitchin'' (Purple Feather)

Plucky hard-rock gals go independent, but lose plot.

Bitchin' is the Donnas' first album since exiting the major-label system that subtracted any irony from their sexed-up rock-chick spectacle. So you'd expect the new stuff to sound empowered and celebratory. Instead, the Donnas have never seemed less enthused; none of these 14 tracks contains a melody as catchy or a beat as pumping as those on Spend the Night or Gold Medal.

HIM, 'Venus Doom' (Sire)

Lavishly wallowing in misery - it's the French way!

HIM have superfan Bam Margera to thank for their early exposure, but it's frontman Ville Valo - a Byronic goth-metal pinup - who makes these Finns potentially iconic.

High on Fire, 'Death Is This Communion' (Relapse)

Stoner metal with just a hint of acid seasoning.

High on Fire's early albums were bowel-loosening slabs of post–Black Sabbath metal, but with 2005's Blessed Black Wings, the trio embraced their inner Motörhead, upping the velocity to match their volume.

Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings, '100 Days 100 Nights' (Daptone)

The full-figured antidote to emaciated "Rehab" dolls.

It's wonderfully quixotic that the indie set -- not normally known for soulful exultation or, indeed, much more than mannered, fidgety whiteness -- has embraced 51-year-old belter Sharon Jones, whose songs sound old and new, wiggly and sensual, raw and cooked.

PJ Harvey, 'White Chalk' (Island)

Rock's chameleonic queenie visits a deathly quiet place.

In 1973 Michael Lesy published Wisconsin Death Trip, an intoxicating collection of images shot by Charles Van Schaick -- the town photographer of Black River Falls, Wisconsin -- around the turn of the last century. Framed by news items illuminating the pictures, the volume is a grim history of madness, murder, suicide, smallpox, poverty, and babies in coffins.

Bettye LaVette, 'The Scene of the Crime' (Anti-)

Detroit soul queen flirts with banality, recovers.

The indie Tina Turner follows up her tightly wound 2005 comeback, I've Got My Own Hell to Raise, in the company of Drive-By Truckers and Muscle Shoals vets, whose mannered blues shuffles unfortunately sound like they're backing a beer commercial.

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