I, Vampire is essentially a breakup story. Andrew and Mary—he’s a bloodsucker who wants to coexist peacefully with humans; she’s a bloodsucker who wants to fight for her right to consume them.

In Aquaman #1, the decision of having characters throughout the book making fun of Aquaman in the same manner he’s been mocked in real life on television and other media over the past few decades is funny at first, but gets old.

S.C.U.M’s debut LP (and yes, their name is a reference to the infamous Valerie Solanis’ SCUM Manifesto screed) is a magnificent opening salvo, as the London act recalls the fuck-all attitude and melodies of David Bowie and Brian Eno circa their ‘70s glam phase, while nodding to the sonic adventurousness of the reverb heavy U.K. shoegaze scene of the early ‘90s.

Of all the books in DC’s “New 52,” a line-wide soft reboot, All-Star Western #1 came out of the gate swinging hardest for the fences, and managed to connect on all levels. Home run.

John Hiatt has made some of his consistently best albums over the past 10 years, and although Dirty Jeans and Mudslide Hymns is something of a mixed bag, songs such as “Damn This Town” and “All the Way Under” make the album a solid addition to his recent catalog.

I’d like to nominate Elbow’s Guy Garvey as the most charming man in rock. Really. How many artists do you honestly believe when they thank you for coming? When they ask an audience how they’re doing? Or call a stadium full of people “friends?” Chalk it up to waiting ten years to release their first record. Chalk it up to his being the kind of personality that thrives in the spotlight. Or…chalk it up to the fact that Elbow happens to be a band of gentlemen in the truest sense of the word. Your choice.

Similar to last week’s controversial titles, Catwoman and Red Hood and the Outlaws, Voodoo #1 doesn’t soft-pedal its exploration of sexuality.

Carter Hall (aka Hawkman) is a DC character that benefits from his relative anonymity.

At this point, there is no arguing with Miles Davis. One can, however, argue with the legions of posthumous reissues any iconic musician’s material undergoes. Too many times labels simply slap a “re” on the album (reissued/recollected/remastered)—leaving loyal fans to envision the musician peaking down from above, shaking his fist with the indignity of it all. Perhaps that’s why Setlist: The Very Best of Miles Davis Live succeeds with flying colors.