At least a third of the album's contents would have to be part of any representative introduction to Hamilton. In fact, this puts a cap on a three-album run as remarkable as any other in 2000s R&B.

With some minor problems, some minor advancement, and some major moments, Da Realist is an overall winner from a rapper who keeps beating the odds.

Fans won't be thrilled doubling up on tracks they already have, but the set is definitely more for them than for those who know little beyond the classics.

Short on new ideas and lacking in cohesion, Soulja Boy Tell Em's second official full-length finds the young upstart trying way too hard to re-create the bazillion selling 'Crank That' and repeatedly coming up short.

Common's here to have a good time, no strings attached, with uneven results.

Human is nothing if not a serious album, not to mention the least enjoyable release in Brandy's catalog. But it could very well be her most useful one.

Here, the pre-recorded sequences of fan favorites "DVNO," "Tthhee Ppaarrttyy," and "D.A.N.C.E." are born again; flipped and redecorated with aggressive house beats to the point that they feel fresh, but they still retain enough familiarity to get fists pumping and mouths singing along.

This wide net says more about Maroon 5's fashion than it does their music--they're sharp and smart enough to know what will get them club play and blog mentions--but it's nice to have a band so big try to tie together these two niches, even if neither the R&B nor the indie rock winds up relating to the happy mainstream hooks of the group's hits.

All this extra material may not carry the same deliberate weight as so much of Brighten the Corners, but it enhances the album considerably, bringing it closer to an album that can stand with Pavement's first three classics.

The bottom line here, of course, is if you are a fan, you'll need this and won't debate its merit one way or another. If you're new to Kozelek, you'll no doubt be wowed by some of this and bored by the rest.

A couple dramatic moments don't quite take full flight, and a handful of tracks are tepid and unmemorable, but OnMyRadio is mostly another set of sturdily constructed laid-back R&B.

As far as guest rappers, old friends like Teddy Riley, Keith Murray, Redman, Havoc, plus an especially on fire KRS-One are here, making this album short on new developments but greatly appealing to those who long for the way it used to be.

If she feels marginally more connected here than she did on "Blackout," it's a Pyrrhic victory, as Circus never feels as sleek or addictive as its predecessor.

Akon sounds more comfortable than expected, and he reduces the lechery in favor of longing ("I wanna make up right now") and awe ("When I see you, I run out of words to say"). At times, the tensionless backdrops don't inspire Akon to do much with his pen.

Emeritus is not the usual, very serious good-bye record, but in so many ways, it's a typical Scarface record. It's just better than usual with the rapper sounding liberated by his decision to move on.

This is unfettered joyful listening, and in its own small way, even profound.

"Hold on Now, Youngster" is still the more magical of the two records, it's the one to play when you want to feel joy, but We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed has more depth and feeling.

There are more twists and turns, more textures, than on any other McCartney album in the last 20 years, and if it's a little messy, so be it: it's better to have Paul letting it all hang out instead of hanging back.

For anyone sifting through a broken relationship and self-letdown, this could all be therapeutic. Otherwise, no matter its commendable fearlessness, the album is a listless, bleary trudge along West's permafrost.

While his previous effort, 2006's "Release Therapy," was much more the thematically tight album and deserved a concept, this loose set of tunes is all-together more entertaining, thanks in no small part to a highly inspired Luda and all the punch lines he lands.

None of this is major but it is enjoyable, worthwhile for the devoted--and it's nice they can get it separately instead of plunking down cash yet again for a deluxe edition.

Happy in Galoshes isn't quite as textured or bright as "12 Bar Blues"--the smaller budget is evident in its muted colors as well as Weiland's sleepy delivery--but it has the same emphasis on churning psychedelia and clomping glam.

If one wants to really hear the gifts that Adkins is endowed with as a vocalist, one that can reach people in the marrow of where they live, toss away the hits and listen to the rest.

Cuomo still doesn't allow himself the freedom to venture in these directions on Weezer's albums, and that's what makes both volumes of Alone quite valuable: they're as eccentric as they are accessible, portraits of a pop hermit letting his mind wander wherever it may take him.

Enjoyment of the Rapture's Tapes necessitates unfamiliarity with the majority of its contents, indifference to acute sequencing and, naturally, deep interest in what the band views as classic and fresh.

The nice thing about Day & Age is that not only is Flowers' voice relatively buried, the Killers are unwittingly comfortable with their ludicrous, outsized pop, which turns the album into terrifically trashy pop. Not the serious rock they yearn to be by any means, but these fashionable threads fit them better anyway.

In the City gets by on hooks and hugeness, like an irony-free Andrew W.K., Timbaland working with Aerosmith, or a jaded version of the Jonas Brothers now willing to drop the F-bomb.

It's a good album, no less and no more.

It's a marvelously intimate performance, unguarded and open-hearted, unique in its delicate touch: it's Neil Young before the myth crystallized, and listening to it anew, it's easy to fall in love with him all over again.

Beyonce's third solo studio album is as concise as 2006's B'day, but it is divided into two discs as a way to emphasize the singer's distinct personalities. It's a gimmick, of course--a flimsy one.

Dark Horse was constructed entirely from the group's standard templates of bleating power ballads and dulled hard rock.

There are melancholic edges, but it's not haunting, it's comforting, reassuring music that's quietly powerful, music that Dido hinted at before but never quite made.

Of course, the songs are amazing, but just as impressively, Stuart Murdoch's vocals are heartbreakingly sincere and soulful, and the band definitively belie their image as shamblers by sounding tight and together.

David Cook [is] remarkably similar to the debut of his AmIdol forefather, DAUGHTRY, but where Chris Daughtry wallows in his stylized amorphous angst, Cook is a friendly puppy dog, eager to please.

What he isn't, however, is an album-oriented artist, and that's clear on Startin' Fires, his fifth studio release. There's a little bit of everything here, and that's part of the problem.

With a winning opener (the familiar but nonetheless brutal "Fish Out of Water") and a handful of other keepers (including "A New Game" and the surprisingly subtle "Never Enough"), fans looking for a repeat of L.D. 50, Beginning of All Things to End, End of All Things to Come, and Lost and Found will be more than pleased, but those looking for actual growth would be better off cleaning out their refrigerators.

Devil Dirt is almost a carbon copy of Broken Seas in every way (except for the decidedly cheap looking album art). This similarity could be problematic and make the album less impressive or desirable; fortunately, the formula is strong and worth revisiting.

Mannered English eccentricity never sounded so deliriously thrilling.

He's come into his own carrying on the tradition of Afro-beat, but putting his own beautiful signature on it as its original heir.

Like a garish version of his label boss Akon, he's a singer/songwriter/producer who doesn't evolve much over this avalanche of releases and guest shots, but Thr33 Ringz proves he's much more aware of his limitations.

So, it delivers exactly what Archuleta promised on the show: something sweet and safe, utterly old-fashioned and forgettable.

Swift's gentle touch is as enduring as her songcraft, and this musical maturity may not quite jibe with her age but it does help make Fearless one of the best mainstream pop albums of 2008.

For its lack of rush-inducing highs and novel sounds, the album is immensely pleasurable, with fleet keyboard vamps and percussive effects that stab and flick ricocheting off pliant, bounding basslines.

Taken together, they position Love Is All as one of the best post-punk revivalist groups, and arguably the equal of their influences. Whether you stand behind that statement or not, A Hundred Things Keep Me Up at Night is as good as indie rock gets in the late 2000s.

Compare 'Here Comes The' with 'Vessels,' a breakup tune that eschews inconsolability for bright key changes and high anthemic vocals, and you get the full spectrum of Walker's songwriting ability, which is as razor-sharp in 2008 as it ever has been.

What makes Soul an overall success isn't just Seal's caressing vocals and obvious knowledge of how to interpret these songs faithfully without drifting away; it's the subtle yet effective production work of 15-time Grammy-winning producer David Foster.

The craft of Our Bright Future is impressive and Chapman's talents are as clearly evident as ever, but unfortunately this album offers precious little in the way of anything fresh or unexpected from this artist.

That's a lot of repetition but whether it's taken in either its single-disc or double-disc deluxe editions, The Sound of the Smiths is the best of these posthumous overviews.

Trying Hartz is a far more inclusive, pure and honest testament to faith than the soulless, over-produced fast food that passes for contemporary gospel in the 21st century.

Lesser producers would ride out these tracks for eight or nine minutes, rather than the six-minute average here; this producer keeps things tight and ever-developing, never straying into formlessness.

In that regard, this self-titled effort is often a tribute rather than a new way forward, but Reinhardt's work is nonetheless very enjoyable, a way to regather these various strands from any number of limiting genre associations and reuse them in a new fashion.

Apart from a couple fumbles, By-the-Numbers turns out to be a successfully executed concept and a very pleasant listen.

Ode isn't quite as strong song-wise as "The Boy" but it makes up for the difference with its deepened palette--again, this palette may not be as rich as some of their peers, but compared to Travis' other work of the past decade, this is richer and livelier as sheer sonics go.

His long-awaited return on The Renaissance is no disappointment, offering more of the same understated, aqueous grooves and fluid rapping that the Abstract Poetic has built his peerless career on.

These ventures into pure '80s shred go a long way to illustrating just how versatile a guitarist Brad Paisley is, and they wind up as accidental autobiography, revealing a side he's previously camouflaged--but now that it's surfaced, it's easy to see why his albums are always among the most adventurous and best country music of this decade.

A laid-back and easy to digest album with no grand statements to absorb or deeper meanings to dig for, it's made up of simple songs recorded simply and sung sweetly.

The repetition hammers home Hinder's stultifying lack of imagination and even that would be excusable if the group had a scintilla of sleaze but like anybody too beholden to their idols, they tread the familiar ground too carefully, winding up as bland by-the-book bad boys.

In its own way, the Wild Beasts' volatile flamboyance is more difficult to embrace than an overtly dissonant experimental band's music, but that's just another way that this group sets itself apart from the rest of the pack--and there's something very liberating about that, even if it's baffling at times.

Galore the band isn't as distinctive as its influences, and many of the album's songs are so polished and streamlined that there's little chance for Dragonette's personality to shine through. However, their more adventurous side surfaces on the album's second half.

An ambitious exercise of restraint, it's a lumbering beast that's minimal but still feels expansive. Epic, even.

Berlin was a work of tremendous ambition that didn't quite live up to its own high standards, and this live recording seems to trade a roughly equal number of new flaws for those of the original album, but this performance sounds like a legitimate attempt by Reed to revisit his past without being shackled to it, and on that level it's a brave and compelling experiment that (often) works.

Beautiful, thoughtful, and sad on a grand scale, Fordlandia is nearly as ambitious as the stories it tells, but unlike its source material, it's another success for Jóhannsson.

Silence Is Wild is a solid step forward for Frida Hyvönen and a record to check out if you like singer/songwriters with a unique approach to be singing and songwriting.

Surfing definitely won't end up on many end-of-year lists, but it's easygoing where "Smokey Rolls Down Thunder Canyon" was often self-serious, and overall a pleasant diversion for Banhart fans.

Adamson's heady blend of Odelay-era Beck, Roky Erickson paranoia, cosmic hip-hop, and general Animal Collective weirdness sounds like a train wreck in print, but his knack for odd melodies, stealthy programming, timely pitch-shifting, and macabre (and occasionally hysterical) subject matter helps to keep things consistently interesting throughout Ropechain's easily digestible 45-minute runtime.

Fans of esoteric underground rap should take notice. Worth investigating.

Season of Poison is bound to please fans of goth metal and electro-laced rock, and the gorgeous 'Frozen Oceans' appealingly finishes the album with lush balladry. Even so, this seems like a slight stumble after "We Are Pilots'" strong start, although Shiny Toy Guns have yet to lose their momentum.

At times, Intimacy feels rushed and predictable, and at others, it's almost painfully ambitious.

Certainly, it's not the embarrassment of the live album, but it has its own internal logic that keeps it humming along, and that's good enough for a listen and to get the band out on tour again, even it's not good enough for a second spin.

This is easily some of the Kaisers' finest--and most consistent-- music.

Fans of the goofy rock send-ups Hughes and Homme did on "Peace Love Death Metal" and "Death by Sexy" might think the pair are taking themselves too seriously here, but they add just enough maturity to the mix to make Heart On a consistently great album.

Despite the preponderance of sprightly tempos and sing-song hooks, nothing about 4:13 Dream feels especially light, perhaps because Robert Smith chooses to pair these purported pop songs with a heavy dose of affected angst.

The album wholly warrants Snow Patrol's fame, presenting a band that aspires to pop/rock grandeur without developing the accompanying ego. As a result, this is the group's best work yet.

Funhouse is a ride, empowered by her post-divorce freedom. In a way, that does make Funhouse unique among divorce albums, as it's the first to concentrate on liberation rather than loss--but if she was going to go in this direction, Pink may have been better off not pretending that she's bothered by the breakup.

Microcastle proves that Deerhunter can make music that sounds very different from what they'd done before, yet still feels of a piece with their body of work.

The playing is tighter and more polished, but they haven't lost any of their manic energy, and in fact this outing is, if anything, even more energetic than "Head Home."

Easily the least accomplished of his albums, Evolver is nonetheless a refreshing change of sorts, for all its faults, at least as far as missteps are concerned.

These are modest pleasures but these days Ryan Adams is all about careful measured craft instead of big statements, a trade-off that makes his albums more predictable but also more satisfying as Cardinology quietly proves.

Fueled by heavy dance tracks and popping electronic beats, The Fame, the first album by the glamorous Lady Gaga, is a well-crafted sampling of feisty anti-pop in high quality.

Still sounding like no other artist on the planet--whether because of talent or intent--Squarepusher succeeds again with a radical, challenging piece of music.

What pushes these songs past mere worship involves cunning collisions of robust rhythm, caressing noise, and heavenly melody, with each element equally crucial. Good shoegaze/dream-pop bands mastered one of them; the most exceptional of the heap, like this group, had all three down.

They give the old noise pop formula enough of a kick to make this a very worthwhile addition to any noise pop fan's collection.

This is one of the finest chapters yet in Audika's continuing retrospective. Let's hope there is still more where this came from.

The obsession Cradle of Filth have with post-production is the very thing that removes the power from this set and makes it more of a wry--and unintentionally comedic--piece and impossible to take seriously.

No filler and a logical running order makes Tronic an instantly satisfying effort, an album to return to, and maybe the best entry point to a discography already filled with vital material.

Whether or not you can get with Malin's other records is immaterial; this one should be embraced by anyone who loves rock & roll.

Despite its occasional lapses into schmaltz and generic R&B, Heavy Rotation is still a charming and versatile record that has her unmistakable voice and personality stamped all over it.

This is a love-it-or-lump-it album, a polarizing effort that--depending on personal preference--is either irresistibly attractive or laughably, overzealously pretentious.

Their brisk, efficient indie rock hasn't changed radically, but the insertion of an instrumental here and an electronics-heavy track there makes for needed counterpoint.

It's easily their most fully realized project to date and rather than simply a pastiche, they've managed to create something that's completely their own.

by Tony Brown, Call Me Crazy underscores his greatest strength: getting the essence of a vocalist across in a mix; but also his greatest weakness: the seeming inability to leave a musical backdrop until it's cluttered to death.

While the rewards are there, the hooks are few and far between, resulting in the kind of overly personal transitory album that can either lay the seeds for a full-blown masterpiece, or render the garden infertile.

From a musical standpoint, Damn Right, Rebel Proud is every bit as solid as "Straight to Hell;"...But lyrically, too much of the time all Hank has to tell us is he's messed up and ready to rearrange some faces.

More often than not, though, Flashy is lots of cleverly dumb fun.

Hope for the Hopeless works more than it doesn't, and when it really clicks here, which is often enough, Dennen shows himself to be a unique voice and talent.

An open-minded rock record that relies on a wide array of familiar signifiers but never once sounds like it could have been recorded or released any earlier than it was.

Not only are each of the songs on Río unique; they're all impressive, adding up to a complete full-length album experience filled with highlights.

With the music provided by orchestrations from woodwinds, strings, brass, and much more besides, the feeling is one of playfulness, a resistance to and celebration of easily grasped pop forms and a sense that the world is there to be amused at and with.