Musically, Midnite Vultures is filled with wonderful little quirks, but these are undercut by the sneaking suspicion that for all the ingenuity, it's just a hipster joke.

Ambivalent and unexceptional.

As promising as it is inconsistent, Hocus Pocus may not be Enon's strongest album, but it's still a fairly interesting one.

Alternately sparse and lush, Red Dirt Girl can be seen as a companion piece to 1995's Wrecking Ball... The diverse production only adds to Harris' earthy songwriting, adding interest to what could otherwise be lulls during the more subdued songs, and really showcases the understated lyrics that the singer has slowly become recognized for.

At this point they have worked through their formative stage, and prove themselves capable of delivering a solid album with diverse songwriting and a consistent style. And even if that style sounds derivative and summons the inevitable Dischord comparisons, it's impressive nonetheless.

Though it's not quite as immediate as their excellent debut album, You've Seen Us...You Must've Seen Us, KaitO U.K.'s band red delivers more tightly coiled post-punk-pop with shouty vocals and elastic guitars, and also delves deeper into the group's experimental side.

At times, the intense-yet-underdeveloped feel of Lay of the Land makes it a claustrophobic experience, but its quieter moments, such as "No Questions" and the angular finale "Fog," still throw off sparks while allowing a little more breathing room.

Another collection of typical speed punk tunes, virtually indistinguishable from the work of Green Day and Blink-182, not to mention dozens of other similar bands.

Whereas the first solo effort was somewhat lo-fi and reminiscent of Lou Barlow, Golden D, which is named after the musical chord, focuses on rock -- the hard and fast variety -- and suggests Sonic Youth and Sex Pistols.

Perfectly, almost aggressively pleasant.

It's All Around You soon becomes just another Tortoise record, so close to previous records in composition and execution that it's virtually deja vu for any listeners who know the band well.

Too often, Airs Above Your Station feels scattered and fades into the background too easily.

Compared to Chris Martin's solo work as Ampbuzz, Herzog's efforts can certainly be more forceful and less meditative, though often only by a matter of degrees.

Sure, it's more interesting than the still-born, awkward second Black Grape album Stupid, Stupid, Stupid, largely thanks to its intricate, layered production, but the end result is calculated without reaping the rewards of its precision.

That isn't to say that The Curse of Blondie is a classic Blondie disc, but it's the first good one since at least Autoamerican, and features one of their best-ever singles in "Good Boys."

An interesting album, spooky in spots, but other than the terrific "Slow and Steady," this one's a curiosity.

Even if the sound they pursue here is just a detour, its seamless and creative fusion of rock and electronic idioms deserves respect.

Amounts to little more than the sum of its inspirations and coy references.

Built From Scratch is a sharp ode to old school hip-hop that focuses on the roll of the turntable rather than the vocals of an MC.

The Datsuns re-create the sound of a beer- and weed-fueled Saturday night in 1973, borrowing and blending the revving guitar riffs and choked, macho vocals of Thin Lizzy, Bad Company, .38 Special, and on occasion, the hornier side of Led Zeppelin.

As before, Ginuwine rises above most of his dozens of imitators in the contemporary R&B realm, with a set of productions -- from the returning Troy Oliver -- that fit his voice perfectly and rate as slightly edgier than the norm.

The tracks with singing find Broken Spindles moving in one direction, and the purely instrumental pieces find them moving in another, and sometimes the contrast between the two styles just ends up as a clash of sounds.

Some may call that predictable, some may call it reliable, but there's little arguing that Afterglow is a solid effort -- it won't win new fans, but it will certainly satisfy the old ones.

2000 Years is a guitar-ripping dissertation --only it's sealed inside a musical envelope that's addressed to the likes of Adam and Eve.

It's not as cheeky as Pulp and not nearly as abrasive as British Sea Power; however, Clearlake is equally provocative.

What it lacks in discernible hooks, Das Not Compute accounts for with tautness and subcutaneous bad attitude.

New fans will find Sleeping With Ghosts to be a good record. Old fans, though, might think the band wimped out while growing up.

It's partly a party album like 2001's Bulletproof Wallets, but freer, more inspired, and tempered with pure street tracks that were missing last time round.

As on the first, the Bragg-written and sung music is the most convincing, since he captures the cadences and spirit of Guthrie's music. They sound like classic, weathered folk songs whereas Wilco's numbers are modern inventions, splicing music that is clearly theirs with Guthrie's words.

Ikara Colt creates an edgy, electronic/punk-inspired sound with Chat and Business, and the end result is impressively slick.

The intensity and energy get a little too repetitive toward the end of the album, but the returns aren't as diminishing as they have been on the Catheters' previous work.

Just a shade less stunning than his last full-length, Emotional Technology at least establishes him as one of the better album constructors in the singles-driven world of dance.

Not quite the big comeback DMX needed at this point in his quietly sagging rap career, Grand Champ regardless has its share of highlights.

The artifice outweighs the substance throughout Rock n Roll.

Few bands can get away with being in a holding pattern like Tindersticks.

Bloodflowers boasts all of the Cure's signatures: stately tempos, languid melodies, spacious arrangements, cavernous echoes, morose lyrics, keening vocals, long running times. If you want something transcendent, you're out of luck, since the album falls short of the mark, largely because it sounds too self-conscious.

Despite a bloated track listing and a mostly overblown concept, though, Trinity (Past, Present and Future) is an excellent statement from one of the most mature groups in the rap underground.

A smashing success that avoids sounding too retro, as Geller's beats sound readymade for roller discos and bedrooms alike.

Sticking close to the synth pop influenced material of their debut, the album sports noticeably higher fidelity, catchier tunes, and an improved illustration of Dykes' vocals.

Full Moon is perched perfectly between the interesting and the mundane and is in equal parts either.

No matter the players, Alive to Every Smile is so patently a Bob Wratten album that, honestly, it sounds a little tired.

This is music to listen to when you're either very depressed, in order to feel the camraderie, or when you're very happy, in order to mellow out.

Returning to the green fields of pure sound study they'd appeared to desert during the late '90s, Pan sonic forged a series of intriguing sketches devoted to the polar wastes inside their computers and sequencers.

The songs have about as much personality as Ashanti's voice, but that actually is a point in its favor, since it keeps everything on an even keel and makes Gotti and Santana's stylish production the star.

It's a decent second album and longtime Verve enthusiasts should leave it at that.

Everything to Everyone is probably Barenaked Ladies' most honest album -- always touching, but serious and completely open for the first time in their 15-year career.

A decent but not spectacular album that, not for the first time, finds DiFranco on her way to somewhere else.

It would be a good standard-issue Whitney album if it wasn't for her disarming, defensive attempt to defuse every rumor hurled in her direction.

Some of this works quite well, some of it is kind of juvenile, much of it is only slightly recognizable from the original, it's too long and compared to contemporary arty rock, it really isn't that arty.

Bianchi may be as gloomy as ever, but after moving from California to Texas and from Tiger Style to Mush Records, Her Space Holiday maintains its lush IDM-powered indie pop.

With Rule 3:36, Ja Rule takes a step forward from his impressive debut album, spending less time trying to act hard, and focusing more effort on crafting a diverse album.

The band's organ and raspy vocals give Red Bedroom a jolt of early punk, which, combined with an adept sense of rock ‘n' roll, has signs that the Fever has been spending equal time listening to proto-punk and garage rock bands of the ‘60s.

A complex and rewarding exploration of the many musical and lyrical themes that tie contemporary reggae and hip-hop together.

It's an old-fashioned record, feeling as if it was nearly 30 years old, even when it's informed by relatively recent funk, rock and jam bands.

Chilltown won't be thought of as a classic down the line, but it hardly weakens the MC/producer's reputation.

Amazing Grace is far from a bad album, but it's not an especially compelling one, either.

Amnesiac plays like a streamlined version of Kid A, complete with blatant electronica moves and production that sacrifices songs for atmosphere.

Ultimately, the record runs too long, losing steam halfway through.... Fortunately, Jackson was clever enough to front-load this record, loading the first seven songs with really good, edgy dance numbers.

Compiling the best tracks from each of their previous releases to make one solid EP would've been a better introduction to the band than The Printz is.

With only a few exceptions though, Since We Last Spoke makes the moody Dead Ringer sound like a piece of flag-waving exuberance; instead of the occasional uptempo track, it's brooding and mellow throughout the record -- very nearly a rap singer/songwriter record.

Without a deft rap to go over these tracks, many of them merely drift over the listener.

As both a high-class artifact and a gift to a loyal fan base, Machina II is a welcome winner.

If you're looking for a wild blues party, Voice of Treason isn't quite it, but if you want to hear musicians who can respect their influences while kicking it out, then the Soledad Brothers are right down your alley.

It is sort of a bad sign that a band's debut is plagued by filler.

Bicycles & Tricycles is a bit of a letdown, especially after a three-year absence.

No matter whose music he was reformulating, however, Orbit worked gently, creating an album that, if it technically belonged beside Wendy Carlos' Switched-On Bach, actually was more reminiscent of Brian Eno's Discreet Music.

If there is a fault to this album, it is that it is too smooth; while the listener is surfing these waves of happiness and cushiony pop, an occasional desire for edges and bones surfaces.

As a singer, she remains pleasant and confident, but not so unique or fiery that she burns into the synapses as well as the best storytelling songwriters do.

Andy Barlow's productions have been defanged; no longer surprising and innovative, they exist as merely proper frameworks for the songs.

The album's quirky appeal is reflective of Rooney's self-assuredness as musicians.

So, even if it's wrapped in new clothing, this is essentially a return to basics, and it's a welcome one, since it's melodic, stately, and somber.

For those of you that like to dress in long trench coats, leave trails of incense, hang out at Borders, sip down inflated decaf mocha javas, and quietly (but not too quietly) discuss the contradictory, post-modern feminist and Marxist attitudes in last week's Buffy episode while keeping an eye out for all those moody sorts perusing the tattoo section -- Poem will sound amazing. For the rest, it's a ponderous machine of put-upon tribal chants and cod-industrial loops that runs on empty from start to finish.

The record is rather safe, lacking an adventurousness that is only touched upon and possibly kept under wraps for the sake of not seeming like too much of a departure.

This is an average album by a promising band who needs to find a distinct identity.

Vapor Trails does an amiable job of signaling the welcomed return of Rush.

It's actually a fair album for two main reasons: the new lead single, "Slow Jamz," and the killer guest productions of Kanye West.

No matter the number of bright moments, you can't help but feel that Jadakiss has his best days ahead of him.

There's an excessive attention to detail to each song, and that tunnel vision means each song runs about a minute or two longer than it should.... That's unfortunate because the core of the album is quite good.

The Starlight Mints weren't excessively ambitious in the studio and the coolness of Built on Squares makes for a pleasant listen while capturing a band in the making.

The Offspring's most musically mature collection to date. The arrangements are tight and don't bore, which is sometimes the case with albums that feature similar-sounding songs.

It's All in Your Head doesn't have the punch that Eve 6's previous albums possessed.

It's hard not to wish that the songs stuck in your head the way they used to, even if it's still enjoyable as a whole.

It's hard to shake the feeling that the National is highly influenced by and studied in the bands it emulates, but the album is still worth a listen for fans of moody country-tinged lounge music.

You Can Feel Me is a genuinely funky, finely produced album that often bypasses white b-boy cheekiness.

Outside of the Bacharach album, it's his best in a long time. But in order to know that, you will have to have dilligently listened to everything from Spike on -- and if you got off the bus around then, it's harder than ever to get back on.

The album doesn't have the detail of character that made Michelle Branch so appealing the first time out.

Still dour and humorless, but pruned of its experimental tendencies, Ministry delivered its first solid record in a decade.

A genuine disappointment after the creative comeback of Stereo.

Boomkatalog.One is a clever marriage of technology, creativity, and straight-up sass that gets away with being much more enjoyable than it might deserve.

Despite some tedious melodramatics, Fall Back Open is a decent sophomore effort.

Few will ever refer to this as a classic, though even fewer will ever think of this as a poor showing.

She may be older now, but she still sounds like a little girl, which undercuts both the glistening, sensual midtempo grooves that dominate the album and the big, booming uptempo cuts that offer a change of pace.

Ultimately too derivative to fully enjoy.

There's nothing wrong with a change of pace, but there's a startling lack of depth in either the words, which are entirely too literal, or the music, whose hooks are at once too obvious and not ingratiating enough.

The problem is that the songwriting has gotten a little mannered, a little undistinguished, and the performances, while sturdy, tend to be slightly flat.

This willfully noisy, messy album is ultimately just as contrived as the band's glossier sound was, and the shift from The Guest's winsome pop -- which was also a shift from their debut's heavily Weezer-influenced sound -- makes it difficult to get a grip on the band.

Uneven, especially compared to their earlier records, and less ambitious than the "bring it on" misinterpretation of the title might make you think.

Its quietness and moodiness make Summer Make Good Múm's most demanding album, but also, fortunately, a rewarding one too.