It's a partially successful successor to "Yeah!," following through on some of the overall feel and punch but lacking enough songs to truly bring it across the goal line.

To a large extent, the music on Shine a Light confirms this to be true, proving that the band retains a remarkable alchemy that has deepened over the years.

Arm's Way is the sound of a band forgetting what made them fun and highly listenable and instead grasping for a grand statement that is far beyond their reach.

Despite the occasional misstep, Scream shows that the bandmembers are ready and able to embrace their growing abilities.

The problem is, because the songs are so dense, and the lyrics nearly unintelligible, it becomes difficult to differentiate Exiting Arm from the band's other work, and because of that, makes the album a bit of a disappointment.

So it has the form and feel, but the devil is in the details, the songs that never quite hook and sometimes serve up some patently absurd moments, usually in the form of her overheated lyrics.

After a while the tracks all begin to sound the same, disco beat with Seal style R&B vocals, no bad thing but nothing much original and nothing to come close to the single 'Black And Gold.'

Despite all the weight, those songs still have a way of seeming as easy and carefree as the moments when N.E.R.D. are simply bashing away (sometimes over agitated drum'n'bass), blowing off steam, and talking ridiculous nonsense. Whether taken as a diversion of throwaway fun or a deeper (or peculiar) look into what makes these men tick, the album succeeds.

Bottom line, this is neither a great nor a poor Ashanti album. It's decent, just like the rest of them.

It's almost impossible to dislike Swimming's pastel beauty, but it's nearly as difficult to work up much enthusiasm about it.

Consistency isn't Pants' strong point, and the latter half of the CD falters with a spattering of sparse instrumentals that feel more like skeletal after-thoughts than fully developed creations. At the grandest moments, Pants accomplishes his mission of re-creating the dance-happy fun funk of Chromeo and Cameo, and the cardboard-spinning electro boogie of Arabian Prince and Egyptian Lover.

The more mature and considered approach the band utilizes on Real Close Ones might make for a deeper, more adult sound, but it's hard not to miss the careening thrill ride the band delivered on "Future Women."

Stay Positive is the most sophisticated and erudite THS have ever sounded, and that's a mixed blessing.

Motley Crue has been trumpeting their hedonism for so long and so loudly that it's become more of a caricature than a way of life, and while Saints of Los Angeles is the best thing they've laid to tape since their codpiece heydays, it's more of a walk down memory lane/sunset strip than a legitimate call to arms.

As it stands, this one just squeaks by on the power of some very good songs and their typically energetic performances.

While Heloise & the Savoir Faire don't come close to the effortless flair that Blondie had with mixing these styles, Trash, Rats and Microphones still has enough, well, savoir faire to make it worth adding to the mix.

It's not that there aren't any engaging moments here--'Restless' is nicely minor and introspective, and the simplicity of 'Oh Honey' actually works quite well--but there are too many misses in between, enough to mar the good parts of Langhorne Slim, making for a sadly unfulfilling release.

Dirty Pretty Things move their music forward with this album, but they've sacrificed their clarity to achieve that.

Loyal listeners looking for a more "personal" album from the band will have fewer complaints, but the casual fan will miss the more dynamic and vibrant elements of their earlier work.

The utter zeal and conviction with which they play are often breathtaking, even if they don't leave room for much subtlety or humor, and can be more than a little exhausting for listeners who are not as impassioned as ¡Forward, Russia! so clearly are.

Some of ¿Como Te Llama?'s individual songs are stronger than the material on Hammond's debut, but as a whole, it's a shade less engaging than "Yours to Keep"--though it's still enjoyable enough to please most Strokes fans.

As always, that easy touch is Travis' greatest strength, as it gives the best songs authenticity and makes the weaker songs palatable--and as Around the Bend is a fairly strong set of songs, it's easy to enjoy Travis' gentle authority.

Polished instead of rough, thoughtful instead of brash, Donkey isn't an outright failure, but it certainly is an odd and sometimes disappointing move from a band that didn't necessarily need to change its direction.

Between 'I'm Wit It,' 'Girls,' and a couple other standouts, Lessons and Love cannot be dismissed, but Lloyd will have to really change it up with his fourth album to evade a real holding pattern.

It's a familiar mix of music, to be sure, but Fragile Future also sounds more valid than other emo albums, even if its hooks aren't quite as muscular as those on the band's previous disc.

Superhero Brother will probably sound pretty good as background at a party, but there's not a lot of meat on these bones.

An easy recommendation for fan club members and/or serial killers. Everyone else has two or three better Cooper concepts to devour first.

This is an album for Sunday afternoons, for fans of Frank Sinatra and Aaron Copeland, for sophisticates who want music to soothe their minds rather than demand their full attentions.

That Lucky Old Sun rarely approaches the subtleties of the classic Beach Boys sound. What it evokes instead is the driving '70s productions on latter-day Beach Boys albums like "15 Big Ones" and "Love You."

From the confrontational album title to the cuss words, Berg is working to shake the pop tag and turn it hardcore with a baller stance that isn't so much embarrassing as it is uninteresting.

It's pleasant, even comforting, which makes Forth as pure a sequel as possible: it's an album that offers more of the same many years too late, which will be enough for the legions of faithful who have waited to hear all the old characters back together again, yet seems a little pointless for those who no longer remain quite so invested in the band.

Ballads have always been his forte, a convenient vehicle for his quivering sensitivity and accidental melodicism, yet it's still startling how slow The Illusion of Progress unfolds, as Staind rarely muster the energy to move beyond midtempo even when they deign to crank up their amps for anthems of mild alienation or vague inspiration.

Recovery revisits Wainwright's back catalog and finds new meaning in the tunes he wrote as a young man.

Even if it falls a distant third out of the first three, the scattershot Recession is still a welcome and even risky step forward, one carried by its highlights and the newfound awareness that the cocaine grind isn't everything.

When the results are as fun as this album is at its best, it's hard to slam them too much for being derivative; better just to enjoy Friendly Fires as fleeting fun.

Although Strawberry Weed doesn't lodge its melodies into the listener's brain, it still makes a good case for repeated listens.

Gym Class Heroes' Quilt is very, very much of its time: it skates by on the surface, which is appealing for a while, but in large doses it can seem like too much empty style.

These songs aren't knockouts, but they're friendly and comfortable, the kind of sturdy roots-pop that seems like it'd be easy to pull off but must not be, as this delicate balance of conversational melody and guy-next-door appeal has proven elusive to Rucker for over a decade now

More often than not, Loyalty to Loyalty takes a disappointing stumble on it.

As it is, Now or Heaven is good enough but too derivative and uneven to be seen as anything other than a mild disappointment.

Way to Normal may win a few fans back who balked at the newfound sincerity that peppered his last two or three records, but a little more nuance and a lot less displaced teen angst would have made it palatable for everybody.

Brightblack Morning Light's intentions and actions are indeed admirable--they're committed advocates of much more than just drug legalization--but Motion to Rejoin struggles mightily to articulate a focus aside from tranquility.

Soft Airplane is a more focused outing; one that rarely travels outside the indie pop realm.

The Glass Passenger might not bare the same pop hooks as "Everything in Transit," but it does stay afloat under the weight of McMahon's past, which bodes well for the songwriter's future work.

Following up the their well-received 2006 effort, "Nice and Nicely Done," Delaware indie rockers Spinto Band deliver more angular, rambunctiously creative pop on 2008's Moonwink.

The band's underlying strength remains Chaplin's ability to turn a melodic phrase with grace and dexterity, which fails to lose its vitality no matter the musical context, but Keane's willingness to take these left-hand turns deserves its own share of accolades.

Upon first listen Little Honey is quite jarring for all of its textural and production shifts and dodges, but in time it settles into the listener as a mixed collection of decent songs that pack some punch, but no jaw-dropping wallops.

Arriving in 2008, Be OK furthers her Norah Jones-gone-pop approach with 11 tracks.

AC/DC still can sound invigorating - and make no mistake they do here, as much as they ever do on a latter-day record - but they just need to tighten up, cut back, crank it up and sound a little rude again.

Down to Earth's title depicts Jem as a grounded musician, but its wide-ranging sound suggests something different, as the singer has yet to find a style that fully suits her capabilities. Fortunately, her search for the perfect genre still yields some enjoyable songs, as shown by this album's handful of standout tracks.

This simple, easygoing mood stretches throughout the recording, which makes for a nice listen, but because a lot of the songs blend together in this pleasant, dreamlike state, they're tough to remember by the record's finish, and they fade quickly from memory, as old dreams tend to do.

Sweaty Magic's fearless experimentation is admirable--and though its songs are far from flawless, there are enough keepers here to make it a fun, summery fling.

Covers winds up feeling a bit like an outdoor concert on a sunny summer Sunday afternoon: something that is wholly relaxing and not in the least surprising.

Though this album shows that Japanese Motors are on to something good, they'd be a lot better if they tried just a little harder.

Although Guest's interpretations work well as an accompaniment piece, it's the return-to-form original (also included here in its entirety) which remains the more essential listen.

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.

Catfish Haven, led by the booming voice and songwriting of frontman George Hunter, seem to have all the right ingredients in place to be something really special, so it's a bit mystifying why this second full-length feels like it comes up just a bit short.

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.

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.

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 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.

If not quite as enjoyable as "Unpredictable," Foxx's ability and personality make it easy to ride out the sags.

It isn't a disaster by any means--well-recorded, enthusiastic sounding songs are always a treat--but it's in the end pleasant, not striking.

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.

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

Grand isn't as majestic as its name suggests, with only a handful of songs moving past the anxious minimalism that permeated the last album. For returning fans, though, Grand provides a familiar brand of punk music for happy people, for lovebirds, for those who wish Mates of State had more swagger and less glockenspiel.

Recorded over a couple years and in various locations, the EP sounds like outtakes from "Emma," but not in a bad way.

A large part of Springsteen's appeal has always been how the E Street Band has sounded as big and open as his heart, but Working on a Dream, like "Magic" before it, has a production that feels tiny and constrained even as it is layered with extraneous details.

The band's ninth album continues the Austin-based ensemble's penchant for offbeat Southern minutia and melodious, after-hours juke joint revelry, but despite boasting production values that rival anything before it, Haymaker! feels less like the blow to the face that its title implies and more like a last quick rummage through the basement before the garage sale starts.

This is pure NPR music, all neo-jazz melodies and martini-lounge flourishes without the sly bite of its predecessor.

Fiction Family is slightly sprawling as a result, having been compiled over a number of years, but the track list takes strength in diversity as it alternates between sprightly duets and slow, Elliott Smith-styled melancholia.

It is stronger all-around than "Supernova," the poor 2001 album that never came out in the States, with the stitches less audible than the average post-humous album. And yet, nothing here comes close to rivaling the best TLC material.

You and I's stranger moments reveal that Cut Off Your Hands have more personality than the album's more tasteful songs suggest.

The Fray's sophomore release picks up where How to Save a Life left off, reprising the same blend of piano-led ballads and midtempo pop/rock that helped establish the band in 2005.

The fact they fit so well says a lot about this music, and while there are moments of genuine beauty and grace, this is a far cry from what these men achieved in their prime.

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.

Despite this barrage of invective, it's strangely reassuring hearing the oft-preprogrammed Hoobastank break free from their constraints.

Bemis and Conley may wield the most power here, but Two Tongues debut is a collaborative effort through and through, with the band taking measures to prove its debt to past traditions and present friends.

Neither horrible nor great, Time of the Assassins is an unassuming album, a working holiday that was probably more enjoyable to make than for anyone besides die-hard Strokes fans to hear.

There's no denying the sheer "angry basement workout/summer garage weightlifting" potential that Wrath's perfectly acceptable 45-minute running time offers, but without a single hook that sticks around long enough to reel in the fish, all you've got is bait.

It's his easy charm that turns Easy Does It into an effective piece of country-pop product.

Howlett is no slouch in the production chair, and the sounds are mostly blinding, but the songs are strictly by-the-books.

Upon first listen, No Line on the Horizon seems as if it would be a classic grower, an album that makes sense with repeated spins, but that repetition only makes the album more elusive, revealing not that U2 went into the studio with a dense, complicated blueprint, but rather, they had no plan at all.

As it is, Come Back can only be considered a noble attempt at something Ferree just didn't have the skills to pull off.

Empire of the Sun's debut offering of electro-pop experiments and dancefloor daydreams is well timed indeed, arriving just as the buzz surrounding MGMT's "Oracular Spectacular" has started to recede.

Apart from two minor issues, the Answer has the right sound and feel on Everyday Demons and that does make them the perfect opener for latter day AC/DC: they work as pleasant appetizer for the main course.

His ability to pump out the music is admirable, now he just needs a filter to sift the crap from the gold. If he hones in on his vision, there's spectacular potential. Until then, we'll have to take the bad with the good or self-compile a "greatest-hits of Wavves 2008/2009" mix tape.

A little less studio craft would have improved The Law of the Playground quite measurably and possibly put it on the same level as Best Party, since the songcraft and performances are nearly equal.

It's as much of a prank as an album, but after over 20 years as one of America's most consistently rewarding indie rock acts, Yo La Tengo are entitled to a bit of fun.

One listen is enough to inform the listener that this is a group of very talented musicians who are quite capable of writing tight pop songs, but don't seem terribly interested--at this point in time anyway--in going that route.

Doom hasn't changed a whit, but by the same token, he sounds like he's repeating himself. Deft diction is one thing he's got in spades, but there aren't many lines here that will get burned into your neurons.

Since the Riverboat Gamblers are regarded as one of the best live acts on the current punk scene, it seems curious that Underneath the Owl follows the strategy of sounding as little like a live performance as possible, and it neuters a band that knows how to get wild in the studio.

Between these two bookends ['Indian Summer and 'Why Do Men Stray'] is the most consistent music DeGraw has yet made--yes, it gets a tad simpy and he could use at least one hook as big as 'I Don't Wanna Be,' but Free manages to flow easily and warmly, something that couldn't quite be said of the blue-eyed soul bluster of his first two albums.

LotusFlow3r is constrained by its guitar-heavy concept, offering great moments instead of great whole songs.

On MPLSound, Prince takes his retro mission seriously enough to offer up a few songs nervy enough to be singles, even if the synthesized thrill of this handful of tunes is undercut by a bunch of slow-burning ballads that do their best to rival 'The Arms of Orion.'

This attempt at old-fashioned star-making might have worked if Bria Valente had a smidgeon of star charisma but she's merely a pleasantly breathy crooner, slipping easily into Prince's shimmering quiet storm production.

The unsurprisingly inconsistent R.O.O.T.S. is hip-hop like Nas never happened, a flash or fodder album owing more to Lady GaGa than to Public Enemy.