Panda Park is uplifting, mesmerizing, glittery, and unapologetically psychedelic while sounding rooted in both '70s prog and skewed latter-day punk rock.

By not just defying but denying the expectations about what their music should be like, the Liars have created one of the most fascinating, confrontational albums of the 2000s.

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

Like Springsteen, Phillips centers his songwriting in a kind of mythic America, an approach he used as well in his former band, Grant Lee Buffalo. But it is an approach that works only if the songs and the characters in them are believable, and Phillips' carefully considered, ornate lyrics often work against that believability.

Like Aretha Franklin, Linda Jones, and Otis Redding, Staton's voice is the sound of emotion being ripped from the human heart and offered, bleeding and broken, pleading and yearning, to the listener.

Like the best Indigo Girls work has, All That We Let In continually dwells on the dynamic of internal, emotional tumult and outward-looking, world-wondering fervor.

While Trans Am's need to express their political views and their cliché-busting approach are both admirable, unfortunately their ways of expressing their dissent aren't all that inspired.

She's in Control is dirty late-night fun simply because it has fun.

Like an ambitious version of the Scud Mountain Boys, they manage to appear out of nowhere in your living room, play an intimate set, and invoke every ghost from a 20-mile radius through your front door before leaving as quickly as they came.

The glimmers of vitality lurking around the edges of the album tend to make it all the more frustrating -- just a few more distinctive songs would've gone a long way towards making this a really solid album instead of just an intermittently entertaining one.

Much like the musical equivalent of Todd Solondz or Harmony Korine, Xiu Xiu set out to disturb their audience in pursuit of higher artistic goals.

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

Aw C'mon is lovely, compelling, mysterious, and confounding.

These two discs would have made for a fine double album, and if Lambchop have chosen to regard them as two separate entities, that just means they've released two of the finest albums of 2004 instead of just one.

A soft and amiable album that frames Jones' "soft-focus Aretha Franklin" voice with a group of songs that are as classy as they are quiet.

Get Away From Me is an exciting debut that could become a cult favorite among pissed-off girl-women of McKay's age; if she can focus her creative energy without sacrificing any of the bite of her debut, she'll become an even more impressive talent.

Despite Lucky's glossy, easily digestible tendencies, it still burns bright with the usual Etheridge fervor.

As rewarding as it is unpredictable.

May well be the best album of her career.

She winds up with a processed, affected record halfway between Live Through This and Pat Benatar or possibly Billy Squier.

Prior to this album, we were more than aware that West's stature as a producer was undeniable; now we know that he's also a remarkably versatile lyricist and a valuable MC.

Far more interesting than any of their other records, or their peers'.

A tremendous return to form.

Hypnotic Underworld is a new high-water mark from one of rock's most interesting bands.

But even though the group perfectly defines the way that so many British art-school bands have sounded since the late '70s, in Electrelane's hands it still seems fresh.

Bows + Arrows may not be a drastic change from Everyone Who Pretended to Like Me Is Gone, but their music, built on loud guitars and organs and strange reflections and remembrances, is so unique that drastic change isn't necessary, and simply having more of it around is more than enough.

It may not be country, but that doesn't matter; When the Sun Goes Down is winning, sturdy mainstream pop.

If judged merely on a sonic level it's one of the more interesting, detailed adult alternative records of recent years. But that pompous narcissism is his Achilles' heel, the thing that keeps wary listeners at bay.

Each of these compositions reveals not only an imaginative use of trace musical elements, but also a maturing sense of how to arrange them.

Often sounds virtually identical to a generic dance record circa 1992.

They have smarts and energy to burn as well as a bunch of songs that are right up there with anything Interpol, the Rapture, or Hot Hot Heat have done.

Listeners who expect a batch of immediately compelling music from any Herren material will be sorely disappointed here; Apropa't pulls way back from his upfront Prefuse work and delivers a record of music so sparsely textured it barely raises off the surface.

Fortunately, Air learned from their mistakes -- or, at least, their limitations -- leading up to the recording of third album Talkie Walkie, and the happy result is a solid middle ground between both of their previous records.

Where Director's Cut was a variation of different '70s film themes, Delirium Cordia is a score to Patton's own horror imagination.

It, admittedly, may be a bit too much for someone who isn't quite a big devotee of the band, but it's a veritable godsend for those who've been waiting for this for years.

More so than ever, Elbow's greatest asset is that the band is capable of making big sounds without being bombastic or flashy.... The only setback? Gospel choirs.

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

It's this mixing of old and new dynamics that makes Nightfreak and the Sons of Becker such a compelling listen.

The sound is huge and intimate all at once; the songs have hooks and staying power.

These are authentic punk anthems, played by a band who actually knows how to play their instruments now.

A pretty good modern rock record that will make Weezer fans happy.

Califone takes familiar elements and often combines them in unfamiliar ways without sounding unfamiliar or ever losing sight of the song.

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

A necessary addition to the collection of Belle & Sebastian fans, indie pop fans, and music lovers.

Startling, tirelessly powerful, and full of unlimited dimensions.

An album that breaks little new ground, but further entrenches the Method as America's finest producers of dance music made for rock & roll people.

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.

Unfortunately, the orchestral work for the film is hastily assembled as if it were an afterthought.

Despite all the new assistance, Tasty is formatted much like Kaleidoscope and Wanderland, constantly swinging back and forth between bouncy pop and laid-back (not throwback) soul.

Crams every last piece of the Offspring puzzle -- slickly produced rock racket, hints of anti-establishment rabble-rousing, and reams of relationship and strip mall culture gaggery -- into its brief half-hour run time.

With Atlas, Latin rock quintet Kinky move closer to actual rock than the electronic pop of their 2001 debut allowed.

Those expecting another album where Keys sounds wise beyond her years will bound to be disappointed by The Diary of Alicia Keys, since her writing reveals her age in a way it never did on the debut.

Although she remains by far the most interesting figure in hip-hop, This Is Not a Test! has more filler than Elliott's allowed on a record since 1999's Da Real World.

They skated by the first time through, due to a couple of fluke catchy songs, but they have no hooks or full-fledged songs this time around, and suffer dramatically because of it.

While there are some interesting musical moments on Folklore -- enough to make it worth a listen -- the dogged seriousness and didactic worldview become a bit overbearing not long before the album is a quarter of the way finished, particularly since the fusion of worldbeat and adult alternative pop often seems heavy-handed.

Because of the emphasis on brevity and variety (and especially quality), the album's over before you know it and you're left feeling hungry for more Korn.

A well-made, funky, fun record that proves two things -- the Hi sound lives and Al Green still has it.

If Once in a Lifetime does run out of steam toward the end, it has to be said that it doesn't outstay its welcome, and apart from a track or two at the very end, this is a compelling, entertaining listen from start to finish.

An unexpected and welcome maturation.

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.

Though it is still faithful to much of the feel of Let It Be, the presentation of Naked, including the slight bits of modern-day editing, reveals that it is revisionist history, not the final word. Which doesn't hurt it as a record -- these are great songs, after all -- but it is a bit disappointing that this long-awaited project wasn't executed with a little more care and respect for the historical record.

Beg for Mercy doesn't measure up to Get Rich or Die Tryin', but then, how many rap albums do?

Impresses on the same level as the best of his career.

Song for song, this is better-written and harder-rocking than Cocky.

While Pink's peers take incremental, cautious artistic steps forward, she's slyly fearless, choosing the right collaborators that help her create pop music that has both style and substance to spare.

Nearly all of this territory has already been plotted with more detail and flair on Handley and Turner's first three records.

It's pointedly brief (the entire album occurs in under 27 minutes), but Merritt showers each moment of April with ridiculously perfect raindrops.

The Dirtbombs are a rock & roll band pure and simple, and if you like pure and simple rock & roll with a dash of soul, you will flip over Dangerous Magical Noise.

If Love Is Hell, Pt. 1 has the edge over Rock n Roll, it's because it's more carefully considered in its production and writing, and he manages to hide his allusions better than he does on Rock, where every title and chord progression plays like an homage.

As with most records, there's a bit of filler that could be trimmed to make a great record into a phenomenal one, but it's easy to forgive when the quality is so high.

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.

The bottom line here is that Kozelek's aesthetic with Sun Kil Moon may not be radically different than his RHP project, but it is moving, graceful, and consciously beautiful.

The artifice outweighs the substance throughout Rock n Roll.

Skull Ring doesn't always capture Iggy at his best as a lyricist, but here what he says isn't half as important as how he says it, and he hasn't sounded this right -- and had music this potent backing him up -- in a decade.

There are only two quality songs, a lot of redundant trash-talking, and an overall sense of ridiculousness that pervades.

Explosions in the Sky doesn't shift as suddenly or jarringly on Earth Is Not a Cold Dead Place; the quartet has applied more structural predictability this time out, but is still quick about setting the sad butterflies in your stomach to fluttering.

At times a beautifully rendered album with surprisingly solid songwriting; it's an unashamedly nostalgic musical postcard from the American West Coast.

Keith is happy to be a dirty old SOB, cracking jokes, drinking beer, and flirting with the ladies, and that makes Shock'n Y'All a fun, rough, rowdy album that wins you over despite your better impulses.

In many ways, the Cambridge, MA, trio is like a Toad the Wet Sprocket for the 21st century.

More quintessentially "metal" in his approach -- think Metallica -- and more of a conscientious technician than Marcos, Truby unfortunately lacks some of the unexpected spark that Marcos brought to P.O.D.

The Instinct is both adventurous and accomplished and ambitious enough to suggest that this band is going to continue to push the limits one album after another.

This compressed feel, the precision of the band's playing and arrangements, and the way every song comes to an abrupt stop sometimes make the album sound too closed-off.

Nearly all of Wig in a Box is both unique and successful.

Given the right frame of mind, Closer has the potential to be the most powerful Plastikman album -- an alternatingly cathartic and mind-wrenching place to lose yourself in.

In short, if you've been waiting for Yo La Tengo to rediscover the amps they used on "Mushroom Cloud of Hiss" or "Attack on Love," well, this isn't quite your dream disc but it's a step in the right direction.

For simple gut-level satisfaction it's more engaging than the bulk of his post-Replacements catalog, though anyone expecting a masterpiece will be in for an unpleasant awakening.

Kish Kash may be the best dance record of 2003, but it's the least imaginative LP the duo have ever released.

Laika's typically airy atmosphere sounds more sterilized this time around.

While Coverage isn't always successful, it is always admirable and likeable, and certainly puts Moore on the right path for an interesting, successful career.

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

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.

Partly glamorous and fully imaginative.

A genuine disappointment after the creative comeback of Stereo.

This is one of the best rock & roll albums of 2003, and truly the finest, most cohesive work he did after London Calling.

Strangely lovable and lovably strange, sort of like a lo-fi version of the Flaming Lips.

These flashes of greatness don't quite add up to what could have been, but the album as a whole is still quite exceptional.

Chutes Too Narrow's breezy subtlety is less accessible than the Shins' debut, but that doesn't mean the album lacks great songs.

Coral Fang has its fair share of flaws, but it's impassioned enough to have plenty of bite despite them.