Disappointingly, it's a much slicker but ultimately formulaic affair which appears to tick every current, chart-friendly sound going.

Overall, these songs are a fine reintroduction to a band that has worked hard to emphasize its strengths and come up with new ones.

Try as she may to distract with her strut and style as Skylar Grey, what resonates is the same kind of melodic turn of phrase that was apparent back when she was calling herself Holly Brook.

Perhaps this isn't provocative but it's not meant to be: it's designed to be handsome, satisfying lifestyle rock, and it is.

Such overwhelming softness means The Morning works best as mood music, setting the tone for either a lazy day in bed or a productive day at work, or any number of activities that take place during the hours of breaking dawn.

There's a wan, vaguely Everyman lyricism at work here as well, which makes some of the slower numbers a bit of a chore, but when the band lets it rip, as in the case of top-down, desert road jams like "Hey I Don't Know," "It's a Good Life," and the aforementioned "Come with Me," Lunatic earns the shifty weight of its unhinged moniker.

Though Moonlust is pleasant, it so actively tries to re-create the feel of its inspirations that it is more a distracted reverie than anything else.

At times, the overall veneer is a shade too clean, suggesting nothing so much as cocktail hour at a classy conference, but the fact that Hucknall and Simply Red choose to celebrate the softer, soulful sounds of the '70s by doubling down on the smoothness does separate them from the legions of neo-soul divas in the new millennium.

They've simply absorbed the lessons they've learned and are content to lay back, spinning out trippy harmonies and fuzzy riffs, music where the feel matters far more than individual songs. This also means the band hasn't changed much in 20 years--back in 1996, songs were also secondary to vibe; they were still peddling hippie nonsense--but the older Kula Shaker are better at execution, which means K 2.0 is the rare sequel that trumps the original.

Like Bringing Back the Sunshine before it, If I'm Honest is at its core a balladeer's record, and Shelton pulls off these romance tunes with a sly, masculine grace that complements the album's sleek modern surfaces.

Blood Red Roses is indeed a personal record, capturing the snazzy life of an aging old sap who to this day has never seen a dull moment.

The key feeling could be summed up in the album title, in a way -- it's not necessarily that the album is all about love, but it's definitely about warmth and happy energy with a definite male slant, a blissed feeling over the heavy crunch and impact of the music.

Taken on a strictly musical terms, The Teal Album is pretty anodyne stuff. Weezer replicates the arrangements of beloved songs, adds a bit more fuzz on the guitar solos, and flattens the vocal affectations, which amounts to one weird trick: Weezer doesn't attempt to make the songs their own, yet these versions unmistakably sound like Weezer.

If the dance production on The Sweet Escape were better, these hipster affectations would be easier to forgive, but they're not: they're canned and bland, which only accentuates Stefani's stiffness.

Ultimately, Put the Shine On is a very CocoRosie album -- while it's not totally satisfying, it's another example of how they always challenge themselves and their audience.

Even if Neon Trees sometimes try a little too hard to be serious on Pop Psychology, it's some of their most heartfelt music and some of their finest.

Navigating this 21-track session is the hard part, but once fans do the necessary trimming and pull out their favorite 14 or so, Doggumentary becomes a fine addition to Snoop's catalog.

The group tries so hard to be clever and cutting-edge that it detracts from the album's strengths.

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

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

A sparkling sophomore effort, carefully designed to avoid any kind of critical slump.

The album feels more slapped together than their debut.

Borrowed Heaven's lyric sheet is filled with high school diary hackneyed favorites but if you like your pop - unadulterated pop - presented and played extremely well you're cheating yourself if you don't check it.

This is Electric Six's strongest work to date, and the fans who have stuck with them through their trials and tribulations won't be disappointed.

Bloodless Coup gets rocky at points, but there are more than a few scattered gems here.

For those who enjoyed the wise-ass undercurrent of his debut, this will be a delight. For those who enjoyed "The Remedy (I Won't Worry)," there will be too much narcissistic tomfoolery here to make this enjoyable. For those who never understood the appeal of Jason Mraz in the first place, Mr. A-Z will make them realize that they've really been taking John Mayer for granted.

It's quaint yet enjoyable but doesn't deliver the same power or joie de vivre of its far more boisterous 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.

Big Talk may not have rock star sparkle, but it walks the walk when it comes to solidly entertaining songs.

He leaves all those classy trappings behind, picks up his guitar and plays a bunch of songs he likes, maybe even loves. It's not an especially compelling reason to make an album but it's not a bad one, either, and the same can be said about the experience of listening to Old Sock: it's a pleasurable way to while away the time.

Buzzle Bee might just be the group's most out-there production yet, as the Llamas churn out eight tracks full of gorgeous symphonic-pop arrangements and aloof, lazy melodies that dart in and out of all kinds of studio tinkering.

Easily one of the best and most promising rock debuts since, well, Blind Melon's 1992 self-titled debut.

The results of that effort are apparent, and they're not good. Gray wields one of the most naturally talented voices in R&B, but from the evidence here, she's not a songwriter.

Highlights are pushed to the front, so consider the last four songs or so bonus tracks. You'll still be left with a substantial good time.

The band should probably have just stuck to cranking out straightforward emo pop/rockers and let Cook's voice do the heavy lifting.

The group may be following a blueprint, but they believe they're following their own course, and that conviction is convincing.

Taken on its own terms, Revamp is dull, but its companion album Restoration: Reimagining the Songs of Elton John and Bernie Taupin--a modern country tribute that takes chances--reveals what a missed opportunity this is.

Even solid instrumentals begin to blur before the halfway point arrives, and the monotonous wash of mediocre content and phoned-in performances becomes exhausting long before the collection ends.

Songs like "Star Crossed Lovers" and "Shadows" sound embarrassingly old-fashioned and make Gibb sound ancient. A more sympathetic production style and some focus would have made all the difference on In the Now.

Mildly entertaining but tremendously taxing.

On Women's Rights they also show they can crank out some lean, tuneful punk rock, and this album is a smart, unpretentious good time on any number of levels.

Grieves has stretched the possibilities of Rhymesayers-type rap with Winter & the Wolves, so kick the mopes to the curb with this one, since it understands and overcomes with extra helpings of clever and cool.

Winner Stays On will undoubtedly continue their stratospheric rise from the ghetto to the mainstream, but despite flashes of ingenuity, it's a strangely formulaic and over-familiar listen.

Despite all the electronics, there's no mistaking The Path of Totality as a Korn album...and one of their better ones to boot.

In both vocal cadence and lyrical content, NF falls somewhere between Eminem and Twenty One Pilots' Tyler Joseph, while channeling the former's rage and the latter's emotive introspection. As such, The Search is a heavy and emotionally exhausting listen, brimming with troubling allusions to suicide and soul-baring pain.

There is some good material here and they've certainly taken their reunion record somewhere unexpected, but as a whole, Citizens is a bit of an inconsistent mess.

Classic embryonic vocalic beauty from Geike Arnaert still carries the translucence of the band's signature ethereality, and shines as hard as she did on the band's previous releases. However, musical composition on songs such as "Pink Fluffy Dinosaurs" and "Frosted Flake Wood" are more intricate and sonically defined.

If the music on Schizophrenic was as awkward as Chavez's singing and stance, it'd be an easy album to dismiss, but what makes it so frustrating is that he has a lot of good music on the album.

When it works, this can be pretty invigorating, but when it doesn't, it's utterly maddening.

All in all it's a very enjoyable album, if at times a rather strange one.

Perhaps Carrabba still writes lyrics in broad terms, but this willingness to sculpt his sounds on the softer side indicates that he's discovered a way to sustain this allegedly adolescent music well into his adulthood.

Ziggy Marley, the LP, shares much in common with Robert Palmer's Pride, Black Uhuru's Chill Out, and even Gregory Isaacs' Night Nurse, as its diminutive, deft, funky, tight, electro-tinged, and sincere. With all these ingredients at just the volume, it's still one single or classic short of being the best-of Ziggy, but the cool temperament and empowering mood of the album offer a life-affirming soul massage through music.

Wikked Lil' Grrrls occasionally gets lost between songwriting, thematics, and stylistic flow.

All this means is that Chickenfoot's big picture is roughly in place but the pieces don't quite fit, but that doesn't stop the group from trying to force it, with Sammy sounding as awkward singing about south-of-the-border drug runners as Satriani does spinning off complicated riffs on party rockers.

Spiral Stairs remains a pleasing, if not especially exciting, singer/songwriter and Real Feel showcases both of these sides effectively, rambling on nicely as it strolls through its songs, but never quite getting into any interesting territory.

As the album unfolds, certain themes of regret, sadness, and longing run to the surface, but they're all coated in glittering pop melodies and big rock riffs that mask the emotions of the songs.... their best, most consistent effort to date...

Consolidates the strengths and weaknesses of the American Movie one disc.

The punk-inspired spark that made their 1997 debut, Word Gets Around, so impressive is rekindled.

Shedding much of the Spoon influence of Crystal Skulls, Poor Moon follow the same rustic backwoods folk path as Fleet Foxes.

Without many radio-worthy cuts and both Shawty Redd and Drumma Boy going through their B-list of beats, Ferrari Boyz isn't impactful enough to make it past the already converted, but that "street release" tag should have already given that up.

The highlights, unsurprisingly, occur when Allen is allowed to exert more of his power, heard in the darting/jabbing third and twisting sixth tracks. Those two tracks are worth the wait.

Universal Pulse can be wearying even at its half-hour length.

So, a mixed bag: good enough to satisfy and also to wish the whole thing was slightly better.

What saves it from being nothing but thirtysomething wish fulfillment is that this move toward goth-glam requires 30 Seconds to emphasize hooks and gives them aural variety, which doesn’t make them seem any more serious but does make them considerably more palatable.

If the tech-savvy "By(e) Now" feels like a leftover from the more experimental debut, Statistics sophomore full-length has enough real songs to qualify it as an anomaly.

Despite its faults, it is one of the most unique albums released by a major label in 2008.

Is the World Strange or Am I? is indeed a little too strange to achieve the commercial success Jarvis has admitted he craves, but it's an admirably bold statement of intent which is perhaps unlike anything else you'll hear all year.

Working against the big intentions are the ramshackle playing; the rough production and mixes, and, inevitably, Arcuragi's rusty, overwrought tenor upfront.

As a whole, Hexed may be CoB's most diverse and expansive-sounding album to date, ranging between their roots sound and adventurous experimentation. The synthesis approach found here makes for a compelling, deeply satisfying outing.

They've gone back to the coiled, furious sputter of their debut but there's no disguising that Korn is an older band, substituting precision for frenzy without diluting their power.

By the measure of pure sound, It Is Time for a Love Revolution is a glorious feast of retro-rock pleasures--a feast of empty calories, perhaps, but sometimes fast food is more irresistible than a five-course meal.

There are a few additional moments of greatness, but also a few more tracks on the opposite side--they may make for great background listening, but seem to require altered states to get through while focusing on the music.

There are enough hooks in this bouquet of confusing-if-passable genre-hopping tracks to keep him on the path to future hits, but nothing comes remotely close to the lightning in a bottle of "Old Town Road"'s accidental perfection.

It's a creation that's slicker and sleeker than the debut, but fortunately, it's not quite at the expense of Caillat's simple charms.

The problem with The Road and the Radio is that the songs just aren't very memorable.

Against productions this diluted, Jurassic's top-notch rhymers -- Chali 2na, Soup, Akil -- fail to make any headway, usually spitting rhymes already familiar to listeners of their earlier work.

As a writer she's never been stronger.

Classic and maybe even a little awesome, Sonic Boom makes that "hottest band in the world" tag much easier to swallow.

He sounds comfortable where he is and Lynne presents him in a shining, flattering light.

Welcome to the North finds the Music's ambitious blend of post-grunge and space rock much hungrier and angrier than its predecessor.

Since it's inextricably linked to the eponymous movie -- which generated plenty of controversy and public outcry for its portrayal of a non-verbal autistic woman by Sia's longtime public stand-in, neurotypical dancer Maddie Ziegler -- MUSIC might suffer from that burden of connection, which is a pity because it's actually quite good.

Some other experiments only warrant a B or B+ and the whole jumble might feel odd to a newcomer, but since it is mostly returning fans at this late point in the discography, Head Up High earns its title with only one or two flicks of the skip button.

The album finds them delivering music that feels fresh and inspired; this is what Turin Brakes do, and Invisible Storm shows they continue to do it quite well.

While the album's highlights work on their own, Helium is best approached as a full listening experience, as it feels like a venture into a slightly different world than our own.

The sleek dancefloor track “So Many Girls,” one of a few songs in which Usher sounds dead in the eyes, going through the motions, desensitized by the bounty of women at his feet, is followed by the sarcastically titled “Guilty,” where he whines “I guess I’m guilty for wanting to be up in the club” — which warrants a response like “Yes, attached 31-year-old man, that’s correct.” A few songs before that is a quasi-redemptive ballad “Foolin’ Around”; he humbles himself, seems to take responsibility for his actions, then casually drops “Guess that’s just the man in me, blame it on celebrity.”

Spreading Rumours features a set of supremely catchy songs that walk the line between the Flaming Lips' bubbly psych rock and Smashing Pumpkins' '90s alt crunch.

These brittle, next-wave-of-new-wave productions plow no new ground and barely serve the lyrics to which they're chained.

Not only were there not many musicians hanging in the studio this time, but all of Rise seems stitched together on the computer, with each of the three core members doing their part when they cleared time in their schedule. The result is a drag, the sound of a revelers who have no idea that it's well past time for them to head on home.

Not enough to raise him above "the guy who remixed Elvis" and no great disappointment either.

She retreads just about every move she has made before, even though the crop of new fellow songwriters and producers almost outnumbers the familiar likes of Ester Dean, Pierre Medor, Christopher "Tricky" Stewart, Rodney Jerkins, Jasper Cameron, and Theron Thomas.

Though The Little Red Songbook and Stars Forever would be better introductions to the wonderful world of baroque pop, Folktronic is a must-have for Momus fanatics.

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

Human is the sound of an artist painfully trying to sound modern but -- by trying to sound fresh -- sounding older than he ever has.

While this hardly supplants those originals, Spot the Difference is a fun spin for the devoted and a good advertisement for Squeeze's reunion tour, proving they still have the knack to entertain.

There aren't enough songs like "Recollection" and the very poppy "Room 14 (I'm Fine)" to counteract the moments of heaviness, though, and the album ends up being capsized by the sheer heaviness of the majority of the songs.

Uptight types who want him to save hip-hop will hate on this one, but this ain't nuthin' but a party y'all, and a fun one at that.

Panic of Girls rushes forth on a sleek new wave disco pulse that's entirely unconcerned about whether '80s retro is in style this season or not. This is fashionable music existing outside the realm of fashion.

In the case of Nobody's Daughter, the tattered, ragged survivor in the gossip rags is no different than the one on record, both capturing Courtney in an inevitable, not so romantic decline, inadvertently turning every cliché into truth as she slowly slips into her final role as alt-rock's Norma Desmond.