The album's laid-back, off-the-cuff experiments are just enjoyable instead of brilliant, but they nevertheless display the undeniable creative chemistry that the trio shares.

Televise is an impressive and adventurous -- if occasionally mopey -- collection of songs.

More often than not, they connect with the material in unexpected ways.... Problems occur when they can't find a convincing way to graft their highly identifiable sound onto the song.

[Corgan's] joyful spirit surges throughout Mary Star of the Sea, even during its many intricate instrumental sections, and it's hard not to get swept up in the momentum, especially since it's married to his best set of songs since Siamese Dream.

The good stuff is strong enough that anyone who cares about Lou Reed's body of work, or Edgar Allan Poe's literary legacy, ought to give it a careful listen.

Oldham concentrates on crafting unremittingly introspective and confessional material in a spare, old-timey format. As sometimes happens on the recordings of his kindred spirit Cat Power, such unstinting uniformity can be a curse as well as a blessing.

Their familiarity with vintage instruments and addictive laid-back swagger help them avoid the pretension that sometimes follows the Beta Band.

An impressive look at Malin's musical maturation.

Sometimes it sounds like Ennio Morricone, sometimes the Penguin Café Orchestra. Mostly it sounds like its own thing.

Selling Live Water follows the Anticon party line (double-timed, singsongy half-sensical ramblings countering slow, lumbering beats) through to conscious hip-hop's most logical dead end.

Shipp, whose restless vision is never clouded by grandiosity or pretense, has become the most important pianist on the scene today. Equilibrium is soul music for the mind.

[Kyle] Fischer is normally a quite capable guitarist whose antics and energy have been noticed for some time by fans at live shows. However, it seems here that his guitar work is merely meant to tread water, biding time for some big explosion that never seems to come.

Red Devil Dawn is a welcome masterpiece of emotional subtleties -- the great record that Crooked Fingers missed the mark on with 2001's drunken, bluesy and somewhat disappointing Bring On the Snakes.

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

A delicate, contemplative union of indie rock, country, and electronica.

Where The Great Eastern was a fairly gentle and tentative record in a lot of ways, this one is bigger and demands your attention. The good news is that it's one of those rare records that actually deserves all of the attention it demands.

While the accompaniment is always thoughtful and inventive, Prekop's vocal idiosyncrasies tend to be a double-edged sword, delightful on the good songs but only accentuating the dreariness of failed experiments like "Le Baron" or "Try Nothing."

Lovebox takes them much too far down the path of production gloss, right on into the field of bland MOR electronica.

Mt. Eerie is a truly stunning album, managing to be deeply beautiful and unnerving, as well as deeply thoughtful, without ever seeming pretentious or heavy-handed.

Best of all, it all feels effortless, from the production to the songwriting.

God's Son isn't quite the masterpiece is could be -- mostly because Nas is so self-involved, sometimes seemingly intoxicated by his kingliness -- but it's surely one of the most remarkable albums of the Queensbridge rapper's highlight-filled career, just a notch or so below Illmatic and Stillmatic.

Electric Circus does suffer from that which ails many contemporary hip-hop albums -- too many guests and a generally lengthy program drag this one down a tad. Nonetheless, Electric Circus is a brave and ruthless statement wrapped in sincerity.

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.

A truly lovely album.

Her voice is damaged, and there's not a moment where it sounds strong or inviting. That alone would be disturbing, but since the songs are formless and the production bland -- another reason why the hip-hop announces itself, even though it's nowhere near as pronounced as it has been since Butterfly -- her tired voice becomes the only thing to concentrate on, and it's a sad, ugly thing, making an album that would merely have been her worst into something tragic.

Thankfully, Kevin Shields puts together some great guitarscapes in Evil Heat -- maybe the best work he's done post Loveless. It's what saves this record, since Bobby Gillespie (as usual) tries to ruin some of these tracks with some pretty silly lyrics.

Twoism features the same exquisitely spooky, textured emotronica that fans will want to hear, all at as high a level as the brilliant Music Has the Right to Children to boot.

for a few overblown performances and quasi-epic productions, It Ain't Safe No More finds Busta Rhymes with the same sure grip on his distinctive personality.

Though Snoop Dogg never slipped from the charts, Paid Tha Cost to Be Da Bo$$ smacks of a comeback, and it's a great one.

Phrenology is the hardest-hitting Roots album to date, partly because it's their most successful attempt to re-create their concert punch in the studio.

Redemption's Son achieves a sophisticated marriage of traditional songwriting craft and avant-garde production.

Brainwashed isn't just a success, it's one of the finest records Harrison ever made.

If there's any problem with More Than a Woman, Toni Braxton's fourth album, it's that its so consistent, so much a continuation of its predecessor, Heat, that it may be hard to pinpoint distinctive characteristics.

A less than engrossing record from Piano Magic was bound to happen at some point, but few could have predicted something as dull, drab, and ultimately powerless as Songs From the Chronic Fatigue Ward -- er, Writers Without Homes.

Equally cerebral and hip-shaking, with pulsating grooves and webs of intricate adornments tangling for an otherworldly type of psychedelic dance music.

Slicker Than Your Average is stronger than the average sophomore effort, and it proves that Craig David's abilities are innate.

The feel is sexy, stylish, and fun, and there are numerous highlights, all feeling effortless.

If it's difficult to focus in on what FC Kahuna does best, it's probably because it's all done well.

The Last Temptation isn't going to surprise anyone familiar with what Murder Inc. is all about, but their trademarked balance of the rough (Ja Rule) and smooth (Irv Gotti) has rarely sounded better than it does here.

Quality is proof that intelligent hip-hop need not lack excitement, soul, or genuine emotion; it's one of the best rap albums of a year with no shortage of winners.

Many of the songs sound like they're just on the verge of achieving liftoff, never quite reaching their potential.

The songs lack hooks, as if melody would be too commercial, while the production has its sights on the radio, resulting in tuneless songs that are polished for mainstream consumption.

The Pretenders' eighth studio album, Loose Screw, is their first on an independent label after 20 years with Warner, but the switch hasn't made any difference in the group's style.

In some ways, Riot Act is the album that Pearl Jam has been wanting to make since Vitalogy -- a muscular art rock record, one that still hits hard but that is filled with ragged edges and odd detours.

One of the best rap LPs of the year.

Both technical enough for scholastic jazz ears and organic enough for acoustic traditionalists.

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

Though his raps can't compete with the concentrated burst on The Blueprint, there's at least as many great tracks on tap, if only listeners have enough time to find them.

Perhaps 3D doesn't blaze trails like their other albums, but it never plays it safe and it always satisfies, and it's one of the best modern soul albums of 2002.

It is more than the sum of its many parts, as the Warlocks whip up a '60s of the imagination, making you hear the sounds anew while resurrecting the old before your very eyes.

He sticks with simple acoustics and subtle string arrangements; however, A New Day at Midnight doesn't possess the heavy heart of White Ladder.

The album simply powers its way through 16 tracks of seamlessly mixed high-velocity drum'n'bass.

We Are Science sees Dot Allison going beyond even the highs of One Dove and crafting an accessible, evocative masterpiece that consistently surprises and thrills.

It is a relief to hear that although Cash's voice is clearly older and not the booming powerhouse it was in the earlier Sun and Columbia days, he's still got some punch left in him.

It's not that Have You Fed the Fish? is vastly inferior to Gough's debut so much as it's an unbalanced and ultimately frustrating album.

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

Justified is just sound and posturing, with no core.

It's hard not to wish that the album had a bit more of the quirks and muscle that gave Breach its backbone. Without it, Red Letter Days isn't quite as forceful, but it is accomplished, melodic, and attractive.

The band is making the finest music in the history of its collective.

The fact that the emotional extremes are few and far between makes the album difficult to wade through -- its impact would've been tripled with about half an hour lopped off, but where to begin?

A truly twisted masterpiece that offers new rewards with each new listen.

Perhaps the strangest twist about this record is how much of it sounds more crude and antiquated than the duo's first two albums, which were released over 20 years prior to this one.

Sure, there's a couple of tracks that fall flat - Young Zee and Obie Trice feel strained - but it all flows well, and it's all strong.

This time the group finds a better balance of the simple and the strange, making Loud Like Nature their most exciting album since Avant Hard.

It marks a return to the sound and feel of Under the Pink and is her best album since then.

It's the sound of an artist who's given too much freedom too early and has no idea what to do with it.

Each song is tailored to the strengths of the lead singer, not the strengths of Santana, whose left with piddly, forgettable instrumental interludes and playing endless lines beneath the vocal melodies.

The whole thing sounds good on paper, but in practice, it's a bit of a mixed bag.

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.

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.

The perpetually teenaged foursome still have their raw edges and sharp teeth, it's just that the edges rip deeper and the teeth bite harder with this more efficient and well-crafted rock assault.

As you might expect, the overall quality of the songs isn't quite up to the standard of the best Death Cab for Cutie albums, but it comes close enough to entertain fans who aren't die-hard completists.

Though club-phobic listeners may find it difficult placing Skinner as just the latest dot along a line connecting quintessentially British musicians/humorists/social critics Nöel Coward, the Kinks, Ian Dury, the Jam, the Specials, and Happy Mondays, Original Pirate Material is a rare garage album: that is, one with a shelf life beyond six months.

The focus on a single mood occasionally threatens to lead only to a creative dead-end, but Out from Out Where arguably betters its successors by coming together as a single work.

Many of the songs have a similar feel and lack distinctive melodies to keep them from blending together.

Rarely, if ever, have synths sounded so truly urbane, and the cumulative effect is postmodernist pop music that sounds simultaneously cutting edge, retro, and utterly timeless.

Picking up the ball right about where Air dropped it after Moon Safari, Röyksopp produced one of the most intriguing downbeat albums of the year.

From the first few minutes of RUOK?, it's clear he's begun another shift, from the dense sampladelic dance of Actual Sounds + Voices to a sparse, haunted style that leaves much to the imagination but still displays acres of production prowess.

More fully realized and bolstered with a stronger song selection than its predecessor, Wallpaper for the Soul is a well-crafted collection of infectious tunes that won't necessarily stick with you for years to come, but should be quite enjoyable while you're listening.

The result throughout Velocity of Sound is an impression of the Apples in Stereo as introductory ironists, non-threatening to kids and parents, accessible and enjoyable to all.

The concept is brilliant and musically the Black Heart Procession have never sounded better.

Throughout Sean-Nos Nua the production treats O'Connor's voice like a canvas on which to paint vivid images. At times the result is distracting, with far too much slapback, but it also scores on songs like "Molly Malone," where vocal and instrumental textures together trace the tale through poignant light and ominous shadow.

A delightful but slightly faceless blend of lounge pop, subtle beats, found sound and mellow jazz influences.

An addictive, densely packed pop gem that ranks among 2002's best albums.

The results are sure to please longtime fans, while possibly reeling in a few folks who were turned off by the sonic excess of Dinosaur Jr. at their most punishing.

The album gains a newfound polish, particularly in the production, but also loses some of the spontaneous energy and wide-ranging influences that characterize the rest of Stereo Total's work.

If Cobblestone Runway's surfaces may initially puzzle a few fans, the heart, soul and hard-won wisdom of these performances confirm that he's finally mastered the recording studio, and it ranks with his best-realized work to date.

These lo-fi crunches carve out a retro-minimalist experimentation not often found in musical eroticism.

Jurassic 5's Power in Numbers is darker than their first full-length; not as fresh and exuberant, but much more mature and intelligent.

Throughout The Last DJ, Petty sounds utterly lost -- and instead of liberating him like it did in the past, it paralyzes him, boxing him into a corner where he can't draw on his strengths. It's the first true flop in a career that, until now, had none.

Sure, it could've been worse, but it also could've been slightly different.

Read & Burn 02 shares its predecessor's hit-and-run aesthetic: it's a post-industrial punk rock barrage of buzzing, stinging guitars; chunky bass lines; and clockwork beats littered with terse, strangled vocals that fall somewhere between bolshy, pre-brawl aggression and football-terrace chants.

A free-flowing, just cohesive enough forty-five minute listen that, in keeping with the booklet contents, has an air of strange melancholy throughout, perhaps most evident on the album's haunting heart, "Cherry."

Though the focus on range and experimentation is fascinating for those who've already heard Squarepusher doing the standard drill'n'bass rigamarole, the randomness evident on productions like "Kill Robok" makes the LP about as infectious as a surgical bandage.

A wonderful balance of beautiful indie rock and subtle country.

The Ragpicker’s Dream is a restrained success, at least on its own terms. It may not please some of Knopfler’s old “Money For Nothing” fans, but at this stage, he’s obviously not trying to.

Nothing short of astonishing.

Song for song, it's better and more consistent than Head Music... thanks partially to Stephen Street's focused, flattering production, but also due to a sharp set of songs.