Anna is nothing revolutionary, of course, and that dog. fans have certainly heard this before. But that same audience will most likely want to hear it again, as will anyone who believes female rockers don't need to choose between being a folky riot grrrl (Ani DiFranco, Dar Williams) or a mainstream maven (Meredith Brooks, Sheryl Crow).

The problem is Lavigne is still so young she's listening to the radio hits of the '90s and early 2000s: she's Pink when she's bucking authority, Alanis Morissette when she's angry, and Jewel when she's sensitive.

As much as the vocals, however, the fault for Dirty Vegas lies with the unambitious production; Dirty Vegas make a crossover group like Underworld sound positively edgy in comparison.

An occasionally jumbled, yet undeniably pleasant, collection that unsurprisingly feels like a hybrid of a proper Belle & Sebastian album and a more traditional film score.

Shows a refreshing rawness that was absent before.

The depth of his production sense and the breadth of his stylistic palette prove just as astonishing the second time out.

Though they may be more focused, Enon will never be straightforward, but that's one of the band's, and album's, strengths.

The sheer joy of their music is undeniably persuasive, evoking the otherworldly brilliance of everything from Pet Sounds to The Soft Bulletin.

Taking disparate elements from their collective record collection, mashing them up, and spitting them out... the members of Silkworm nonetheless end up sounding like few other rock bands of their time while hardly sounding like a cover band revue.

Looper drops their bright playfulness for a sophisticated, darker counterpart which uses jazz, R&B, and trip-hop as its foundation.

Though Speedy J does pure techno as good as he did his earlier experimental productions, it's a shame he's gotten back to the kind of tracks that DJ Hyperactive could be knocking out in his sleep.

The Eminem Show is essentially a holding pattern, but it's a glorious one -- one that proves Eminem is the gold standard in pop music in 2002, delivering stylish, catchy, dense, funny, political music that rarely panders.

Cuts into raw indie rock with spells of country and folk, while allowing Brock to explore a varying scope of sounds.

A lounge lizard's idea of heaven.

Some listeners might suggest that an album this varied has an identity crisis, but with standout tracks as glorious as the Dylan covers and the Eno closer, Frantic is a fascinating addition to Bryan Ferry's accomplished discography.

It blends the stripped-down sounds of Pod and the Amps' Pacer into a collection of strangely intimate, feminine garage rock.

It's beautiful, weird, and difficult to love.

Heather Nova has ventured out on South, delving into the pop side for her own inventions. Fans who aren't accepting of such a move might be critical; new listeners might find South her easiest album.

He has created a record that might not be as wildly eclectic on the surface as Play, and it certainly lacks club-hits on the level of "Bodyrock" or "South Side," but it's a warm, enveloping, humanistic record with real emotional resonance, which surely is a noteworthy artistic step forward.

Just below the surface, all the quintessential Get up Kids qualities are there: melody, intelligence, and lyrical sincerity.

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

So, it's essentially a harder-rocking version of the last album. But you know what? It doesn't matter because the band is at a peak.

One can't help but feel that this is still a transitional album in general, but at least they've overcome their Garbage fascination and seem to be delivering music more in tune with their attitude and style.

For the most part My Ride's Here is a misfire from an artist capable of much better work.

This balance of elements, along with Elf Power's ragged but insistent groove, make Creatures a study of harmonious contradiction and unlikely balance.

While the appealing rawness of their early material is occasionally missed here, the strides forward that the group makes on this album more than make up for it.

The melodies on Alice are easily the most direct Waits has written since Blue Valentine, but are more elegant than even those found on Foreign Affairs or Black Rider.

Thematically, this work -- with its references to German cabarets and nostalgia -- echoes Waits' other Wilson collaborative project, Black Rider. Musically, however, Blood Money is a far more elegant, stylish, and nuanced work than the earlier recording.

An overdone, unamusingly ironic '80s fetish dominates the first half of the album, dragging down tracks like "Molecules" and "Different Kind of Love" with slick synths and affected singing.

Transmission, while marginally stronger than the band's debut, forgets to bring along the same natural pop drive and offers more of the same well-honed faux iconic babble, and regularly stoops to the equivalent of a Love record with improper squelch control.

Plenty of fuzzed, struttin', propulsive guitar work on this disc to assault your ears.

While the artifact quality and live vibe of this music come as no surprise, the show band emphasis of Trey Anastasio suggests that this artist may be placing a little less faith in the voodoo of improvisation and more in the payoff guaranteed by musicians who can tear up the same charts night after night.

Dust is a stunning look into his exotic, sharp imagination and a vibrant effort for those who've watched him evolve.

In Our Gun has all the elements that made their debut so great, and then some.

It's difficult to imagine how Badly Drawn Boy could've improved on The Hour of Bewilderbeast any better than this astonishing work.

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.

As the program continues, it becomes clear that he has reinvented most of the tracks in pretty much the same way, and the limits of his low-key, almost whispery vocals can grow tiring.

Romantica charges out of the gate with a new vigor, brightness, and sensitivity that, in retrospect, hasn't really come together within one package for them since maybe Bewitched.

Stereo is the first Westerberg solo disc that captures the elusive feel and emotional resonance of his best Replacements tunes.

While their songs still maintain the loose intimacy that was apparent on their debut AM, the music has matured to reveal a complexity that is rare in pop music, yet showcased perfectly on Yankee Hotel Foxtrot.

This all flows well and is quite a good piece of mood music, yet there's no hiding that for all their political stances and past reputation, Cornershop doesn't really have all that much to say this time around, nor have they delivered more than a handful of songs to have all this stick.

The band's brash and passionate attitude is clearly defined and witnessed in the music of this indie release, keeping the best of indie post-rock alive and kicking.

On their stunning debut, the Richmond, VA, foursome can sound as crisp and ethereal as Portishead, as otherworldly as Tom Waits, and as atmospheric as Radiohead.

He's no Elliott Smith yet, but if he expands his songwriting and subject matter, he could be a future heir to the indie-wuss throne.

Armstrong layers on his string arrangements with alarming regularity, to the extent that each collaborator, other than Bono, has their contributions infringed upon or washed out.

A skillful synthesis of classic rock and modern sensibilities that's pretty irresistible.

If any one album can be said to pick up on the surreal funk explorations of latter-day Miles Davis, Uninvisible is it.

Instead of sounding like a refreshing change of pace, it's a muddled, aimless affair from an artist that's had too many middling efforts over the last decade.

Silver Lining is ultimately a showcase for exceptional singing and riveting backup work.

Imperial Teen is clearly evolving into a group of subtler, more nuanced songwriters.

A good, professional rock record, one that sells their sound as if it was as the most commercial imaginable, resulting in one of their most consistent albums.

Another 12 tracks of curiously beautiful but quite intense melancholy.

Like a long lost Fluid disc, Electric Sweat proffers primordial MC5 riffs with a healthy dose of soul as only four white guys in leather jackets with every Motown record in their collections could manage.

They're fresh and clean, delivering spiky cut riffs while lyrics are unpretentious about love and heartbreak.

An undeniably pleasant and ultimately rewarding, if not immediately accessible, listen.

It all blends together a little bit too much to be distinctive and, as such, it has a faint feel of product, a slow seduction record for the Timbaland-worshipping hipster set.

This is international music, not intended merely for Kinky's native Mexico. Actually, it's more intended for trendy music cultures such as those of Europe and the U.S. -- a sort of Spanish update for the early 2000s of the late-'90s electronica/rock sound associated with groups like Prodigy and Primal Scream.

Refreshingly simple and cleverly stupid, I Get Wet makes indoctrination fun again.

Though Variaciones Espectrales might be too noisy to work as background music for some listeners and too experimental for the dancefloor, it's another accomplished, fascinating slice of sound/beats exploration from this consistently pioneering artist.

Throughout this collection, Rye Coalition shamlessly worships at the altar of Kiss, Grand Funk Railroad, and Spinal Tap via weathered, punk-inspired chord progressions, muddy bass lines, lead-footed drum patterns, and hammer-handed guitar riffs that will shake, rattle, and roll hockey arenas until the end of time.

It's sporadically entertaining and intermittently interesting.

So, in a strange way, Loud is an extremely successful album for Maas: it rids him of the trance tag, has enough vocal dance-pop to win over even more admirers, and is so diverse that everyone will find at least one enjoyable track.

This French-Swiss duo pumps out retro-'80s-style disco beats and silly lyrics, creating a fun, goofy, ironic vibe that is sure to be a hit in Europe and perhaps in America.

This is the first SFA album not to progress from its predecessor, or offer the shock of the new, and that's hard not to miss -- but, if this is the first SFA record you hear, it'll likely intrigue, even dazzle, with its kaleidoscopic blend of pop, prog, punk, psych and electronica.

Sounds fresher than anything the group has attempted in a long time.

Colossal and cinematic, the fourth record from the Herbaliser is a timely achievement in music, a genre-bending statement of creative poignancy.

Departure Lounge has forged an enchanting record to tune in, turn on, and drop into.

As with the band's previous albums, Souljacker bristles with pop euphoria and cracking production... but just like those previous albums, Souljacker ultimately falls a bit flat over the course of its extended running time.

Skyscraper National Park is an amazing record that tells its entire story with a hushed voice and subdued instrumentation, but is still more affecting then being screamed at for hours on end.

ShelleyDevoto is obviously having a blast, and while Buzzkunst is no thundering masterpiece, the blast is not at listeners' expense.

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

Between its fizzy lyrics, brittle guitar riffs, cheesy Casio keyboards, and primitive rhythms, the record seems very much out of touch with contemporary pop; its ebullience and innocence hark back to a time that now seems very long ago.

One can sense that she has complete control, lyrically and musically.

Easily the most satisfying Songs: Ohia album since Axxess & Ace.

Underscoring the songwriting skill he's been working at since age eight and over the course of 11 songs, he plays acoustic, folk-rock, alternative, power pop, and straight-ahead rock; his lyrics are consistently heart-sung but they aren't lite (he's got weight and bite too).

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

Clinic is still one of the most intriguing acts around, and while this isn't the masterpiece the band has the potential to deliver, an interesting disappointment from them is still better than a successful but boring album from a less-inspired group.

If this record came out in 1965 they'd be superstars; however, in 2002 they would have to settle for cult favorites.

Not one weak track, not one misplaced syrupy ballad to ruin the groove. The winning streak continues.

Although it peters out in its last 10 minutes, Lucky 7 is a workmanlike and thrilling if unadventurous addition to Heat's fiery catalog, and provides him with more fuel for his explosive gigs.

It’s hard to think of too many contemporary bands that are making such unapologetically sunny, pop-tinged rock and roll.

The music flows, the production doesn't overplay its hand, it's pleasingly melodic, tempering tempers the extremities of Jagged Little Pill while retaining the character and, as such, it's easy to groove on the sound without listening to the words.

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.

While the mood of this record stagnates after a few songs, it does give a strong indication of Jones' alluring talents.

Returning with another studio album at the start of 2002, Steve Cobby and David McSherry busied themselves demonstrating their fluency with the wide range of sounds contemporary electronica draws on, but also revealed a few new influences as well.

Surprises are around every turn.

This music is beautiful enough to stand alone.

Under Cold Blue Ground blazes some new trails for John Rouse, but the quality of his songwriting and the emotional impact of his music hasn't changed a bit; it's a solid and satisfying set from a genuinely gifted artist.

From Here on In often meanders around, getting by on its influences, rather than seeking the necessary hooks and melodies.

A poor release.

By focusing less on quotidian (i.e., boring) experiences of the proletariat and more on less-tangible allusions to death, troubled romance, and loneliness, Wagner's music is simply more approachable and meaningful, if still hard to puzzle out in its specific intent.

Wanna Buy a Monkey? shows off Nakamura's ear for a great track as well as his deft turntablist skills.

The downside to a more refined and mature record is that some of their ramshackle charm and energy has been lost. Not enough to make the band bland, but if they take one more step toward professionalism the next record may turn out that way.

Less experimental, less distinctive, and definitely missing the production finesse of Nellee Hooper, Bloodsport suffers musically from a lack of imagination and vocally from Chris Corner's surprisingly post-grunge style of delivery.

The white-girl blues thing very rarely does anybody any good.

Melodic but samey, the songs flow into each other, creating a relaxing, seamless work that never breaks out of its mold. That said, the musicianship is of such consistently high quality that even the most lackluster tunes are redeemed by the band's innate professionalism.

Half dance party, half political rally, Gotham is a rock record for a new era.

A surprisingly assured album.