This is a record that attempts to unfold but remains grounded within its own humble limitations.

Sounds from Nowheresville shows that the Ting Tings have more range than their debut suggested, but while it's more ambitious and crafted, it's just not as coherent as We Started Nothing.

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

Smart, subtly subversive, and always catchy - if it ain't broke, don't fix it.

It's all pleasing enough, flowing better than the American Songbook albums, and not feeling as karaoke as the Rock album, but it's so comfortable, so easygoing, it verges on the forgettable.

Blood Like Lemonade exceeds expectations, coming in a close second behind fan favorite Big Calm.

If Introduction to Escape-Ism lacks the punch of some of his band projects, this he is as purely himself as you could hope for, and hearing him work his songs over his own thrift store soundscapes is an engaging experience.

The odd thing about Devil's Playground isn't that Billy pretends Cyberpunk doesn't exist -- frankly, any artist with sense would do that -- it's that he now pretends that he's always been a metalhead, as if his posturing in the '80s was more than an affectation.

Anyone with an Adult. or Add N to (X) album, or even Berlin's Pleasure Victim, know it's been done better.

Some of the smooth, spacey ballads that were characteristic of their 1993 self-titled release show up here, but more often than not LeBon is lost in a swamp of over-production.

Perhaps if the album actually had some kineticism to its eclecticism, or at least a hook or a tune, it would earn its wannabe evangelism, but the untrammeled indulgence turns this into a gaudy multicolored circus.

The Incredible Machine is a collection of (mostly) competent if unremarkable songs, held together by slick -- often sterile -- production.

As always, his saving grace is his expert control of his voice and good musical taste, qualities that prevent Latest Record Project, Vol. 1 from being as sour as its creator.

It's nothing more than modest music for mellow good times, but it's lively enough to be fleeting fun, with enough good tunes for a mild party, preferably one that's held at home.

It isn't necessarily memorable, but as an exercise in measured, even artistic rage, it's classic Hamilton.

Even with a handful of forgettable songs... the album is easily the best one credited to the Duran Duran name since 1993's Wedding Album.

Though it has plenty of appealing moments, it just doesn't capitalize on Morrison's vocal and star power.

The entire album has a general lack of excitement that could be Matt and Kim mailing it in, or taking one step too far toward the pop mainstream and losing the punkish edge that made their music pop like bubbles in a bottle of shaken-up soda.

Though he fits somewhere between R. Kelly and Ginuwine, Foxx has more than enough personality and talent to defend his music against accusations of opportunism.

The crossover material leaves the album sounding a little stiff, and "No Tomorrow" seems manufactured to the point of feeling artificial, but if Attack! Attack! were aiming for commercially viable pop-punk, they hit the nail on the head with this one.

MacFarlane and McNeely don't attempt to ape the pizzazz of Frank's Reprise years, nor do they spend much time with May's snazzy snap, they stick with Riddle and Jenkins, keeping things sentimental and lush even when the words crackle with wit.

What really differentiates the album from its predecessors is that there's almost no trace of tension to be heard. It's all about fooling around and being in love.

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

The rallying choruses are not effective, and he's short on ideas; threatening to steal attached women is a default topic. 5.0 is, by a considerable margin, Nelly's least essential release to date.

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.

Combines instantly accessible power pop, synth-pop, glam, grunge, and Brit-pop influences with the resulting songs fitting together so seamlessly to be somewhat indecipherable from each other.

It's not that the Offspring sound behind the times on their eighth album, Rise and Fall, Rage and Grace--it's that they sound disconnected from it.

Kanye has shown the world his unfiltered megalomania, heartbreak, self-obsession, self-contempt, and confusion, and even at its most ghastly, it's always been at least a little bit exciting or provocative. On Vultures 1, he struggles to show much of anything, crafting songs that are loud and shiny, but still largely blank.

A large chunk of the material is second rate compared to his past highlights.

Where Jackson occasionally seemed as if they were in a rush to jam as many styles into their sound as possible, Cunniff digs deeper into her idiosyncrasies, creating music that feels unhurried and flows easily.

Black Swan is a definite sign of progress, though, and the band would do well to follow its path on future releases.

Lush synths, subtle electronics, and pulsing polyrhythms fuel these songs of discovery, transforming them from mere introspection into outright inspiration.

Wildfire is the work of a determined singer/songwriter who prizes craft over poetry or introspection. Platten specializes in skyscraping melodies and big, bombastic surfaces and these are the elements that not only fuel Wildfire, they distinguish it from the singer/songwriter's clear antecedents.

Williams may like to act like a bad boy but at his heart he's a sentimental cornball and, ultimately, he winds up making mawkishness seem merry on The Christmas Present.

This all makes F.A.M.E. the equal of Forever, if not slightly better, and it hints that Brown's best is yet to come.

The album winds up sounding too reserved and heavy-handed, which makes it a disappointment not only compared to what the group has done before, but also to what the girls have achieved outside the group.

The album itself is almost incidental to the self-styled fantasy that Katy Perry sells with this entire project.

A hilarious effort loaded with satirical song parodies and rock & roll spoofs.

Song for song, Rebirth has more energy and better hooks than her other albums.

Funeral for a Friend not only displays an increased sense of ambition on this sweeping great leap forward, they also display a greater sense of accomplishment, as writers and musicians.

If In Flames' last decade of material has been your cup of tea, than Siren Charms is likely to sit well with you, but for those still holding out for a return to the glory of their work from the '90s, the wait continues.

It doesn't surprise but it doesn't seem stuck, which gives the album a mellow appeal.

Yorn and Johannson cut their album long before She & Him, but surfacing in its wake, they can't help but seem a bit like the polished, polite answer to the twee, precious charms of Zooey & M. Ward. Break Up does trump Vol. 1 conceptually, chronicling the dissolution of a romance as a series of duets, and Scarlett is a more-than-worthy foil to Yorn.

This may not be a concept album, but it's structured as a narrative, mirroring the plot of the movie. Unfortunately, this doesn't give The Pick of Destiny the weight or grandeur of a true concept album, because a lot of the music sounds as if it serves the movie, and doesn't stand tall when separated from the film.

Baptize hits hard early on with a trio of nosebleed section-aimed sonic missiles: the pummeling title cut and its equally unrelenting successors "Save Us" and "Underrated." Therein lies the rub. What follows is no better or worse, just largely the same, with Saller delivering post-hardcore banalities with gusto and the band peppering those surface-level maxims with blazing riffage and fist-pumping gang vocals, ad nauseam.

Cobble out the stellar EP inside or consider it a pre-mall mixtape because the puzzling Underground Luxury mixes mack daddy music with mall rat tracks, even if B.o.B's conviction throughout suggests he sees them as equals.

It feels as if this is as calm as a placid lake. Sometimes, the record is as pretty as that, too, a nice, polite collection of adult alternative pop designed for young girls and their moms.

The problem facing New Kids on the Block on their 2008 reunion The Block is the same one they had on their last album, 1994's "Face the Music": the quintet are no longer kids and don't quite know how to be adults.

The songs have about as much personality as Ashanti's voice, but that actually is a point in its favor, since it keeps everything on an even keel and makes Gotti and Santana's stylish production the star.

Ultimately, the record runs too long, losing steam halfway through.... Fortunately, Jackson was clever enough to front-load this record, loading the first seven songs with really good, edgy dance numbers.

The productions are much better than the songs.

Even if it's not the most persuasive mood album, once the party has kicked into high gear Rebelution will certainly keep it going.

The whining hasn't let up (see 'No Love' and 'Generation'), but the fun hasn't either. Credit the producers.

Some focus and editing would have really helped because there's a great album buried somewhere in here.

Carve out the ultimate party EP, or consider the highlights too high to miss, because this is Dizzee at his breeziest and is best taken in little bits.

She bridges powdery lyrics and floating acoustics throughout the nine-track album, singing from an inner spirituality.

What makes Brett Anderson succeed as solo debut is that it truly presents Anderson on his own, willing to sound different, quieter than he did when in a band, willing to open his heart without regard for consequences.

They chuck all that out the window by corseting her cornball humor into an immaculately tailored straitjacket, burying her voice in the mix, cutting away the country in favor of a manicured crossover pop unsuited for Pickler's gawky, gangly voice.

There are times throughout its ten tracks when Lloyd does appear to be testing the patience of even her most ardent fans.

Which may make it a change of pace for Korn, but it sure doesn't break them out of their midlife slump--if anything, it exacerbates it.

The whole record is wrong. Predictable, slick, soulless, and worst of all, boring, it meets the expectations of everyone who thought the band was foolish for working with the Matrix.

Not everything here works, not by a long shot, but the overall impression is that Liz Phair has finally reconnected with the spirit of Girlysound--which, contrary to popular opinion, wasn't all serious--and is on her way to once again being a compelling artist unafraid to take risks.

Those who were left disappointed by ['Face2Face'] will probably be happy to have the Face of old back with Grown & Sexy, a back-to-basics album that sounds a lot more natural in comparison.

He seems like a featured artist on his own album, which would be standard issue for other producers turned artist, but not Guetta.

Shaka Rock squanders the promise Jet showed on their previous work, and even if they soldier on and release another ten albums, this feels like the end of the road for them.

Days Go By is more for fans who have been with the band for a while than those just tuning in, and while die-hard Offspring followers will be able to see the shift in the band's sound as part of a logical progression, new listeners would be better served by checking out some of their earlier, more urgent work.

A tribute album starring the man of honor himself, who also curated the whole affair, See My Friends is a bit of a curious creature.

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

They embrace their essence, how they want to be broader and burlier than the rest, how they want reflection to seem like celebration and parties to be a dark night of the soul. This contradiction means the band remains an uneasy good time, but at least on Us and the Night the reconstituted 3 Doors Down have decided to look on the sunny side of life.

As a record, this The Sea of Memories is easily the most enjoyable collection of songs released under Bush's name.

Beerbongs & Bentleys is an apt reflection of his lavish lifestyle and his subsequently begotten hardships, but its attempts at sincerity work only when Post Malone stops trying so hard.

Once upon a time, Mark Eitzel seemed incapable of writing a bad song, and while that doesn't quite happen on Candy Ass, enough of the album comes close enough to suggest this guy needs to hook up with American Music Club again, and soon.

Apart from ["You Make That Look Good" and "Write My Number on Your Hand"], the songs and production demand that all energy come from young Scotty, who amiably sleepwalks through the tunes.

DS4 is caught between the woozy, floating sounds of WUNNA and an older, heavier-hitting sound, yet nails neither.

This is an indulgent jumble of a sideline release, but that doesn't mean Wayne isn't in fine form.

Still, no matter how many of these admittedly incredible rhymes end up surfacing over time thanks to his mother's part-earnest, part-exploitative efforts, the bottom line is that 2Pac never finished these songs -- there are a few fully developed songs here worth marveling over, just not nearly enough to justify the album's double-disc length

Delayed for over a year, Treat Myself lacks some of the effortless charm of her debut as Trainor trades her breezy singer/songwriter energy in favor of a sophisticated production style that sometimes threatens to lose her in the mix. Still, there are plenty of fun moments.

Hellbent on pushing the envelope, Newcombe shines as a prolific madman once again and as recycled as the ideas are, My Bloody Underground is a fantastic new direction and a forward thinking album that indicates that however combustible, there is a lot more life left in BJM, in any incarnation.

Nickelback's seventh studio album arrives nearly three years after their multi-platinum-selling, 2008 release Dark Horse.

The sound of Come Home the Kids Miss You is polished and ready for the massive level of worldwide commercial success Harlow has been building up to, but it's difficult to find much substance beneath the expensive sheen.

Who You Are is a singularly ironic title for a debut that finds Jessie J trying on discarded threads from every British pop starlet of the last half decade.

These People functions as a pleasing adult alternative record.

Sure, it's more interesting than the still-born, awkward second Black Grape album Stupid, Stupid, Stupid, largely thanks to its intricate, layered production, but the end result is calculated without reaping the rewards of its precision.

Give or take a couple hot tracks, this release is not likely to play a significant role in his legacy.

Caught somewhere between the breezy, intricate Sea and Cake and the well-mannered orchestration of Rachel's, the band fills a space that is often vied for, yet not usually attained.

There are no missteps on the album, and the group's faithful will have plenty to rock with. But Don't Tread on Me still feels like one to grow on instead of one to remember.

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

Digging out this handful of songs from the 16-track proper album-- inflated to as much as 24 tracks with the bonus disc added in--is flat-out exhausting, necessitating trawling through too many dull beats, breathy bleats, a phoned-in Snoop Dogg cameo and Missy Elliot name-dropping Katy Perry.

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

Blessed with little of the showiness affectations of the X-Factor/American Idol generation, she can sell a song and inject it with age-appropriate enthusiasm that sustains her through the moments when Turn It Up glides by on its surface, while making the album--at its best--pretty damn infectious, too.

The overall mood of the album feels a bit broken and battered, but comes off too polished to let that feeling drive home.

Fly Me to the Moon, Rod Stewart's fifth collection of American pop standards, finds him singing such classics as That Old Black Magic, I've Got You Under My Skin, Beyond the Sea, Fly Me to the Moon, and Moon River.

Described as a rallying call to guitar bands by Bowman, Up, Guards and at 'Em isn't distinctive or original enough to inspire anyone to swap their synths for a six-string, and instead, sounds more like a final nail in the British indie coffin than the shot in the arm it needed.

There's just enough that's worthwhile on this album to hope that Hank3 doesn't fully abandon this concept, but this is a far cry from what he does best, and even serious doom fans are likely to find this is pretty ordinary.

Reptar aren't afraid to grow up but they're gonna have fun getting there, and with Body Faucet they succeed in doing both.

Unfortunately, the bar set by these songs was an awfully high one, so although the creation of Circles… was no doubt a cathartic experience, the songs here aren't likely to become the first choice for any old-school Soul Coughing lovers.

Imperfections aside, this is a strange, oddly compelling addition to his catalog.

Best to part it out and party, because if there's a blueprint for the vocal EDM album, A Town Called Paradise follows it too closely, spinning through all the usual breaks and drops without pausing to consider the full picture.