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

Since We've Become Translucent isn't always the Mudhoney you remembered, but the album clearly carries the stamp of the band's personality, and shows the group can still rock out while pulling a few new tricks from its collective sleeve.

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.

This Is the Moment is both the best Donny Osmond album ever made and conclusive evidence that the former teen idol, who was 43 when it was released, is never going to be more than a pleasant, modestly talented singer.

Simple, subtle, and quite beautiful, the 37-minute album rewards during deep concentration and as use for background.

While the heft of the Pharcyde sound is diminished slightly by their broken circle, this is an emotionally tangible album that combines delicate content with tight production.

Moore has a great set of pipes, a mix of the throaty take charge style of Toni Braxton and the soft vulnerability of Janet Jackson, an undeniable sexiness, and a real emotional conviction that lends the songs an authenticity absent in many current releases. Still, with all that she has going for her, Exposed only manages to be a hit and miss record.

While the trademark sound is still much in force, group mastermind RZA jettisoned the elaborate beat symphonies and carefully placed strings of Forever in favor of tight productions with little more than scarred soul samples and tight, tough beats. The back-to-basics approach works well, not only because it rightly puts the focus back on the best cadre of rappers in the world of hip-hop, but also because RZA's immense trackmaster talents can't help but shine through anyway.

There are moments of pop pleasure here, surrounded by spare, languid electronica sections, vaguely reminiscent of the High Llamas.

A fantastic new album.

This is a strong release, reminiscent of Hard Wired or the best moments of Flavour of the Weak.

Iron Flag focuses squarely on the Wu's immense, twin strengths: bringing together some of the best rappers in the business, and relying on the best production confederacy in hip-hop (led by RZA) to build raw, hard-hitting productions.

Hard to imagine Green Day or Rancid having anything this interesting up their sleeve 27 years down the line from their first recording.

They've got a rough, nervy, lo-fi take on power rock that has the weird immediacy of the Microphones' Mount Eerie.

Answers has a heavy downtown spirit, with standard instruments played in a unique fashion, and an aggressive interplay that's nearly antagonistic.

There is undeniably something almost romantic about the duo's newfound acceptance of relationships, even if the main evolution is that they now view them as a necessary evil, rather than simply evil.

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.

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.

With Happy Songs for Happy People, Mogwai gets to have it both ways -- it's ironic and sincere, concise and expansive, challenging and accessible, and it's one of the band's best albums, no two ways about it.

The guest appearances on the mic by Akrobatik, a fellow fledgling Bostonion, Edan, Aesop Rock, El-P, and Jean Grae make all the tracks quality and seal the deal on Lif's breakthrough set.

Lyrically it's so strong and vulnerable that it works, leaving the listener haunted with the notion that something special has occurred, that he or she has born witness to a man becoming aware of the preciousness of his own life.

It's a nice blend of the self-conscious Flowers in the Dirt and the organic, natural Flaming Pie, combining the craft of the former with the attitude of the latter.

Bucks expectations and actually makes good on the indie rock promise of the band's full-length debut, 1998's overhyped albeit underwhelming I Become Small and Go.

Arab Strap's gradual refinements have hit a peak, but don't expect anything new. Slithery programmed beats, tingly guitars, plodding rhythms, and whispered/warbled sing-speak lead the way yet again, with occasional piano licks and strings thrown in for very good atmospheric measure.

He's successful even when he is indulging in a little silliness.

Not surprisingly, Trampin' is a largely political album, but it is far from a didactic 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.

Favourite Colours is lovely and adventurous stuff that proves the Sadies are only getting better with each trip into the studio.

If this is indeed his final offering as a songwriter, it is a fine, decent, and moving way to close this chapter of the book of his life.

Bristles with the independent spirit that put both punk and hip-hop on the map.

All That You Can't Leave Behind is a rock record from a band that absorbed all the elastic experimentation, studio trickery, dance flirtations, and genre bending of Achtung, Zooropa, and Pop -- all they've shed is the irony. U2 also chooses not to delve as darkly personal as they did on Achtung or Zooropa, yet they also avoid the alienating archness of Pop, choosing to return to the generous spirit that flowed through their best '80s records.

Like Erykah Badu and other retro-soul artists that have followed her, Alicia Keys is trying to redefine modern R&B by injecting it with jazz and blues. In Songs in A Minor, Keys accomplishes her goal with poise and skill.

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.

Burned Mind isn't just Wolf Eyes' most cohesive album, it's also their most accessible.

Everybody Loves a Happy Ending will do little to convert those who winced at Orzabal and Smith's obtuse lyrics and over the top production the first time around, but loyal followers, fans of XTC's Apple Venus, Pt. 1, and lovers of intricately arranged and artfully executed pop music will find themselves delightfully consumed by this enigmatic group's final (?) chapter.

More New Order and Saint Etienne than Smiths, and with male and female vocals, the band comes across as an electro-pop Belle and Sebastian.

What makes this album so wonderful isn't so much the efforts of its star rapper but rather the behind-the-scenes cast of producers.

Using only guitars and drums, the Pharmacists whip up a powerful mix of wild abandon and subtlety that is a perfect backing for Leo's vocal dexterity and clanging guitar heroics.

Those who just enjoyed the sound and feel of Room for Squares should feel right at home.

A surprisingly strong and assured record.

She may not yet have the set of skills, or the experience, to give a nuanced, textured performance -- one that feels truly lived-in, not just sung -- but she's a compelling singer and Mind, Body & Soul lives up to her promise.

Make no mistake, this isn't the second coming of Purple Rain or Sign 'o' the Times or even Parade -- in other words, it's not a masterpiece, more like a more confident and consistent Diamonds and Pearls without the hip-hop fixation -- but it's a strong album, one that impresses on the first listen and gets better with repeated plays.

Peachtree Road proves that he's back to making good, solid records focused on songs, not hits, the way he did at the outset of his career.

Musically, Reconstruction Site has more in common with literate indie types like Clem Snide or even the mature, clear-eyed work of Michael Penn.

They might not be as unsettling as they were in their early days, but they still know how to mess things up.

If there are no classics here, there's no duds, either, and given that the Beasties' pop culture aesthetic once seemed to be the territory of young men, it's rather impressive that they're maturing gracefully, turning into expert craftsmen that can deliver a satisfying listen like this.

The record offers something to nearly every audience that could approach it, with a bit of a groove for electronic fans, an obtuse sense of music-making for experimentalists, and a dreamy melodicism sure to endear it to indie-pop fans.

All told, this album is probably the band's best balance of pop melodies and avant-leaning structures since Washing Machine; even if it doesn't rank among their most ambitious work, Sonic Nurse sounds like the kind of album Sonic Youth should be making at this point in their career.

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.

Whatever spaces the arrangements leave enable the imagination to play as much of a role as the instrumentation.

Satisfaction enough for those who kept Mezzanine near their stereo for years on end, but a disappointment to those expecting another masterpiece.

A Ghost Is Born hardly sound[s] like a retread of YHF, but the languid, ghostly song structures, the periodic forays into dissonance and the pained, hesitant vocals from Jeff Tweedy that were so much a part of that album also take center stage here.

Futures will most likely not be the sensation that Bleed American was -- it is too dark and inwardly focused for that -- but it shows a progression of sound and emotion that fans of the band should embrace.

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.

At times, Blueberry Boat sounds like it was made entirely out of the noodly bits that most other bands would junk for being too weird and difficult, but the Fiery Furnaces forge them into an album that's both more pop and more radical than Gallowsbird's Bark.

Crimes keeps a tight lid on the nervous energy that's always defined the group, channeling it into aggressive songs that often suggest the damaged, exciting grooves of vintage Brainiac.

Sure, his collaborators have some of the best beats in the business. But they can't always take up the slack when Bubba's raps start to wither in the heat.

For all the sludge and fuzz on the album, Do Rabbits Wonder? never becomes muddy; the grit and gristle of Whirlwind Heat's abrasive repertoire of sounds remains clearly defined even at its most crazed.

A remarkably spare and focused collection?

By combining elements of metal, pop, jazz, and electronica, the Cooper Temple Clause create a broad album that is subtle and meticulous as well as driving and bombastic.

The pure beauty and craftsmanship of Alison Krauss & Union Station's more commercial sound is undeniable, and somehow they manage to avoid sounding slick and formulaic, still retaining the spark of honesty that seems to be missing from the recordings of so many of their contemporaries.

An album that's going to have the purists sighing with relief and have new converts checking out their back catalog for more.

This time, the one flaw may simply be that the group doesn't know when to say when.

Even though Underneath is a little too polished and Pro Tool-ed, that pop sensibility still rings loud and clear throughout the album, and track for track, it's likely their strongest album, even if it lacks glistening highlights along the lines of "Mmm-Bop."

The Old Kit Bag is Richard Thompson's simplest and most unadorned album since Shoot Out the Lights, and while it isn't an immediate masterpiece like that album, it confirms that this man's work is best presented at its simplest, and the result is a modest triumph.

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

Pulses with a steady, sweaty energy that's punctuated with arena-sized hooks.

Moody, majestic, and unpredictable, All Is Dream plays like Deserter's Songs' evil twin, polarizing that album's gently trippy, symphonic pop into paranoid and exuberant extremes.

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.

Serene and tranquil, but never uninteresting, 5 is a lovely album.

Electric Six's m.o. of inflating rock clichés to grotesque proportions, adding a dash of tongue-in-cheek pomposity, and then laughing at the results can generate more than just a great single. Granted, that single is still the reason to own Fire, but fans of that song probably won't feel burned by the rest of the album.

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...

Like David Byrne's underrated orchestral epic The Forest or Philip Glass' Koyaanisqatsi, Systems/Layers is cerebral and human, transporting you without insulting your intelligence.

The total effect is less a spin through 3 Feet High and Rising than it is an hour of Yogi Bear cartoons -- fine when you hear any one track, but much too much over the course of a full album.

Cole, at age 40, seems comfortable with himself and his career -- quirks, blemishes, and all -- and one would be hard pressed to find any of his U.K. '80s contemporaries making such a strong, winningly melodic album... if they're still making albums at all.

The album's stripped-down sound and approach may leave the listener wishing the band had found a little space for some flashy chords or glitzy orchestration to break things up a bit. Still, it is hard to argue with an album as pure and true as this.

Go-Betweens fans should be very happy with Bright Yellow Bright Orange and glad the band has decided to stay together and continue to make smart, exciting adult pop music.

With an inspired cast of co-producers and guest vocalists, Movement in Still Life takes on electro-funk and breakbeat techno with plenty of room for nods to the kind of epic trance that made his name on dancefloors all over the world.

A record that practically demands a set of headphones to fully appreciate it; concentrated listening is the only way to reconcile the long passages of ambience with the bracing pop songs that often interrupt.

Although its inspirations, musical and conceptual, trace as far back as Kraftwerk, The Complex serves as a reminder that modern devices and glistening production values can be applied to the most primal creative instincts, if utilized by the right -- blue -- hands.

It is a generally pleasant effort, but it isn't in a class with either Hatfield's best solo output or the Blake Babies' most memorable jangle pop.

Sonically gorgeous with vocals comparable to Bryan Ferry, Everything and Nothing is a vastly expressive record of 29 tracks lost in the vaults of remixes, time, and creative changes; it is certainly a moving package of lush elevations and underrated wordplay.

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

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.

Quasi's crass sense of humor is in full force, but throughout their witty criticisms Quasi are imaginative songwriters and conscious of their curiously cool indie rock style.

It's a record that easily equals her debut, boasting better vocal performances but also better songwriting and accompanying production.

At its best, though, this album is like having a beautiful girl hit you repeatedly over the head with a baseball bat.

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.

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

Another winning record.

At Crystal Palace's compressed complexity makes it a more consistent album, as well as proof that the band shows no signs of slowing down or mellowing out anytime soon.

Fans of Led Zeppelin may not take to these stylistic changes well, but Plant's adventurous tendencies are well placed on the ten songs here.

The constant changes of direction can be a little jarring on the first couple plays, but they eventually become one of the album's charms.

When an album is as effortlessly warm and pretty as this one is, it's hard to begrudge the band a return to more familiar sonic pastures, and even more so when Mouthfuls suggests that the Fruit Bats' next album will be even more winning.

Shows a refreshing rawness that was absent before.

If you know Rancid and love Rancid, you will love this record like an old friend.

As worthwhile as Shields' contributions are, it would be a mistake to let them eclipse the rest of this fine soundtrack.

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