A Christmas Cornucopia is a real contender for best Christmas album of 2010.

Smart guy that he is, Rubin doesn't eliminate surging melodrama from Groban's bag of tricks but he does limit and mute the palette, making sure the strings don't soar so high and that the singer doesn't bellow.

Dig those snippets and Codename: Rondo just might be this weekend's soundtrack.

Maturity doesn't necessarily suit the band--there's a natural, flat whine to Joel Madden's voice that dooms him to eternal adolescence--but every step Good Charlotte makes toward a comfortable middle age on Cardiology is a step that succeeds, producing music that resonates louder and longer than the flashy twaddle of Good Morning Revival.

While this isn't necessarily a bad idea on paper, the Concretes unfortunately forgo much of what made them an enjoyable listen in the process.

The concentration on writing and arrangement is disciplined, with a strong set of dynamics, a terrific mix, and great production, and of course the lavish package lives up to the band's reputation as well.

Two minor complaints aside, For the Ghosts Within succeeds as both collaboration and an aural portrait of what a complete standards recording by Wyatt could offer.

The Constant has enough strong moments to make it a promising debut from a group with plenty of confidence, personality and potential.

Amoral or not, this album serves as a reminder that the superficial can still sound pretty super.

Darker and more immersive than previous outings, Underoath treads familiar ground, though each step holds the promise of a land mine.

Loud would not sound quite so slapdash if it did not follow Good Girl Gone Bad, one of the best pop albums of its decade, and Rated R, one of the most fascinating pop albums of the same time frame.

Small Black haven't quite mastered balancing their newfound polish with memorable songs, but New Chain's sound is so appealing that it could be considered one of the first chillwave albums aimed at the mainstream.

Urban's sixth American release is a lean collection of country-rockers and bedroom ballads.

Those speedy songs ["You and Me" and "Go Away My Lover"] are the exception on this album, not the rule, but they're still the highlight, balancing Ziman's ruminations on a love gone wrong with something much brighter.

Despite [a] couple of dragging moments, Coal Miner's Daughter is for the most part filled with solid, respectful versions of excellent songs and serves as a worthy tribute to an enduring icon.

Ultimately, All the Women I Am it falls flat; it feels awkward in its stylistic mimicry, and has no center.

Apart from that pair of stiff originals, the whole thing is cheerful and engaging, a worthy sequel to its predecessor.

The Brooklyn lovebirds stick to what they do best on their third album, which reprises the formula that made their previous record, Grand, an underground success.

Once again, N.E.R.D. are at their best when they abandon all regard for the Hot 100.

Eno may be trading on his earlier developments in ambience, but Small Craft on a Milk Sea is a good and proper balance of curiosity and expression.

The album winds up with trace echoes of all eras of Costello, but that's only a reflection of how National Ransom is a masterwork in the traditional sense: he's summoned all his skills to deliver an album that summarizes his world view.

It's an unhurried, affectionate tribute, the News riding grooves that are considerably cleaner than the classic Stax sides they love so much, but they nevertheless wind up with a warm, soulful vibe.

Call it reliable or call it boring, As U Were slots into the Lyrics Born discography comfortably, as an album any hip-hop fan could enjoy, but hardly love.

Like most covers sets, this is a mixed bag, and it's for the hardcore Diamond fan more than those who admire Home Before Dark, 12 Songs, or his work from the '60s through the mid-'70s.

Like Skin Deep before it, Living Proof is distinguished by these bold, clenched blasts of sonic fury, but here the production has just enough grit to make the entire enterprise feel feral, and that's a greater testament to Guy's enduring vitality than any one song could ever be.

Like the album's namesake, The Fire starts with a small spark that quickly builds itself into an emotional blaze that burns steadily across all 11 tracks, taking the listener on an exceptional musical ride.

The quietest moments tend to be as tense as the loudest, and the contrasts -- lambent, sparsely played guitar offset by skittering and rattling cymbals and transitory electronic thrums, for instance -- are deeply affecting with close listening.

The mix is somehow both spacious and full, with each instrument clearly audible at all times, yet making up one part of a majestic whole. This is a great psychedelic hard rock album, only occasionally returning to the sludgy metal of Kylesa's early releases.