Unfortunately though, Return to V isn't a back-to-basics record, and there isn't a single landmark to pick out from its 18 tracks.

Ultimately, it's hard to avoid that Auf Der Maur is living in the past, re-creating 1996 and acting like she's still 24.

A work of intense drama but little importance.

A string of songs that, like Luna, hints at greatness but never seems to choose the fork in the road that might take them there.

This slick homage to electronic hippie music sounds like two smart guys having genuine fun playing something they love.

Solid and pleasing, if somewhat predictable.

Overall, Jem's songcraft is only ambitious in relation to a genre often defined by a "blander is better" pleasure principle.

While there are some interesting musical moments on Folklore -- enough to make it worth a listen -- the dogged seriousness and didactic worldview become a bit overbearing not long before the album is a quarter of the way finished, particularly since the fusion of worldbeat and adult alternative pop often seems heavy-handed.

While this release shows real growth, one questions if that's what Donnaholics are looking for.

It does seem like a step backward for them, and it doesn't help that there aren't as many memorable songs here as there are on the debut.

Ultimately, quality singing and composing are the things that make Details a cut above much of the electronic Europop that came out in 2002.

Styrofoam represents the part of the Morr Music roster where the first three letters of the label's name might as well stand for "middle of the road."

One has to give credit to an '80s new wave musician who can adapt and create contemporary-sounding music.... The album can comfortably sit alongside Marilyn Manson and Nine Inch Nails on store shelves. Pure doesn't drive like the industrialized adrenaline rush that is, say, Orgy, but the tracks' lingering and creepy pace leaves behind a different kind of impact -- it's more haunting than relentless

With Contraband, Velvet Revolver has pulled off something tidy, fashioning music that manages both hedonism and maturity.

Harmonium is confident and somber, a conscious attempt to be serious and mature that nevertheless still sounds adolescent, largely due to her earnest lyrics and overly ambitious music.

When it works, this can be pretty invigorating, but when it doesn't, it's utterly maddening.

The whole gang sounds as good as ever.

If judged merely on a sonic level it's one of the more interesting, detailed adult alternative records of recent years. But that pompous narcissism is his Achilles' heel, the thing that keeps wary listeners at bay.

Even though Wet from Birth occasionally gets tripped up on its own ambitions, it still has its share of enjoyable tracks.

Luda hasn't slipped into the complacent lap of luxury as deeply as some of his fellow platinum contemporaries, but it's evident that he's not as hungry as he once was.

Unfortunately, the album doesn't quite measure up to its hype and should disappoint those expecting Ludacris to top his past successes.

Justified is just sound and posturing, with no core.

A series of hard-rockin', tight tunes...

While the band still needs to develop more of its own sound, there's enough promise in stellastarr* to suggest that they might.

It's hard to deny the sparkle and fade of Depeche Mode beats and the sensual allure of Duran Duran. After 25 years, those sounds still hold up; by 2004, however, it's an incredible task to pull this kind of thing off without selling yourself to the tastes of the masses.

The biggest problem with the record is that the eye is on the big picture - from how the songs fit together, to how the overall sound fits a song - that the individual moments aren't all that memorable, clearly lacking singles as forceful as those that fueled Throwing Copper and not quite as compelling as a whole as its predecessor, V.

Encore never resonates the way his first three endlessly fascinating albums do.

Lifeblood is a pleasant listen, but once you peel away the keyboards, sensitively strummed guitars and tasteful harmonies and concentrate on Bradfield's nakedly open voice and Wire's terminally collegiate lyrics, it's hard to escape the unintentional pathos that winds up defining the album and, conceivably, the band's latter-day career.