The Believer may be a formula recording, but it still satisfies, for the most part, on the level of what it is: a finely crafted pop/rock album.

At 27 tracks, the whole affair could do with a sizable trimming, as much of the material tends to sound the same, but as far as collections go, Omnibus is the real deal, and a Decemberists' archivist's wet dream.

Even if Precious Memories winds up as something slightly underwhelming, there's no denying that this is precisely the album Jackson wanted to make, one that's consistent in tone and exact in its vision.

If in Both Sides of the Gun Harper is trying to show his audience what a wide variety of music he can cover, he certainly accomplishes that. But if he's trying to create an album that is really about him, he doesn't quite deliver. Ben Harper is in there, don't worry, but he can be a little hard to find.

Unfortunately, though, too much of Show Your Bones just isn't that interesting, even if it was born from genuine heartache instead of sass and attitude.

It's hard not to shake the suspicion that this album is the closest he's ever been to forgettable.

Vision Valley might be a little predictable, but at least the Vines sound like they're back in control of their lives and music again.

A series of expertly produced, expertly recorded adult pop tunes.

The Black Magic Show is a decent move forward for Elefant. A little more sincerity and a little less swagger might have been nice though.

Most listeners won't care to follow this particular rabbit down the hole because of the bracing cynicism, paranoia, misanthropy, and betrayal they'll hear at every turn on this record.

With Some Echoes, Aloha craft an imaginative amalgam of all of their favorite musical fruit.

Unlike its predecessor, there isn't much to dig into here; what you hear upon that first listen is exactly what you get.

Simpatico... is the Charlatans' version of the Stones' Emotional Rescue: it's a groove-centric rock album, heavy on disco and reggae rhythms, where the overall vibe is more important than the individual songs.

The affection that Sweet, Hoffs and company display for this music is the reason to hear this record: they're having such a good time playing their favorite songs, it's hard not to smile along as well.

At times, Wolfmother's unintentionally bizarre amalgams are kind of delightful, and the group does have a basic, brutal sonic force that is pretty appealing, but even at their best, they never banish the specters of the bands that they desperately mimic.

Though some Elf Power fans may be satisfied with the few songs that are reminiscent of the band's previous records ("The World Is Waiting," "23rd Dream") and the abstract, occasionally prog-like references to masters and kings, others may be disappointed, or at least confused, by the focus on experimenting with dark, Middle Eastern-inspired drones mixed with Western pop/folk sensibilities.

Milian's weakness remains ballads; the few that are here are more like placeholders that merely apply some forced variety to the album.

But even if Every Man for Himself was constructed with the mainstream in mind, it likely won't win any new converts, since at their core Hoobastank remains unchanged: their songs aren't particularly dynamic or catchy, the band doggedly follows alt-rock conventions as if adherence to clichés gives the group legitimacy, and Robb's pedestrian voice alternately disappears into the mix or veers flat when he holds a note.

Wasif tries too hard to make lines interesting and profound, and they end up sounding awkward and a bit forced.

One can't help but think that just a little bit more spice might have elevated all of these beautiful ideas out of the trappings of their now painfully insular song structures.

It's not quite focused enough to place among the best of his other work.

Against productions this diluted, Jurassic's top-notch rhymers -- Chali 2na, Soup, Akil -- fail to make any headway, usually spitting rhymes already familiar to listeners of their earlier work.

It's not bad, it's just not as profound as Shineywater and Hughes would like everyone to believe it is.

There's still a kind of inconsistency in the development of Through the Windowpane, an inconsistency that can't quite work itself out in sweeping strings and vaguely dissonant chords, and unfortunately, this diminishes the power of what the album really could be.

The Silver Lining suggests that Soul Asylum might still have another great album in them (especially if Murphy does more of the songwriting), but this one certainly isn't it.

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

Two Thousand is nothing if not well crafted; that it doesn't have more memorable moments is as frustrating as it is mystifying.

Graceless he may be, but Timberlake is nevertheless kind of fascinating on FutureSex/LoveSounds since his fuses a clear musical vision -- misguided, yes, but clear all the same -- with a hammyness that only a child entertainer turned omnipresent 21st century celebrity can be.