It's still a label sampler at heart, so a pre-love of platinum gangsta music and that slick Maybach sound are still advised.

This music glides across the ears, never indicating how deeply its hooks are sinking in; these songs wind up growing in the subconscious, suggesting how Matthews knows precisely how his obscure art works.

The results are approximately as scattered. Gray's obvious comfort level and charm, however, help compensate for the less than ideal quantity of magnetizing material.

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

Apart from the sly and sweet 2-step rhythm on "Wasted Times," the sound of the EP is bleary R&B with beats that drag and lurch, suited for Tesfaye's routine swings between self-pity and sexual vanity, chemically enhanced from one extreme to the other.

American Central Dust doesn't have the feel of a step into new territory the way Son Volt's past two albums did, but it consolidates old strengths and confirms Jay Farrar is still an artist worth caring about to 20 years after Uncle Tupelo cut their first album.

There is a successful degree of experimentation on the songs that is not only tolerable but helpful for an act to constantly remain on top of its game and be relevant with fans.

As contrived and calculated as a Mariah Carey record, only without the joy.

These days music fans will be hard-pressed to find an album so satisfying.

A complex and rewarding exploration of the many musical and lyrical themes that tie contemporary reggae and hip-hop together.

Joan of Arc have once more surpassed themselves as artists.

This is a return to the sound of Sixteen Stone, complete with big, grandiose production propelled by ballsy grunge riffs and real hooks in the guitars and vocals.

The heavy lyrics are curious in the framework of mostly bright sonics, but the combination makes Destruction in Yr Soul a more thought-provoking listen, drawing the listener back to certain phrases or sections of its colorful pastiche of sounds to better understand its unique duality.

On the surface, Tiller still gives off that wallflower baller vibe; the brashness of the debut largely remains. The lack of connection made on the one stylistic shake-up--the lightly jutting "Run Me Dry," a cousin of Rihanna's "Work" and Drake's "One Dance"--suggests that Tiller will likely be better off continuing to refine the sound for which he's known.

With Widow's Weeds, the band hasn't necessarily reinvented their wheel, but there's a deep sense of change and growth, both in personal perspective and potential direction. While it takes time for the album to really sink in, it ends up being one of Silversun Pickups' most emotionally satisfying and cathartic listens.

By slowing things down a bit, they're able to let the knack for melody do a lot of the heavy lifting, giving the songs an airiness that's unlike any other electronic band out there. This makes The Speed of Things not only an excellent follow-up to their already stellar debut, but an album that you'd almost have to try not to like.

Cyrus has always sounded older than her years, and as she leaves her teens, that's a good thing--especially since The Time of Our Lives shows her music is catching up to her pipes.

Thankfully, while Nash has moved to a more extroverted, aggressive sound, she hasn't sacrificed any of the personal, intimate lyrics that marked the best of her early songs.

Both artists are gifted social commentators with a love for snarky, collegiate cynicism that hides a huge sentimental streak.

In sum, this the most representative outing from Grace Potter & the Nocturnals to date, and displays, however slickly, a heady quotient of strut, crackle, and groove.

It's a disappointing turn of events for the band, the kind that might lose them a bunch of their fans, while failing to win them any new ones in return.

This time around Murs delves into even more of a funk sound, and tracks like "Troublemaker" and "Hey You Beautiful" bring to mind the sound of such similarly inclined contemporaries as Maroon 5 and the Wanted.

Last of Our Kind is the sound of a band unencumbered; it's an album that was probably as much fun to make as it is a joy to listen to.

Begin resonates most when Hervey and Goodman are left to themselves.

The guys have grown up and the results are as catchy and enjoyable as anything they ever did in their youthful heyday.

After a while the tracks all begin to sound the same, disco beat with Seal style R&B vocals, no bad thing but nothing much original and nothing to come close to the single 'Black And Gold.'

Despite a few stumbles, Identified achieves its goal: it anticipates that Hudgens' fans will outgrow "High School Musical" soon enough, and gives her a better chance of staying relevant to them as they move on to other kinds of pop music.

Two years later, Picture Show proves that the band's flair for writing almost aggravatingly catchy songs is as strong as ever.