Jayne and company do manage to pull off a few tracks that capture the old fire and brimstone of classic LAL, but the shiny textures and generic songwriting are too much to overcome, rendering Holy a disappointing addition to the band's previously strong catalog.

This is a solid if flawed first try.

Morning Tide, though pleasant and by no means bad, is also far from original and too "of the moment" to make much of an impact beyond appearing in the occasional TV show or film soundtrack--basically anywhere that pleasant, generic modern rock is needed.

These are not songs for the parents, nor are these tunes meant to educate or even entertain: these are the kinds of songs that kids chant in the backseat when they mean to annoy their parents.

As a debut album, however, Wrecking Ball is a hit-or-miss effort that only hints at the band's potential.

You can appreciate the emotion put into The Lord Dog Bird and feel the soul being poured out--but without any variety in the album's sound or any songs that jump out and demand repeat spins, ultimately you're left with a less than satisfying listening experience.

Few vocalists as young as Hudson have a voice that is as versatile and expressive, proficient enough to pull off a multi-dimensional set of R&B songs, yet her debut is as tricked out as that of an artist with a small fraction of the talent.

This is a love-it-or-lump-it album, a polarizing effort that--depending on personal preference--is either irresistibly attractive or laughably, overzealously pretentious.

Enjoying Slipway Fires requires a suspension of disbelief, a conscious separation between the band's past and the somewhat ludicrous present.

So, it delivers exactly what Archuleta promised on the show: something sweet and safe, utterly old-fashioned and forgettable.

Beyonce's third solo studio album is as concise as 2006's B'day, but it is divided into two discs as a way to emphasize the singer's distinct personalities. It's a gimmick, of course--a flimsy one.

With a winning opener (the familiar but nonetheless brutal "Fish Out of Water") and a handful of other keepers (including "A New Game" and the surprisingly subtle "Never Enough"), fans looking for a repeat of L.D. 50, Beginning of All Things to End, End of All Things to Come, and Lost and Found will be more than pleased, but those looking for actual growth would be better off cleaning out their refrigerators.

The obsession Cradle of Filth have with post-production is the very thing that removes the power from this set and makes it more of a wry--and unintentionally comedic--piece and impossible to take seriously.

Common's here to have a good time, no strings attached, with uneven results.

This wide net says more about Maroon 5's fashion than it does their music--they're sharp and smart enough to know what will get them club play and blog mentions--but it's nice to have a band so big try to tie together these two niches, even if neither the R&B nor the indie rock winds up relating to the happy mainstream hooks of the group's hits.

Discerning fans may demand something new from the band's next effort, however, since this is essentially "Move Along" with a revised track list.

Most of these songs feel like quickly dashed off poems; it's all "tell" with no "show," because there isn't anything in the music to effectively offer them to the listener as conversation; instead they are on display as mixed-message sermons.

Short on new ideas and lacking in cohesion, Soulja Boy Tell Em's second official full-length finds the young upstart trying way too hard to re-create the bazillion selling 'Crank That' and repeatedly coming up short.

This is the problem that bands face when they go from the thrill of making the first record to the grind of having to produce something equal or better than their debut. Not too many groups can pull it off; add the 1990s to the long list of bands who have failed.

A handful of marginal highs aside (the minor urgency of 'Courage,' the fluid sobriety of 'Gravity'), it's hard to shake the feeling that Rules would be a lot more satisfying if it broke a few more.

Without the instantly gripping singles, Jigsaw is as scattered as its title implies.

This problematic arrival shows too in the final product, but the problem may not be the much maligned rapper's ability or inspiration but the constant mishandling of his material. So many prime street cuts have been given away to comps, mixtapes, and soundtracks in the five years since Kiss of Death was released that only the slick, polished numbers remain.

Other than the hypnotic 'Work' and the playfully geeky 'Hazel,' the set is punchless, more a pleasant mood album fit for casual background listening, lacking the unnerved tension that runs through the majority of "Last Exit" and "So This Is Goodbye."

It's pleasant enough, particularly when the breathy vocals fade away to leave behind cascades of guitars, but even at its best, it's nothing more than an approximation of Smashing Pumpkins at their peak, with all the interesting parts stripped away.

Metamorphosis has a dire determination to its purported good times, its riffs grinding instead of greasy, its rhythms clenched where they should be loose.

Maybe it's a clue that Jones has already moved on and that there's not much here to get excited about, past some high-powered singles.

The E.N.D. (Energy Never Dies) is a mess of pop/dance/rap crossover.

No one should have expected getting Blood from a Stone to be easy, but it's a shame it had to be this much of a chore.