Sticking close to the synth pop influenced material of their debut, the album sports noticeably higher fidelity, catchier tunes, and an improved illustration of Dykes' vocals.

Overall, the album leans more toward the melodic end of their oeuvre, but they have grown into this kinder, gentler mode organically, progressively working toward this groove little by little, album by album.

It's fun, to be sure, especially for the fans who are the compilation's target audience, but everything here sounds like the classic definition of B-sides -- good and familiar, but not as good as what made the album.

It's hard not to find this album kind of disappointing, a confirmation that no matter what they do, Oasis Mach II will never have the sheer abandon or thrill as Definitely Maybe through Morning Glory.

Muzikizum is informed by a slim, spare aesthetic that sounds more 1992 than 2002, evoking simply produced, imperial-sounding tracks from Spooky and Leftfield; in other words, the glory days of progressive house.

For the most part, this is more of the same, which disciples will have no qualms about.

It's distinctly focused with an urban appeal while rooted in rock, and a bit comparable to the likes of Poe, Fiona Apple, and Beth Orton.

On the vintage foundation of simple, minimal patterns repeated to often-hypnotic effect, Wire builds a beefed-up, contemporary wall of sound.

Murray Street's first four songs rank among the most consistent, and consistently exciting, work in Sonic Youth's career, so much so that the album's shorter, more rock-oriented songs feel a bit anticlimactic.

At times, John Barry conducting the Buzzcocks; at others, EMF covering Petula Clark.

A release that seems to present a band on the verge of an artistic breakthrough.

In other words, he didn't take any unnecessary risks -- after all, the formula proved successful the first time around -- and that's partly why Nellyville isn't as exciting as it perhaps could be.

Universal Truths and Cycles shows the band has lost touch with the most important thing outside producers brought to their TVT albums -- someone to help pick, choose, and sequence Robert Pollard's over-abundance of songs.

It's not a splashy comeback, then, but a quiet return to something Gabriel does best -- creating soundscapes that are at once alien and familiar, eerie yet comforting.

Unfortunately, Oakenfold isn't much of a pioneer any more, and though it's clear his ear for a solid production hasn't deserted him, Bunkka sees him following the trends instead of pushing them.

Shaddix's woes connect directly to a large and equally confused audience, and that nobody this side of Kurt Cobain communicates them with as much power.

Anyone expecting the sharp, high-lonesome sound of "How Mountain Girls Can Love" and "Roll in My Sweet Baby's Arms" may be disappointed at the sound of the septuagenarian's old bones croaking together, but anyone who can appreciate the stark purity of honest American folk music will hold this album close to their hearts.

James' musical prowess on the anthemic "Born of Frustration" and 11-minute sonic storm of "Sound" are great representations of what made them a brilliant pop band in the first place.

Ultimately, No! is one of the group's most creative albums in years, and undoubtedly one of 2002's best children's releases, because it says yes to fun and individuality.

Though the lo-fi D.I.Y. production slows the momentum on a handful of tracks, when Slug's rhymes and producer Ant's beats click, the results are as good as underground hip-hop gets.

By cutting away some of the fat and finding new ways to deliver their trademark roar, the members of Korn manage to offer a strong and lean album that maintains their place as innovators in a genre with few leaders

A colorful, satisfying album that feels like a classic.

Ultimately, the disc is a mix of Afrocentrifugal explosiveness -- not only from the music, but also from her powerful lyrics that make the political personal and the personal political.

Archer Prewitt returns to the whip-smart pop sensibilities that defined his first two LPs, upping the ante to reveal an altogether new sophistication and complexity that spur his music to unexpected heights of brilliance.

This is the kind of debut that lurches into the grungy excess befitting trashcan fires, anachronistic outsider idolization, and massive Feeder collections assembled inside Southern Californian suburbs.

Anna is nothing revolutionary, of course, and that dog. fans have certainly heard this before. But that same audience will most likely want to hear it again, as will anyone who believes female rockers don't need to choose between being a folky riot grrrl (Ani DiFranco, Dar Williams) or a mainstream maven (Meredith Brooks, Sheryl Crow).

The problem is Lavigne is still so young she's listening to the radio hits of the '90s and early 2000s: she's Pink when she's bucking authority, Alanis Morissette when she's angry, and Jewel when she's sensitive.

As much as the vocals, however, the fault for Dirty Vegas lies with the unambitious production; Dirty Vegas make a crossover group like Underworld sound positively edgy in comparison.