The productions are much better than the songs.

Even if it's not the most persuasive mood album, once the party has kicked into high gear Rebelution will certainly keep it going.

The whining hasn't let up (see 'No Love' and 'Generation'), but the fun hasn't either. Credit the producers.

Some focus and editing would have really helped because there's a great album buried somewhere in here.

Carve out the ultimate party EP, or consider the highlights too high to miss, because this is Dizzee at his breeziest and is best taken in little bits.

She bridges powdery lyrics and floating acoustics throughout the nine-track album, singing from an inner spirituality.

What makes Brett Anderson succeed as solo debut is that it truly presents Anderson on his own, willing to sound different, quieter than he did when in a band, willing to open his heart without regard for consequences.

They chuck all that out the window by corseting her cornball humor into an immaculately tailored straitjacket, burying her voice in the mix, cutting away the country in favor of a manicured crossover pop unsuited for Pickler's gawky, gangly voice.

There are times throughout its ten tracks when Lloyd does appear to be testing the patience of even her most ardent fans.

Which may make it a change of pace for Korn, but it sure doesn't break them out of their midlife slump--if anything, it exacerbates it.

The whole record is wrong. Predictable, slick, soulless, and worst of all, boring, it meets the expectations of everyone who thought the band was foolish for working with the Matrix.

Not everything here works, not by a long shot, but the overall impression is that Liz Phair has finally reconnected with the spirit of Girlysound--which, contrary to popular opinion, wasn't all serious--and is on her way to once again being a compelling artist unafraid to take risks.

Those who were left disappointed by ['Face2Face'] will probably be happy to have the Face of old back with Grown & Sexy, a back-to-basics album that sounds a lot more natural in comparison.

He seems like a featured artist on his own album, which would be standard issue for other producers turned artist, but not Guetta.

Shaka Rock squanders the promise Jet showed on their previous work, and even if they soldier on and release another ten albums, this feels like the end of the road for them.

Days Go By is more for fans who have been with the band for a while than those just tuning in, and while die-hard Offspring followers will be able to see the shift in the band's sound as part of a logical progression, new listeners would be better served by checking out some of their earlier, more urgent work.

A tribute album starring the man of honor himself, who also curated the whole affair, See My Friends is a bit of a curious creature.

Looper drops their bright playfulness for a sophisticated, darker counterpart which uses jazz, R&B, and trip-hop as its foundation.

They embrace their essence, how they want to be broader and burlier than the rest, how they want reflection to seem like celebration and parties to be a dark night of the soul. This contradiction means the band remains an uneasy good time, but at least on Us and the Night the reconstituted 3 Doors Down have decided to look on the sunny side of life.

As a record, this The Sea of Memories is easily the most enjoyable collection of songs released under Bush's name.

Beerbongs & Bentleys is an apt reflection of his lavish lifestyle and his subsequently begotten hardships, but its attempts at sincerity work only when Post Malone stops trying so hard.

Once upon a time, Mark Eitzel seemed incapable of writing a bad song, and while that doesn't quite happen on Candy Ass, enough of the album comes close enough to suggest this guy needs to hook up with American Music Club again, and soon.

Apart from ["You Make That Look Good" and "Write My Number on Your Hand"], the songs and production demand that all energy come from young Scotty, who amiably sleepwalks through the tunes.

DS4 is caught between the woozy, floating sounds of WUNNA and an older, heavier-hitting sound, yet nails neither.

This is an indulgent jumble of a sideline release, but that doesn't mean Wayne isn't in fine form.

Still, no matter how many of these admittedly incredible rhymes end up surfacing over time thanks to his mother's part-earnest, part-exploitative efforts, the bottom line is that 2Pac never finished these songs -- there are a few fully developed songs here worth marveling over, just not nearly enough to justify the album's double-disc length

Delayed for over a year, Treat Myself lacks some of the effortless charm of her debut as Trainor trades her breezy singer/songwriter energy in favor of a sophisticated production style that sometimes threatens to lose her in the mix. Still, there are plenty of fun moments.

Hellbent on pushing the envelope, Newcombe shines as a prolific madman once again and as recycled as the ideas are, My Bloody Underground is a fantastic new direction and a forward thinking album that indicates that however combustible, there is a lot more life left in BJM, in any incarnation.