Lyrically it's so strong and vulnerable that it works, leaving the listener haunted with the notion that something special has occurred, that he or she has born witness to a man becoming aware of the preciousness of his own life.

It's a nice blend of the self-conscious Flowers in the Dirt and the organic, natural Flaming Pie, combining the craft of the former with the attitude of the latter.

Bucks expectations and actually makes good on the indie rock promise of the band's full-length debut, 1998's overhyped albeit underwhelming I Become Small and Go.

Arab Strap's gradual refinements have hit a peak, but don't expect anything new. Slithery programmed beats, tingly guitars, plodding rhythms, and whispered/warbled sing-speak lead the way yet again, with occasional piano licks and strings thrown in for very good atmospheric measure.

He's successful even when he is indulging in a little silliness.

Not surprisingly, Trampin' is a largely political album, but it is far from a didactic one.

Sure, there's a couple of tracks that fall flat - Young Zee and Obie Trice feel strained - but it all flows well, and it's all strong.

Favourite Colours is lovely and adventurous stuff that proves the Sadies are only getting better with each trip into the studio.

If this is indeed his final offering as a songwriter, it is a fine, decent, and moving way to close this chapter of the book of his life.

Bristles with the independent spirit that put both punk and hip-hop on the map.

All That You Can't Leave Behind is a rock record from a band that absorbed all the elastic experimentation, studio trickery, dance flirtations, and genre bending of Achtung, Zooropa, and Pop -- all they've shed is the irony. U2 also chooses not to delve as darkly personal as they did on Achtung or Zooropa, yet they also avoid the alienating archness of Pop, choosing to return to the generous spirit that flowed through their best '80s records.

Like Erykah Badu and other retro-soul artists that have followed her, Alicia Keys is trying to redefine modern R&B by injecting it with jazz and blues. In Songs in A Minor, Keys accomplishes her goal with poise and skill.

Like the best Indigo Girls work has, All That We Let In continually dwells on the dynamic of internal, emotional tumult and outward-looking, world-wondering fervor.

Burned Mind isn't just Wolf Eyes' most cohesive album, it's also their most accessible.

Everybody Loves a Happy Ending will do little to convert those who winced at Orzabal and Smith's obtuse lyrics and over the top production the first time around, but loyal followers, fans of XTC's Apple Venus, Pt. 1, and lovers of intricately arranged and artfully executed pop music will find themselves delightfully consumed by this enigmatic group's final (?) chapter.

More New Order and Saint Etienne than Smiths, and with male and female vocals, the band comes across as an electro-pop Belle and Sebastian.

What makes this album so wonderful isn't so much the efforts of its star rapper but rather the behind-the-scenes cast of producers.

Using only guitars and drums, the Pharmacists whip up a powerful mix of wild abandon and subtlety that is a perfect backing for Leo's vocal dexterity and clanging guitar heroics.

Those who just enjoyed the sound and feel of Room for Squares should feel right at home.

A surprisingly strong and assured record.

She may not yet have the set of skills, or the experience, to give a nuanced, textured performance -- one that feels truly lived-in, not just sung -- but she's a compelling singer and Mind, Body & Soul lives up to her promise.

Make no mistake, this isn't the second coming of Purple Rain or Sign 'o' the Times or even Parade -- in other words, it's not a masterpiece, more like a more confident and consistent Diamonds and Pearls without the hip-hop fixation -- but it's a strong album, one that impresses on the first listen and gets better with repeated plays.

Peachtree Road proves that he's back to making good, solid records focused on songs, not hits, the way he did at the outset of his career.

Musically, Reconstruction Site has more in common with literate indie types like Clem Snide or even the mature, clear-eyed work of Michael Penn.

They might not be as unsettling as they were in their early days, but they still know how to mess things up.

If there are no classics here, there's no duds, either, and given that the Beasties' pop culture aesthetic once seemed to be the territory of young men, it's rather impressive that they're maturing gracefully, turning into expert craftsmen that can deliver a satisfying listen like this.

The record offers something to nearly every audience that could approach it, with a bit of a groove for electronic fans, an obtuse sense of music-making for experimentalists, and a dreamy melodicism sure to endear it to indie-pop fans.

All told, this album is probably the band's best balance of pop melodies and avant-leaning structures since Washing Machine; even if it doesn't rank among their most ambitious work, Sonic Nurse sounds like the kind of album Sonic Youth should be making at this point in their career.