Adams touches upon rainy-day English rock and atmospheric anthems custom-made for arenas, but his touchstone remains American rock, specifically the Replacements.

While The Social Network may not be as iconic as the Dust Brothers' score for Fincher's Fight Club, it's as impressive and listenable in its own way. Reznor fans and film score aficionados will find a lot to like here.

It's one of the few effective Euro-flavored club numbers to be fronted by an R&B artist. Altogether, this is one of 2010's finest pop-R&B albums -- Ciara's best yet.

For those interested in one of the more compelling and quietly provocative and graceful guitar records of 2010, Silent Movies is well worth seeking out.

No doubt, Diddy injects so much of his unfiltered self into the album that no hater can be swayed, but it's his unique attitude that makes Last Train such a delight.

At the very least, the album doesn't tarnish his legacy, although it adds nothing to it either.

It's easily the least sexually charged album in his discography, ideal for those who admire him as a singer, arranger, and producer but tune out the fantastical come-ons.

If she had the right co-writers, the kind who could pull melodies out of her sincere strumming and down-home jamming -- the kind the whole American Idol empire was designed to bring into the equation -- Farmer's Daughter would deliver on Bowersox's promise instead of sounding like a local singer/songwriter performing on a stage she's too modest to fill.

A funhouse mirror of an album, Mini Mansions is a few shades lighter than Rekords Rekords' usual output, but it's still twisted and catchy enough to win over those more familiar with Shuman's day job.

Taken as pieces, these songs are prime 2000s indie rock; added together they make Play It Strange a satisfying step forward for the band.

Some 13 years after he cut an MTV Unplugged album, Adams decided to once again strip down his songs to acoustic, to take them down to their Bare Bones, to coin a phrase that's used for the title of this 2010 collection.

In the end, Pink Friday is an ambitious, glossy stunner if fashion week is your favorite time of year, but Minaj didn't earn her diva status this way.

The album is not only perfectly balanced; it stands out as a bright (black) light amid the dross of postmillennial rock.

It's a wonder why a few of these cuts didn't pop up before this, but as a collection of outtakes, they hold together better than some of the band's proper albums.

Kid Cudi's Man on the Moon II was released in a year where rap album sequels were common, but unlike most of the competition, this sequel has a very strong link to its predecessor.

The rallying choruses are not effective, and he's short on ideas; threatening to steal attached women is a default topic. 5.0 is, by a considerable margin, Nelly's least essential release to date.

The Promise stands on its own as a great Bruce Springsteen record; it feels finished, focused, and, above all, offers more proof that Springsteen is one of the greatest rock and pop songwriters.

It's a faithful version that humbly spotlights the versatility of a fascinating talent.

Sure, Max Martin's hooks, and especially Dr. Luke's neon-colored throb push these tunes into your head--they're in top form, aided by the tight focus of an eight-track EP, Cannibal's brevity trumping the scattershot Animal--but what makes them stick is Kesha, a pop star lacking pop star looks and a pop star voice.

For the most part, The Gift is indeed predictable in its sound--a continuation of the glassy, stately march of I Dreamed a Dream--and songs, relying on carols, not secular seasonal tunes.

The level of sophistication--arrangements with subtle details, the frequency of slow tempos, a couple well-trodden motifs--lends itself to a couple tepid tunes, but Ne-Yo remains a premier source of R&B that is both traditional and contemporary.

Overall, though, Body Talk is more focused than Robyn, and just as bold in the intimacy it creates with listeners.

As fatiguing as it is invigorating, as cold-blooded as it is heart-rending, as haphazardly splattered as it is meticulously sculpted, My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy is an extraordinarily complex 70-minute set of songs.

Encompassing the past, present, and future of sci-fi scores, Tron: Legacy feels like it grew and mutated from its origins the same way the film's world did. Without a doubt, it's a game-changer for Daft Punk.

While it's important to have ambition, Deluca probably should have stuck to the sound he does so well. His desire to stretch makes We Can't Fly a misfire of an album. It would have made a nice EP though.

After factoring in the fictitious post-breakup duet with Ne-Yo (which is more like a verbal joust), the self-flagellating "Holding You Down (Goin' in Circles)" (a collision of oft-used samples and references that does not sound the least bit tired), and the nakedly ambitious "Famous" (where she yearns for girls to want to be like her), it becomes increasingly clear that Love Me Back sprawls and stuns in equal measure.

In the end, this is the same mixed bag as last time round with a half point subtracted for diminishing returns, and another half point subtracted for lessons not learned.

With the high-gloss Flo Rida, less is more, meaning this eight-tracker is entirely right-sized.