None of this is major but it is enjoyable, worthwhile for the devoted--and it's nice they can get it separately instead of plunking down cash yet again for a deluxe edition.

Happy in Galoshes isn't quite as textured or bright as "12 Bar Blues"--the smaller budget is evident in its muted colors as well as Weiland's sleepy delivery--but it has the same emphasis on churning psychedelia and clomping glam.

If one wants to really hear the gifts that Adkins is endowed with as a vocalist, one that can reach people in the marrow of where they live, toss away the hits and listen to the rest.

Cuomo still doesn't allow himself the freedom to venture in these directions on Weezer's albums, and that's what makes both volumes of Alone quite valuable: they're as eccentric as they are accessible, portraits of a pop hermit letting his mind wander wherever it may take him.

Enjoyment of the Rapture's Tapes necessitates unfamiliarity with the majority of its contents, indifference to acute sequencing and, naturally, deep interest in what the band views as classic and fresh.

The nice thing about Day & Age is that not only is Flowers' voice relatively buried, the Killers are unwittingly comfortable with their ludicrous, outsized pop, which turns the album into terrifically trashy pop. Not the serious rock they yearn to be by any means, but these fashionable threads fit them better anyway.

In the City gets by on hooks and hugeness, like an irony-free Andrew W.K., Timbaland working with Aerosmith, or a jaded version of the Jonas Brothers now willing to drop the F-bomb.

It's a good album, no less and no more.

It's a marvelously intimate performance, unguarded and open-hearted, unique in its delicate touch: it's Neil Young before the myth crystallized, and listening to it anew, it's easy to fall in love with him all over again.

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.

Dark Horse was constructed entirely from the group's standard templates of bleating power ballads and dulled hard rock.

There are melancholic edges, but it's not haunting, it's comforting, reassuring music that's quietly powerful, music that Dido hinted at before but never quite made.

Of course, the songs are amazing, but just as impressively, Stuart Murdoch's vocals are heartbreakingly sincere and soulful, and the band definitively belie their image as shamblers by sounding tight and together.

David Cook [is] remarkably similar to the debut of his AmIdol forefather, DAUGHTRY, but where Chris Daughtry wallows in his stylized amorphous angst, Cook is a friendly puppy dog, eager to please.

What he isn't, however, is an album-oriented artist, and that's clear on Startin' Fires, his fifth studio release. There's a little bit of everything here, and that's part of the problem.

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.

Devil Dirt is almost a carbon copy of Broken Seas in every way (except for the decidedly cheap looking album art). This similarity could be problematic and make the album less impressive or desirable; fortunately, the formula is strong and worth revisiting.

Mannered English eccentricity never sounded so deliriously thrilling.

He's come into his own carrying on the tradition of Afro-beat, but putting his own beautiful signature on it as its original heir.

Like a garish version of his label boss Akon, he's a singer/songwriter/producer who doesn't evolve much over this avalanche of releases and guest shots, but Thr33 Ringz proves he's much more aware of his limitations.

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

Swift's gentle touch is as enduring as her songcraft, and this musical maturity may not quite jibe with her age but it does help make Fearless one of the best mainstream pop albums of 2008.

For its lack of rush-inducing highs and novel sounds, the album is immensely pleasurable, with fleet keyboard vamps and percussive effects that stab and flick ricocheting off pliant, bounding basslines.

Taken together, they position Love Is All as one of the best post-punk revivalist groups, and arguably the equal of their influences. Whether you stand behind that statement or not, A Hundred Things Keep Me Up at Night is as good as indie rock gets in the late 2000s.

Compare 'Here Comes The' with 'Vessels,' a breakup tune that eschews inconsolability for bright key changes and high anthemic vocals, and you get the full spectrum of Walker's songwriting ability, which is as razor-sharp in 2008 as it ever has been.

What makes Soul an overall success isn't just Seal's caressing vocals and obvious knowledge of how to interpret these songs faithfully without drifting away; it's the subtle yet effective production work of 15-time Grammy-winning producer David Foster.

The craft of Our Bright Future is impressive and Chapman's talents are as clearly evident as ever, but unfortunately this album offers precious little in the way of anything fresh or unexpected from this artist.

That's a lot of repetition but whether it's taken in either its single-disc or double-disc deluxe editions, The Sound of the Smiths is the best of these posthumous overviews.