A return to their former glory days, Snakes and Arrows shows this seminal prog rock band reclaiming some of the sonic territory that they'd lost over the past few years.

The Sonic Youth ringleader goes at it acoustically, far from his customary cacophonic experimentation, forming a venturesome trio with the Fleeting Skies' Samara Lubelski (violin) and SY's Steve Shelly (drums) and giving his lyrical verve the latitude it deserves.

Finds Welch showing more warmth, ease, and openness as both singer and songwriter.

100 Days, 100 Nights makes for a very welcome addition to any avid listener's contemporary soul music library.

Few bands... make slowing down sound this risky.

Blige, never far from the thoughts of the lovelorn, didn't need a breakthrough, but anybody with an ear for artful confession will be glad she's given us The Breakthrough anyway.

By mixing sweet with sour, E's warm and fuzzy mope rock sounds great whether it's blasting out of a convertible on a sunny day or playing in the background on a rainy night.

This album is bursting with quality. [Amazon UK]

Another Day on Earth is a more personal album from the ambient avatar, a recording of rare and meticulous maturity.

Nocturama feel[s] messy, unpredictable, and even a little dangerous--qualities Cave's music hasn't had in far too long.

Traditionally, Kylie Minogue has been at her best attempting pure pop, not chasing credibility, but X--her tenth studio album, and the first since 2003's "Body Language"--somehow pulls off the trick of being both

Now this is more like it.

The contributions of that tag-team of hitmakers take nothing away from the tightness and characteristic chic of the band--that they enhance the hypnotic sheen of Duran Duran, rather than subjugate it--makes a certain sense.

The Purple One has reconnected with that deep vein of funk after experimenting with his splendid and messy excesses since the cusp of the nineties, and turned out his best album since 1987's "Sign of the Times."

Simple Plan's plan--to get you bouncing, bobbing, and otherwise grooving--is still simple. And like all uncomplicated strategies, it's still remarkably effective.

The Con skillfully packs its instant hooks in so tight, virtually every line becomes the one you want to sing along to--and the twins' lyrics aren't your typical pop pabulum.

Both her most musically spare and artistically complex [album] to date.

No modern-day male artist beats him when it comes to single-minded self assurance or suavity.

Mellencamp's rawest album to date.

There's a resonant bearing to the set as a whole.

The Else, another collection that ranks with any in their memorable discography.

Just a Little Lovin' achieves the unlikely: a tribute to an immortal artist which both glorifies its subject and elevates the worshipper kneeling at her altar.

It's a consistently intelligent and daring record, yet remains enormously listenable.

This album blows the doors off its predecessor. Save a pair of disinfected ballads ("The Last Fight," "Gravedancer"), Libertad is all about hand-grenade chords, drag-racing riffs, and circus-tent choruses.

For elder listeners Fear probably won't serve as the powerful statement it wants to be--its themes have been explored to more exacting impact before and, musically, it's fairly standard progressive fare--but it is a strong and intelligent album and for a generation that's grown numb from three-minute ditties about life at the end of the country club cul-de-sac that embrace rather than rage against the dying of the light, it may serve as a wake up call and provide hope for a brighter and more color-infused tomorrow.

As far as standard Celine fare goes, in fact, Chances is likely her strongest non-French outing since 2002's "A New Day Has Come;" nobody unfolds a lyric with more care or nuance.

Stirrat and Sansone revisit the immaculate production of their previous work, but with greater cohesion and broader instrumentation.

Unglamorous clearly shows that the 36-year-old has graduated.

The first studio release by the Sadies in three years represents a big sonic advance.

Amiina enchant like a peek inside an elven gathering under the roots of Yggdrasil.

Add 3121 to the mounting pile of evidence: Prince is the black Beck.

An album that's smart at every level.

The results are richly satisfying throughout.

Brave may not be the most groundbreaking record ever to climb the pop charts, but it's enough to convince you JLo's discs don't stint on substance.

If the lyrics generally lack the literary precision of Zevon’s best work, the songs take on greater weight given the circumstance under which they were recorded.

Lead single 'Rainin in Paradize' alone should propel Chao (née Oscar Tramor) into the kind of stateside fame he's long enjoyed in Europe and South America.

While the raw, raging blues of 'Red Is the Color' ranks with Earle's most powerful music, 'Satellite Radio' could well be the slightest (as well as perhaps a plug for Earle's own radio show), but the artist's willingness to take chances attests to a restless creativity that refuses to be corralled.

It's pretty dour stuff on the whole, but delivered with playfully melodic wit and a certain poetic resignation usually found only in the hearts of forgotten souls and madmen (and maybe Tom Waits).

A truly remarkable progression, and a great album to boot--Antenna is the work of a band that's constantly moving forward.

These 50 minutes of music are as cohesive as they are conquering.

The entire album is seamless and offers new facets with each listen.

Her sing-songy tunes are honest and earthy, her diction intense and mannered but never pretentious.

When standards are done like this, there's just nothing like 'em.

By and large this is a delightful power-pop excursion.

Another accomplished collection that adds richer arrangements and instrumentation to Cary's mix of rock, folk, and country tunes.

In time-warp fashion, the band plays as distinctively and playfully as ever.

The black-clad New York quartet still sounds inflexibly menacing, grasping tighter than ever to its doomy post-punk influences and delving further into frontman Paul Banks's emotional unrest.

An arrestingly epic and assured debut. [Amazon UK review]

Where this translates, then, is with those willing to man up and embrace what makes Pink Pink: her spellbinding ability to render rebelliousness in all the many colors of the rainbow.

This record's delightful and wholly original; no one else could possibly have made it.

This is the kind of album that clicks right off but continues to grow on you.

Like every Backstreet record before it, Unbreakable boasts Super Glue-strength harmonies and an overall tightness of sound--the boys may be practitioners of the kind of pop that music snobs love to skewer, but that doesn't mean they're not exceptionally good at it, or that there's not a lot here worth whistling to.

AMC’s second second-life album (recorded with L.A. musicians on bass and drums) is as gorgeous and disorderly as any in its nine-album catalog.

Out of the blue and virtually as fun as a party out of bounds, Funplex is a dee-lightful reunion record.

The melodies still rumble with elegance. The choruses are instantly unforgettable. And the band's original members--Maginnis, Bill Janovitz (guitar/vocals), and Chris Colbourn (bass/vocals) - remain intact and chillingly in synch.

There's not a groan-worthy song on this standout rock/pop/folk/blues album.

[Dulli] treats them all with the same ravenous intensity.

Nearly thirty years after her debut with the Banshees, Siouxsie can still sneer and storm as fiercely as ever.

Tears for Fears skirts the has-been trap impressively, translating years of experience into play-it-again, sophisticated modern pop worth paying attention to.

Complete with its complicated lead and sprinkles of string instruments, it lies in contrast to the simplicity and blithe spirit of the record's remaining half-hour--but joins the other 11 songs directly in the wheelhouse of the Dashboard Confessional fervent.

Credit producer Brendan O'Brien for the wall of sound that backs 'Girls in Their Summer Clothes,' which sets the atmosphere for one of the great vocal performances by Springsteen.

Mitchell's songwriting shines brightest at such singularly poignant moments where specificity of images meets the vagaries of the instrumental arrangements, and, in the end, these and other highlights ('Bad Dreams,' 'Night of the Iguana') definitively carry the torch.

She's found herself artistically.

Isbell's best songs will remind you of Richard Buckner, Raymond Carver, and Neil Young.

It’s an unpredictably bipolar record with plenty of mood swings and emotional shifts that will ultimately leave listeners with feelings of euphoria.

Hersh has also masterfully tamed her potent vocal quirks here, using them to tease one moment and hypnotize the next.

Unsurprisingly, the lyrics are direct and honest, while they've broadened their sonic palette to allow a tad more dissonance in with their urgent and propulsive pop-punk.

Despondent and furious by turns.

The band socks away the adventurous experimentation that dogged some of its most recent records to investigate a post-September 11, war-ravaged world overflowing with urgency and significance.

Always clever, sometimes hysterical, and sometimes cloying, Lynch is a way hipper Weird Al for the post-millennium MTV generation.

While some might be disappointed after spending God knows what on a copy of Twoism only to find it suddenly available anywhere, others looking for more of BoC's melancholy, spellbinding compositions should take fast advantage.

A moving, eloquent gift to Jackson's entire audience.

Ms. Kelly, though, has some points to prove, foremost among them that this songbird can rock.

An inspired and diverse 15-song opus.

Spoon's loosest, most eclectic effort yet.

His most consistently compelling release in decades.

More definitive than ever, the rhythm and percussion complement Beam's voice, a lulling, almost eerie tone that occasionally recalls John Lennon's early solo work

Disciplined, varied, and often mind-blowing playing.

Live at the Fillmore showcases her raw wound of a voice and the rough edges of her band in all their unvarnished glory, as the music cuts across conventional categories of country, blues, folk, rock (and rap) to strike a distinctly personal chord.

New Maps is a terrific sounding record; at least two-thirds of it begs many repeated listens.

The more Nastasia withdraws into her own world, the more attractive her music becomes.

While it probably won't be remembered as his best album, The Black Album is his most personal to date and features some of his most compelling writing.

Woman King subtly opens the sonic palette up to include more percussion, piano, and wait is that an electric guitar?

Her most musically diverse and accessible album yet.

Oral Fixation Vol. 2 finds Shakira reclaiming some of the bite she showcased on 1998's smashing Donde Estan Los Ladrones?

It's easily Franti's best album yet.

The curiously titled Reunion Tour (four years between albums but they never disbanded) ups the lyrical ante ever more with contagious tunes like 'The Last Last One,' 'Hymn of the Medical Oddity,' and 'Relative Surplus Value.'

They have the mannerisms, the loose raucousness, and the intense focus on melody that marks the combined work of Pete Doherty and Carl Barat--except Mando roughs it up without antagonism, under control but with a blast of hefty motion.

Characteristically classy tunes that will thrill Thompson's fans, who have been waiting for just such a set of literate and challenging music from a musician who never delivers less.

A diverse and engaging work.

Like all of the band’s best work, Thief requires more than a few listens to fully appreciate, but those who stick around will be richly rewarded.

Here's a set that suggests rock has got its head screwed on straight again, that the path to real feelings need not necessarily be led by Norah Jones.

Fogerty's voice sounds great throughout; passionate, more committed and comfortable with these songs than he has seemed in years.

Even the contemporary numbers sound like classics.

An adventurous meeting place between the Smiths' guitar-driven anthems, the Zombies' vocally intricate garage-pop, and melt-in-your-mouth '70s Quaalude rock.

Arrangements begin with folk-friendly guitar, mandolin, and violin, only to rise into soundscapes worthy of Lambchop, if not Tricky.

Corralling such a large cast into anything like a coherent vision is no easy task, but it's one that the Concretes manage with some aplomb on a consistently spectacular album. [Amazon UK]

A few songs are experiments that should have stayed in the studio; "Left-Handed Dub" is dreadful and the remixes by Flowchart and Two Lone Swordsmen are a bit dated--too ‘90s-sounding. But that's still only one tenth of the album, the rest of which is a pleasure.