The band is seeming lackluster and suffers from it.

As before, he continues to flawlessly integrate straight-ahead, unforced vocals into a riproaring sound.

While such willingness to experiment is admirable, in this case the attempt comes off as slightly desperate and too diffuse.

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.

Persson, the finest pop lyricist working today, is on peak form while the band's back-to-roots grand piano and grander acoustic guitars provide an appropriately magnificent backing.

While it may be impossible for this Son Volt to ever reach the pinnacle of their 1995 debut, no one can accuse Jay Farrar of going through the motions.

The disc is truly beautiful on the ears, filled with gorgeous dynamics, crisp, discordant playing and impressive production to boot.

The Beekeeper returns the quirky singer to the same whimsical terrain of 1992's Little Earthquakes, but with much stronger storylines, and a much more assured and nuanced voice.

This is his State of the Union address, with guitars that chime like the Byrds heralding sentiments that recall the socially-conscious 1960s, yet sound all the more pertinent today.

Few modern songstresses work a beat better.

Easily their best album since 2000's Red Line.

Fans and casual enthusiasts will no doubt be bewildered by the extra experimental outings of an already daunting band--but for completists, this is the last word.

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

There's an elegance to it that Prince fans, no strangers to pop music that's truly sublime, won't fail to appreciate.

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

A severe line-up change has left the Stills devoid of much of its original edge.

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

Like its predecessor, Genesis, this album is sonically superior to most in the marketplace.

An album that is as fiercely imaginative as any the Sacramento-based group has released before.

Not quite as endearing as his raw and seductive 2002 debut.

The best tracks on Oblivion with Bells are also the most ambitious....But after that pair of opening tracks, you have to wait until the very last piece, a long, trancey bit of psychedelic drift called 'The Best Mamgu Ever,' to hear something more than unformed melodies and unstrung ideas.

The production seems a bit slick, as if the group was going for some Interpol-type success, while the songs would perhaps be better served at a studio like Easley in Memphis.

In fact, "delayed," "drenched," and "dervish" pretty much sum up Goodbye. Schnauss piles on effects and layers in a psychedelic melee that would leave Ozric Tentacles and Pink Floyd standing transfixed by his stroboscopic strategies.

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

Its center becomes weighed down with bland mid-tempo numbers and the final song detracts from the powerhouse close the record might have had.

As much an album for slam-dancing nights out at Goth haunts as it is music for the psychiatrist’s couch.

It's easily Franti's best album yet.

Busta has never sounded so mature.