While the title of the Peas' newest album, "The Beginning," might suggest a retreat from this everything-to-everyone agenda, it's everything but.

Masterfully bleak and hyper-stylized, He Was King is music for the robot age.

Stuck on Nothing works well as a no-nonsense party album, but Free Energy shows tremendous promise on this debut.

At 36 minutes, the set is quick, generally uptempo and full of the Neptunes' mixtape-ready bangers, yet Williams finds his groove during moments that won't rattle any trunks.

Gucci shifts focus on songs like "Making Love to the Money" and "Dollar Sign"; the songs don't express his love for the illegal lifestyle but rather recount the financial benefits of taking that path. In usual hip-hop fashion, "The Appeal" also offers something for the ladies ("Remember When," featuring Ray J) and the club-goers (the Swizz Beatz-produced "Gucci Time").

While Jourgensen seems re-engaged with his music, he's also more disinterested than ever in the wider pop culture.

The Gift, the second release from famed "Britain's Got Talent" contestant Susan Boyle, is a bit of a tweener: mostly a holiday album and partly a follow-up to last year's massively successful "I Dreamed a Dream."

Animal teems with choruses that stick with the listener for days, from the blissful "Your Love Is My Drug" to the catty "Backstabber." Equally prevalent, however, are heavily processed vocals, which make it hard to tell whether the California cutie can actually sing.

Lovely moments abound, but the overall effect is less intoxicating.

There are certainly smiles to be had as the group grouses its way through some of the most ambitiously arranged and melodically polished tunes it has released to date.

Cuts like the mournful "Forgiveness" and the mello "U Want Me 2" (the latter previously featured on MCLachlan's 2008 hits collection) cook at a decidely lower temperature that long time fans will find plenty hot. However, their quieter pace might leave others a little cold.

For its third album, Expo 86, the band tempers the musical diversity of its predecessors and focuses more on standard rock fare.

It's hard not to see Editors' third album, In This Light and on This Evening, as its New Ordering-a marked shift away from guitars to synthesizers and a cleaner, dance-friendly vibe that still maintains much of the emotional heft. But the transition can seem a bit self-conscious.

Richly uplifting arrangements, dynamic percussion and an attention to vocals (some shared) that's intimately communal mostly make up for some excessive sentimentality and steel drums. But what's missing on the album is an obvious classic.

She continues to hit each note with the precise amount of retro pomp that one would expect, and there are again moments when the '70s soul love affair gets a little carried away.

After the devil-may-care disco of "Blurred Lines," Thicke's career peak, Paula's introspection seems half-baked. It is Thicke's personal love letter for Patton--and comes off as relevant mostly just to the two of them.

Style trumps substance in this particular breath of Air.

Word to Greyson: Hold on to 13 as long as you can.

While Fantasia delivers a soulful, laid-back album with tinges of gospel, her distinct voice is most enjoyable when singing heartfelt ballads.

The music on Yeah Ghost is still Zero 7-but after a few cans of musical Red Bull.

The duo and an assortment of guests-including Will.i.am, Busta Rhymes, GoonRock and Calvin Harris-extol the virtues of late nights, trendy tequilas, hard bodies and vibey DJs.

While the inclusion of faint funk ("Sole Brother") and hints of country twang ("Retard Canard") expands Born Ruffians' repertoire, the track "Blood, the Sun & Water" brings the most energy to the set.

55 Cadillac offers a fun, technically exciting journey that paints Andrew W.K. as an artist unafraid of risks.

Overall, the God MC can still carry the throne as one of the greatest rappers of all time, but he'll need stronger production the next time around.

The album, which comes in 10- and 18-track editions, sounds better on paper than in reality. But there is the odd moment-such as "Railroad to Heaven," with Solomon Burke at his God-fearing best-that rises above its creditable but decidedly rote surroundings.

Along with some quiet surprises, there are also potential hits, including the first single/title track, where Lovato almost sounds like Kelly Clarkson's kid sister.

Shaka Rock may not expand Jet's range, but its high-energy guitar assaults should impress modern rock audiences.

Breakthrough never quite lives up to its title. But the songs that do diverge from the formula even slightly-like the Greg Wells-produced "Fearless"-offer delightful relief, and perhaps a taste of what could be if the singer were to dig deeper.

Ursa Major isn't Third Eye Blind's crowning jewel, but it's a welcome return to form after such a lengthy hiatus

Years removed from their teen-pop prominence, Backstreet Boys continue to produce pleasurable hooks and hummable vocal harmonies on This Is Us.

Although MAYA is an undeniable testament to M.I.A.'s inventiveness, the album is so jam-packed with beats that any statement that she is making gets lost in translation.

Too many songs fail to equal the quality of the guest list, meaning the substance of Olympia never quite matches its undoubted style.

Los Angeles rock revivalists Buckcherry waste no time getting down to business on their latest album.

Living Things" is simply a minor effort in an impressive discography, and one that should translate well to Linkin Park's live show.

Mixing nasty guitar leads with cavernous beats, the Black Keys have crafted a dark, sprawling opus that's convincing in its commitment to a unique sound.

There’s a semblance of a flow to the record’s sprawling track list, but too many songs sound hastily written, and too often Cyrus acts as if her drug trip is more poignant than the average freakout.

It sounds good on paper, but the album unfolds as an undifferentiated wash of music, without the big toothsome melodies that have lifted John's music for decades.

Aside from an understandable naivete, Trainor's weaknesses are her stylistic cherry-picking and her compulsion to appear adorably relatable and socially correct all at once.

Neither a departure nor a return to Segall’s usual fuzzy form, Emotional Mugger asks a lot from the listener, and it doesn’t always ask nicely.

Produced for the most part by U2 collaborator Flood, the new album rarely operates at anything less than a frenzied fever pitch, with thundering percussion grooves, Leto's top-of-the-lungs yowl and wave after wave of Edge-style guitar theatrics.

It doesn’t all click, like when Imbruglia smooths over all the emotional grit of Damien Rice’s “Cannonball.” But her charms on Male win you over in the end.

The subtler, less stylized Wiped Out! keeps the palm-trees-at-twilight feel, but the sound is more hazy R&B than rock.

As on True, the nondance tracks are more or less power ballads, albeit with fairly pallid vocals.... The dance tracks are actually where most of this album’s pleasant surprises lie.

You either love or hate Pitbull's music, and sometimes a little of both when listening to the same album.

The album's most arresting moments are stuck in the shadows, mere teasers for an artist the listener knows exists, but is intentionally sidelined.

The chemistry works as expected, even if it never exceeds, or even reaches, the sum of its artists. There's no transcendent moment here, because the project is essentially a meeting of opposites who mostly stay in their lanes.

A handful of tracks strewn with cheesy metaphors shows the impersonality that mars Cuomo's post-Pinkerton songwriting, despite some redeeming musical qualities that reaffirm Weezer as a purveyor of feedback and fuzz (particularly "Cleopatra," a great rock single if you ignore the lyrics).

Caracal is the kind of effort that diehard fans might convince themselves to appreciate, and then never play again.

It all sounds amazing on the first couple of listens, but the wheat (songs like the title track and “Did You Know?”) separates quickly from the chaff. Regardless, The Scene Between opens up a whole new lane for an artist that would have been easy to write off.

Muse is one of the world's biggest rock bands, but for all its missionary zeal, Drones preaches to the converted.

While Turner is a worthy heir to such barrel-chested baritones as Don Williams, Randy Travis and Trace Adkins, his fourth album, "Haywire," is a study in inconsistent use of his vocal gift.

About half of them work, though which half might depend on your love or tolerance for the players involved.

The result is certainly more adventurous than anything from her peers, if a little forced.

Much of It's About Time is dense, cooking Southern rock. It can be frivolous (the bleacher-stomp shout-alongs "Club U.S.A." and "The Party's On") but has no problem nailing a groove.

It sounds like a collection of random one-offs rather than an album. Foxx's voice, falsetto and all, still sounds lovely, but he seems unsure exactly how he should use it.

Despite a few highlights, This Is Acting is scattered and forgettable next to the emotional 1000 Forms of Fear.

The nine-song album's softer ballads--like the piano-driven "What If"--distract from Derulo's powerhouse vocals. His talent is somewhat misused on the tune, blanketed beneath equal parts Auto-Tune and lyrical vagueness. However, the inclusion of club bangers like "The Sky's the Limit" and "Love Hangover" boost the set's energy.

What results is a new-ish, but not necessarily improved, Nickelback.

The overall sound might be slighter and less sprawling, but it's also more sharply focused.

The formidable 3rdEye ladies want badly to be a raw, stripped-down rock band, but despite their chops and the analog production, the performances are slightly anodyne, scrubbed of menace.

The album lacks the obvious potential hits to guarantee that, although the moody, Jeremih-featuring single "Like Me" is easy to get lost in. The album does, however, strike a graceful balance between gritty roots and big-budget sheen.

On Cheek to Cheek, Gaga justifies his [Tony Bennett's] faith--sometimes a bit too forcibly. Whereas Bennett is a master of restraint--a guy whose best performances play like melodic chat sessions--Gaga thrives on spectacle.

It's a promising teen's first album, and it will satisfy the ­longings of the keepers of fan Tumblrs. So far, though, Mendes' music is not nearly as inventive as his strategies to publicize it.

On Khalifa, he's characteristically mellow and melodic, mixing rhymes that are part equal parts braggadocio and motivational slogans in an almost singular pursuit of highs and riches. By design, none of the songs stand out, save for the Travis Scott featuring "Bake Sale," which wins mostly by sounding like an aired-out version of Scott's own hit "Antidote."

Grand Romantic has some moments more danceable than dour.

The recipe might be different, but the ingredients are largely the same.

An album that works better as a musical koan than it does a hip new collection of indie folk.

All that retro angst is more rote and less involving than the way its debut tried to square loud guitars with the hooky imperatives of chart pop. In the last several tracks, though, the energy returns.

The result is an album that doesn't quite reach the heights of Vessel, but nevertheless serves as evidence that one of pop's most daring duos isn't about to slow down--even if that means running into a few walls.

Accented by piano, glassy guitars, occasional strings and vocal harmonies inspired by ’90s R&B, the project’s highlights--“Deadwater,” “Weak” and “You’re the Best”--aren’t all that dissimilar from its lesser tracks: lovely, yet forgettable.

Fiasco turns Food & Liquor II into one long tirade -- everything sucks and no one's going to fix it.

The lyrical focus, along with raw production and eclectic instrumentation (including mandolin, strings and autoharp), give the 10-song set a heat that's honest and personal, but not quite the riveting bearing of souls that Heart is known for.

Young's scratchy vocal fails to complement its exquisitely cinematic orchestration until the final two lines show a fleshed-out poignancy. It's the same, too, with his blues performances.... At times, though, Young and his many collaborators do gel.

On Everything Is 4, some songs give him newfound definition, but then others distract from it.

Run is more of a technical accomplishment than an artistic one. Bruno the pop star is not nearly as appealing as Bruno the juggler.

Ink has clearly studied his success, and it feels strategic that Full Speed is sardine-packed with star collaborators.

Bundy's obvious affection for feisty predecessors like Loretta Lynn and Dolly Parton adds an appealing jolt to the music's already clever hooks and personal narrative. But what Bundy still needs to develop are the durable melodies and lyrical nuance that turned those artists' compositions into classics.

It's true that Eclipse unveils itself less coyly than previous Twin Shadow albums, and sounds more brashly contemporary. But it hazards turning generic in the process.

On Dahlia's debut, My Garden, she transcends the sum of her seemingly disparate influences, proving herself to be a relatively distinct artist, even if her risks don't always pay off.

While nothing on Repentless reaches similar heights of mayhem, overall the album is more focused and fierce than its predecessor, 2009’s Hanneman-assisted World Painted Blood.

The bum-outs outnumber the bangers by a decisive ratio on Ludaversal, but that speaks to the rapper's comfort in straddling dissimilar topics.

The music is more subdued than My Chemical Romance's, but Way's still not as understated as the influencers he's channeling. His storied themes of love and pain pop up throughout Hesitant Alien like embarrassing Facebook statuses. It's a largely smooth transition out of the dark and into the bright world of pop.

It's a quick listen, clocking in at less than 45 minutes, and the 10 tracks are laid-back--perhaps too much.

On its eighth full-length release, Glasgow, Scotland, indie pop group Belle & Sebastian ditch their sad-vibes-hidden-by-happy-melodies schtick in favor of legitimately upbeat songs.

The problem is that the hints of personality underneath the braggadocio overflowing on "Based on a T.R.U. Story" exist as faint flickers, pointing to a storytelling skill that has yet to be given the spotlight.

Given Healy's winsome vocals and his good-guy image, the grab at gravitas doesn't always connect.

Lil Wayne is back with the equally confounding Dedication 4, a messy rehashing of this year's respective rap bangers.

The band's first release since 2003, "The Chair in the Doorway," is too scattered -- and occasionally silly -- to make a serious re-impression.

Although the cleaner melodies and pop polish seem to mute the rapper's stream-of-consciousness salvos, he still shines on "Drop the World," featuring Eminem.

At times, Here Lies Love wobbles as a concept album, and listeners unfamiliar with Marcos' story may not initially understand the lyrical conceits. But it contains enough solid material to justify repeated listens.

Although a love for hydro is Cypress Hill's claim to fame, it's the more substantial tracks on "Rise Up" that smoke the competition.

Throughout Can't Be Tamed Cyrus seems checked out of her vocal performances, singing with neither the tween-queen enthusiasm of her Hannah Montana material nor the confrontational energy of 2008's Breakout.

Willowy Los Angeles art-rock group Warpaint summons a remarkably heady atmosphere on its debut album, The Fool, which follows a buzzed-about EP released last year on Los Angeles-based indie Manimal Vinyl.

Simply put, Weezer needs to exorcise the metal demons and find a balance that works.

The fresh material isn't likely to expand your idea of who Bret Michaels is.

Most of these strummy feel-good ditties-aw-shucks song titles include "Gotta Be Wrong Sometimes" and "Taking On the World Today"-make Jason Mraz sound like some kind of avant-garde noisemaker.

Interpol is undoubtedly a solid effort, but solid shouldn't be satisfying for a band that has proved to possess the talent of indie rock's elite class.

Clearly, Lambert has talent, but on Heart she's merely scratching the surface.