The band's smart-boy quirks make repeated listens progressively more enjoyable. [Jun/Jul 2002, p.106]

After decades, Waits's theater of musical cruelty is familiar stuff. But the old dog's tricks still have bite. [Applies to both Alice and Blood Money, Jun/Jul 2002, p.111]

After decades, Waits's theater of musical cruelty is familiar stuff. But the old dog's tricks still have bite. [Applies to both Alice and Blood Money, Jun/Jul 2002, p.111]

While Air and Daft Punk have taken discarded pop styles and created modern classics, Trans Am seem happy to wallow in early-MTV nostalgia. [Jun/Jul 2002, p.114]

More Bon Jovi than Blur, bloated with stadium-friendly power ballads. [Jun/Jul 2002, p.106]

Their propulsive intensity busts down garage doors, stumbling only with the wrongheaded ersatz cocktail ballad. [#8, p.117]

Non-devotees may prove tougher to convince, but nothing here overstays its welcome -- and Phish fans once again have a reason to live. [Jun/Jul 2002, p.102]

Badly Drawn Boy pulls off the job with panache, tipping his hat to Nick Drake, Burt Bacharach and acoustic-era Bob Dylan. [Jun/Jul 2002, p.103]

It takes a few listens for Songs to feel more than just odd, but as with most Eitzel projects, its mood lingers like cigar smoke. [Jun/Jul 2002, p.106]

Romantica is Luna's most energetic record ever. Which isn't saying much. [Apr/May 2002, p.115]

Westerberg delivers a hook, an idea and a subtle emotion on nearly every track. [Jun/Jul 2002, p.116]

Tweedy whittles down the arrangements and drops in enough experimental nuances to make the whole thing sound refreshingly lo-fi. [Jun/Jul 2002, p.116]

The subtle, heartfelt results may not help them shed the "emo" tag, but should propel them beyond cult status. [Apr/May 2002, p.116]

Weakened by a slew of club-oriented pieces that drown its personality in repetitive grooves. [Apr/May 2002, p.113]

Equal parts wit, heartbreak, cool... and potential commercial suicide. [Jun/Jul 2002, p.112]

Crow's subtle, stirring vocal style exhibits the same resilient innocence that makes Meg Ryan a sympathetic screen star. [Apr/May 2002, p.115]

MMW start with some dirty grooves, then add DJs, horn sections and singers for dissonance and disruptions. [Apr/May 2002, p.115]

Young sounds fresher here than he has in nearly a decade. [Apr/May 2002, p.110]

This rote Los Angeles studio rock is dominated by the radio-friendliest songwriters money can buy. [Jun/Jul 2002, p.112]

Imperial Teen deploy the familiar language of pop-rock, then subvert it with strange, chewy tales, making music that wraps arsenic in a candy coating. [Apr/May 2002, p.114]

Gutterflower, for better or worse, is a perfectly executed encapsulation of the unexciting state of mainstream rock in 2002. [Jun/Jul 2002, p.108]

JSBX still crackle like firecrackers soaked in kerosene. [Jun/Jul 2002, p.114]

This is Fountains of Wayne or the Church with real power in their power pop. [Apr/May 2002, p.116]

The lyrics [are] darker than your average soul/R&B debut. [#7, p.114]

With a thick strain of the DJ humor found in the music of De La Soul and Daft Punk, Kinky know no borders, slapping Mexican norteno with techno until it sounds like neither. [Apr/May 2002, p.114]

Those in search of a gloriously moronic keg-party soundtrack will wet themselves with pleasure. [Apr/May 2002, p.112]

Tuneful, kinky and deeply rooted in groove--a combination that evokes the best of both Prince and Macy Gray. [Feb/Mar 2002, p.112]

Maas translates this superclub-oriented sound -- all tectonic bass and whooshing stero-panned effects -- into home-friendly music. [Apr/May 2002, p.115]

Unless you've just fallen off a bong, the endless whimsy lacks meat. [Apr/May 2002, p.118]

Strange stuff, but oddly appealing. [Feb/Mar 2002, p.111]

Musically they offer nothing that hasn't been heard in every coed dorm via their 1989 hit "Closer to Fine." [Apr/May 2002]

This is a transitional album: Mould sprinting away from his past. [Apr/May 2002, p.116]

When they slow the tempos and introduce "soulful" singers and the dreaded jazzy flute, their music stinks like old fromage. [Apr/May 2002, p.118]

A pretty wild ride, but it's not always clear where they're headed. [Feb/Mar 2002, p.112]

Skips from one song to the next without leaving any great impression or displaying a single sentiment Jessica Simpson would find distressing. [#4, p.118]

An accessible art-punk collection. [Apr/May 2002, p.112]

Here the pleas and tirades strive heavy-handedly, little aided by the Blokes' equally unsubtle barroom marches. [Apr/May 2002, p.112]

Offers few joys beyond the witty title. [Apr/May 2002, p.114]

Sadly, while some will still be humming the hypnotic "Can't Get You Out Of My Head" come judgment day, the rest of Fever is more forgettable. [Feb/Mar 2002, p.114]

Is Under Rug Swept as good as Jagged Little Pill? Ultimately, no. [Feb/Mar 2002, p.108]

Another assault of angular, Sonic Youth-style guitar and earnest anger that's more leftfield than most punk, and more engaging than many of their post-rock peers. [Feb/Mar 2002, p.110]

Though Loeb can weave a pleasant, elaborate melody, her originality wavers. [Apr/May 2002, p.115]

An elegant soundtrack, but not much of an album. [Feb/Mar 2002, p.116]

What Led Zeppelin did for bombast, Lambchop try to do for delicacy. [Apr/May 2002, p.114]

Donelly shows more confidence in her dreaminess than ever. [Apr/May 2002, p.113]

May be the best CD of his career. [Feb/Mar 2002, p.112]

All the post-punk components are here, but they don't jell into anything more than a mannered take on the punk that punk forgot. [Jun/Jul 2002, p.112]

A worthy successor to Surrender.... This is dance music that still outstrips anything else in its class. [Feb/Mar 2002, p.113]

[The instrumentals are] a curious bonus for his fans, but not much more. [Feb/Mar 2002, p.113]

Point is the sound of a post-everything pop auteur rediscovering his attention span. [Feb/Mar 2002, p.111]

An intentionally ludicrous Eurotrash concept album about the sweet life. [Apr/May 2002, p.113]

The band covers this cerebral terrain with renewed vigor, thanks to a sudden fondness for antique synthesizers and battery-powered drum machines. [Feb/Mar 2002, p.112]

The End is rather ordinary--severe, belligerent riffs and vocals that sound as though singer Chud gargles molten lava. [#12, p.148]

If there's a fault here, it's in the slightly hand-wringing lyrics, which, of not overwrought, are certainly pretty darned wrought. [#4, p.123]

On Tarantula, Mystikal futher refines his formula. [Feb/Mar 2002, p.114]

The Clan's lyricists remain as aggressively word-drunk as ever, balancing the music's pop conciseness with oblique rhymes that compel repeated listening. [Feb/Mar 2002, p.116]

A surprising return to form. [Feb/Mar 2002, p.114]

Offers something for everyone -- and ends up an intermittently engaging but overall shapeless collection. [#4, p.112]

The disconnect between their always gnarly syntax and the suede-buffed production drains the album's energy. [#4, p.116]

Even though there's nothing new, the album offers enough in the way of big-beat guitar and sing-along choruses to keep Smash Mouth on the charts for another two years. [#4, p.123]

Even the presence of A-list guests can't redeem such jaded, formulaic songs. [#4, p.118]

The melodic shortcomings of M!ssundaztood show that those eye-popping videos aside, she's no Madonna. [#4, p.122]

Far from the usual collision of greatest hits and "Hello, Cleveland"-type bluster. [#4, p.122]

This is very much another case of: nice lyrics, but a shame about the tunes. [#4, p.118]

If this collection has a coherent theme, it's the cautious joy of a man making his emotional recovery. [#4, p.119]

Exceptional, exemplary grown-up rock. [#4, p.120]

Works both as satire and actual make-out fare. [Feb/Mar 2002, p.113]

It's hard to listen to the rest of Britney without imagining what the album would have sounded like had [the Neptunes] produced the whole thing. [#4, p.121]

The results are disappointingly uneven. [Oct/Nov 2001, p.103]

Its 12 tracks are unusually raucous and raw, as Kravitz finds a comfort zone with turbocharged punk and arena rock. [Oct/Nov 2001, p.111]

A long-winded, soulless soul album of the kind Levert might have once turned in. [#4, p.117]

There's nothing here that you couldn't hear blaring out of a thousand suburban garages on any Saturday night. [#4, p.118]

Bursts with neat production touches. [#4, p.116]

It's not quite as thrillingly risky as the Deftones' White Pony, but it deserves the collegiate adulation it will likely receive. [Oct/Nov 2001, p.107]

Wake Up... is the set of inspired anthems they needed to deliver in '96. [Oct/Nov 2001, p.103]

Odd, ambitious, confounding, and occasionally brilliant -- which is to say it's much like the five Aphex albums that preceded it. [#4, p.114]

The arrangements are so flush with guitar hooks and buoyant harmonies that these tunes are entertaining even when they're not catchy. [Oct/Nov 2001, p.108]

The songs on Cuttin' Heads are his strongest since 1993's Human Wheels. [#4, p.120]

Think 1993's hit "Regret," but with tougher guitars, rockier grooves and a more up vibe. [Oct/Nov 2001, p.113]

Rejected Unknown proves why those fans are so devoted. [Oct/Nov 2001, p.106]

The biggest draw is the Iggy-Jagger sexual charisma of 22-year-old singer Julian Casablancas, whose self-possessed cool is astonishing. [Aug/Sep 2001, p.130]

While Ten New Songs is not an attempt to break new ground, its sophistication and unassuming depth are almost worth the decade-long wait. [Oct/Nov 2001, p.103]

The Garbage machine doesn't always function so pristinely. [Oct/Nov 2001, p.105]

One of Vega's best. [Oct/Nov 2001, p.114]

Feels positively grand in scope. [Aug/Sep 2001, p.120]

Brings Pierce's preoccupation with panoramic emotional and chemical excess to startling, transcendent climax. [Oct/Nov 2001, p.112]

A conceptual bacchanal of sweat-drenched lust. [Oct/Nov 2001, p.104]

It doesn't help that Live operate at two speeds: overamped anthems and over-the-top ballads, which render [Kowalczyk's] doubtless heartfelt homilies rather empty. [Aug/Sep 2001, p.125]

Girls isn't as pop-friendly as 1998's From The Choirgirl Hotel, but Amos's take on Depeche Mode's starkly beautiful "Enjoy The Silence" is irresistible. [Aug/Sep 2001, p.120]

An ultrapolite, jazz-inflected collection of tunes that will reassure coming-down ravers, but it offers little to quicken the pulse. [Oct/Nov 2001, p.104]

Not since 1966's Blonde on Blonde has Dylan sounded so happy and alert. [Oct/Nov 2001, p.102]

Not as revelatory as Deserter's Songs, but a worthy (and lovely) companion piece. [Aug/Sep 2001, p.125]

Lurches from dewy-eyed sentimentality to vicious funk. [Oct/Nov 2001, p.105]

When he's not being sour, Folds' flair for melody and simple, economical arrangements can create wonderful moments. [Aug/Sep 2001, p.122]

This is a band reborn and ready to soar. [Oct/Nov 2001, p.103]

Almost a total wreck -- even decent melodies are hard to come by. [Aug/Sep 2001, p.130]

It's not as good as 1988's South of Heaven, but there's enough speaker-shredding guitar noise to make up for any vocal deficiencies. [Aug/Sep 2001, p.128]

After years of trading her signature flourishes for a radio-ready purr, she's left with almost no presence at all. [Aug/Sep 2001, p.118]