Music is a weaker record than its predecessor, with only a few tracks possessing the strength, pop sensibility, and hooks that made Ray of Light such a success.

Occasionally, Yang's sugary, torchy vocals are too heavy-handed for this ethereal drone pop.

Although devoted fans will welcome this straight-down-the-middle approach with open arms, those on the fringes who were intrigued by their tinkering will find it lacks some of the vibrancy of their recent artistic adventurousness.

The best results are in the vein of Low-era Bowie. The duds turn up, surprisingly, in the area that Blur is strongest -- songwriting.

While the band's sound is unique, too many of the remaining ten songs play like slight variations of each other, and few of them stick.

Like her two previous solo records, Merchant's stately gloom is the stuff of pretension and precision, and her serviceably beautiful voice comes off as either darkly charming or annoyingly lilting (sometimes both at the same time).

With 18 songs that clock in at over 63 minutes, The Hour of Bewilderbeast meanders too much, and the quirky pacing (there are many random instrumental interludes) makes it difficult to enjoy as a whole. But taken in sections, it's a bit of a grower.

Her message, so powerful when unadorned, tends to get diluted by the awkward arrangements that accompany it.

There's a welcome sunniness to much of the album, with "Beat a Drum" recalling The Beach Boys' "Feel Flows," and "Imitation of Life" displaying some of that classic Document-era jangle. The two songs are Reveal's only real highlights.

Simon aims his melodies outside the box this time around, incorporating world-beat rhythms and working his sublimely dour mood to best advantage.

The first thirty minutes are a chaotic mess of style over substance, and while Joi's weirdness immediately sets her apart, "It's Your Life" and "Techno Pimp" are cloying and difficult to listen to.

The performances aren't much different from the studio versions beyond an extra dose of guitar grit, so this is mostly a case of tossing a bouquet to Luna collectors.

Shopping Trolley is a fun, for-the-fans work with a heavy dosage of otherwise unavailable rarities. It's safe to say, however, that casual listeners looking for Gomez's Philips [TV commercial] appeal are not best served here. Try 1998's Bring It On instead.

Sailing to Philadelphia, the singer's guest-star-heavy sophomore outing, is a deliberate, grown-up record (in a season which has seen a pronounced lack of adult offerings) that feels -- heavily in places -- like Dire Straits: Five Years Later.

While Dreamland is a dignified, pleasant album, you can't help but give the edge to 1975.

While most of the mixing is clean and effortless, it is also often unspectacular. Furthermore, the decided lack of turntable wizardry certainly won't earn him a "DJ Dan" moniker among vinyl mavens. But in terms of selection and overall execution, Monkey is a very nice listen.

The album, as a whole, is not a washout; it just doesn't live up to the hype and expectations.

Fortunately, the energy and enthusiasm with which the seven tunes are hashed out here makes them compelling enough to render the miserly production inconsequential...

Zevon, so frequently great, should know better.

Sheik... seems uncomfortable with the slicker presentation.

The album as a whole leans a little too far toward dissonance and gratuitous noisemaking.

Keeping things light is both the band's strongest asset and its greatest weakness.

The Guest, for all its flaws, is wise beyond the years of the musicians who made it.

Travis' knack for making saccharine songs is both a blessing and a curse; one doesn't know whether to feel the love or scream bloody murder.

The sounds are simply too dark and sweaty for most fans' home listening.

Solaris is like no Photek album you've ever heard before: It's an album that celebrates both dance and relaxation, touching on deep house, trip-hop, and ambient, with (gasp) only one drum-and-bass track (the typically spare "Infinity"). Sentimentality for his musical roots and the desire to create music with a warmer, more human feel drive Photek on these 11 disparate tracks, and the outcome is mixed.

Quasi's only mistake might be that it made this album too long; it clocks in at over 50 minutes. Such tracks as "Seal the Deal" and "Little Lord Fontleroy" show the limitations of a duo, and, at times, Quasi's basic keyboard and drums approach lacks a sense of wholeness and tends to meander.

Electric Mile is good, just not earth-shattering, and coming from someone with Dutton's creativity, it would be nice to hear something a bit more, well, electric.