The Doc's latest product, Malpractice, seems less focused and inspired than usual, and it lacks the kind of momentum that made albums such as Whut? Thee Album and Blackout, his 1999 collaboration with Method Man, instant classics.

A finely wrought chronicle of joy and heartbreak, partying and love, his tuneful, raspy voice the perfect balance of eloquence and muscle.

Most of the songs on God Bless the Go-Go's are lacking the huge hooks and punk spark that once made the group unforgettable...

A 72-minute haul into a cold, stirring, private space where the post-punk isolation of Joy Division is redefined and softened with mesmerizing doses of melody and romantic longing.

Without the dread, the songs can come across without drama.

Yup, the angst and fury of 1997's Pinkerton is a thing of the past, as the band indulges in the kind of buzzing hooks and euphonic harmonies that made songs such as "Buddy Holly" and "Undone (The Sweater Song)" such huge hits.

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.

Tool has made an album that's undeniably its own, yet one which adds layers of subtlety, texture, and meaning that move its sound forward into complex new territory.

Pedestrian? Sure. But in '01, it's doubtful you'll find a more apt soundtrack to a summer of skyrocketing gas prices and stock market tumblings.

What makes this disc cohere is the world view presented in Byrne's quirky lyrics, sometimes stark to the point of simplicity and often with the detached tone of an observer alternately shocked or amused.

Do all of these elements add up to an album that offers something more than the usual steady diet of carefully polished, capably executed, but ultimately unremarkable angst-ridden punk-pop? Answer -- probably not.

Their latest, Lions, gets back to basics without going backward; the brothers Robinson are still ripping off the classics, sure, but they've expanded the history lesson from the Small Faces and Humble Pie to sharpening the attack with Zeppelinesque tricks and modern rock energy.

Really, it's not as bad as it sounds.

On third album Survivor, the DC coming-out party, the song kind of remains the same: When the girls are on, this is the kind of surreally and subversively brilliant Top-40 music even the most jaded roll their windows up and blast; when they're not, it's a pretty bad day at the girl-band factory.

Mogwai has moved past relying on Slint-like soft/loud dynamics to get attention. Now it garners attention for the detail of its songwriting, the majority of which can now be heard without turning the volume to 11, only to receive a rude awakening at the crescendo.

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.

In spite of the sudden changes of mood and style, the album coheres nicely around Jackson's strong personality.

Know Your Enemy is a fine -- if slightly long and somewhat fractured -- primer to the moods of one of Britain's most (self) important bands

Unlike the band's earlier material, which echoed with thunderous volume, Leaves Turn Inside You is textural and sedate, combining the hazy urgency of Sonic Youth's Daydream Nation with the creativity of Yo La Tengo and the ethereality of Slowdive.

This is a record that delights in the contrast of the group's no-frills rock past and its radio-friendly, mid-tempo future.

Time -- and a bigger production budget -- has lost Creeper Lagoon's fuzzy, scatty edge to a fuller, more cohesive sound.

It's Cole's deep vocal tracks, though, that steal the show.

Not every moment of Revelling/Reckoning is a winner. But the record is probably DiFranco's first where all the tags -- staunch D.I.Y.-er, feminist, bisexual folk-punk -- and the baggage of her brutally personal songwriting play second fiddle to the songs found within.

Although they were written as early as 1996 and recorded in 1997-98, the songs on Old Ramon (like most Red House Painters material) have a timeless, dreamy quality to them that prevent them from sounding stale. An album this beautiful can never come too late.

Although the album lags somewhat in parts and is bogged down a bit by an overarching sameness, this is a promising start.

Isolation Drills may not match Bee Thousand's magical, mystical tone (not many records can), but it's as melodic and powerful as the best of GBV's vast catalog. It also firmly cements Pollard's reputation as one of rock's all-time greats...

Few will quarrel with Springsteen's reliance on his pre-Born in the U.S.A. output, or with the use of only one track, "Youngstown," from The Ghost of Tom Joad. But the absence of anything from the grievously underrated Tunnel of Love is a shame, as is the absence of "Further on Up the Road," a wistful and gorgeous new track played often during the Garden dates.

Buckcherry aim to carry on the tradition laid out by the Rolling Stones, AC/DC, Aerosmith, and Guns N' Roses -- extolling the virtues of sex, drugs, and rock and roll -- but listening to Time Bomb is a game of spot the rip-off.

Like Collective Soul, Vertical Horizon, and Matchbox Twenty before them, Train is a fairly faceless, generic rock band that writes straight-ahead, sing-along tunes. As a result, some of the songs on this, their second album, will make some people happy -- and other people just sleepy.

Musically a pretty blend of folksy guitar and lightly new-wave synth, these tunes seethe in a nice-girl way, simmering slightly, but never quite boiling over.

What saves what sounds from beginning to end like an extremely quick buck -- via material on a music equivalency level of farts and burps -- is Shakur's provocative presence, so urgent in both decadence ("Good Life") and desperation ("This Ain't Livin'") that he still seems here, at least in the spirit of his lyrics.

Although there are no ballads as moving as "Hello," "Truly," or "Say You, Say Me," the album does offer a nice collection of pop tracks that, for the most part, don't suffer from the stiflingly bland over-production that's characterized other adult-contemporary albums of recent years.

A sprawling set of immense diversity that's loaded to the brim with dancefloor anthems.

Few bands exceed Alpha in the creation of truly encompassing and sensual chill-out tunes, and while The Impossible Thrill fails to really explore new territory, it's revisiting familiar and hallowed ground.

Though not as stellar as such past Max-era classics as Chaos A.D. or Roots, Nation is another worthy set of brutally dense, hardcore-tinged metal.

A lush cruise through the Caribbean's romantic songwriting traditions with some additional stops in South America.

Wicked Grin is a rousingly successful experiment. The album's best moments equal -- and often surpass -- anything in both artists' consistently creative careers.

As a slice of rootsy blues, it works nicely.

Matching Homework in quirkiness, buoyancy, and club-ready freak-beats, Discovery combines the best of what Daft Punk has to offer: mid-'80s synth-pop ("Digital Love"), sleazy euro-funk ("Harder Better Faster Stronger"), shake-your-booty electro-metal with spacey guitar effects ("Aerodynamic" -- Basement Jaxx meets Eddie Van Halen), and minimal, big-beat tunes that Underworld wishes it would have thought of first ("Superheroes").

Semisonic's newest release, All About Chemistry, hits all the right pop spots, but will likely appeal to a very niche group -- the same group that embraced the easy, witty pop of bands such as Crowded House or Ben Folds Five.

Ray at last gives full voice to her riot grrrl urges, and if the CD isn't exactly combustible, it does evoke the spirit of such Ray heroes as Husker Du and mid-period Replacements.

God Bless the Blake Babies is a return to the simpler sounds of honey-infused indie rock.

A sophomore album that actually lives up to its hype.

An expert balance of vintage Aerosmith and more contemporary stylings.

Borland neither plays the kind of hip-hop-rock Bizkit fans would want, nor the Van Halen-esque guitar-rock some Bizkit-haters might have hoped for.

By assembling a heavyweight lineup of talent to support -- including soul legend Bobby Womack, the Congos, and the Pharcyde -- Rae & Christian set lofty aspirations and, more often than not, reach them.

Floats, captivates, and repulses simultaneously.

But the Dave Matthews Band retains one essential ingredient that transcends Everyday's calculated pop: Dave Matthews. With his sassy, unassuming swagger, unique vocal delivery, and blatant sexual urgency, Matthews carries the load amply...

Rather than the classic R&B soul sound that Knight, backed by the Pips, took to the top of the charts earlier in her career, At Last references RB's new urban sounds.

Cydonia breaks little new ground.

The album has no filler, no played-out skits or weak collaborations. Instead, Crown Royal exhibits the energy, grooves, and phatness of a future hip-hop classic.

But for all these guests and all of Silkk's versatility, My World, My Way still suffers from the same formulaic production -- all bleating synths and skittering drum programs -- that makes all No Limit productions seem indistinguishable.

Mirwais lays down grooves that aren't even sensual; they're rambunctiously horny.

Spoon's 1998 album, A Series of Sneaks, was a near-perfect blend of elementary rock, sharp lyrics, and hooky melodies. On the band's just-released follow-up album, Girls Can Tell, the group manages to build upon the greatness of its previous effort.

Fixed Context is a prime example of mutable sound, which is to say, songs that are less about structure than direction.

Throughout Standards, Tortoise takes the listener on mini-journeys into sound that alternately shimmer, contort, seduce, and confound...

An album that takes a dramatic leap forward from the wafer-thin reggae he was peddling on his debut album...

A funny and engaging spoken-word collection from a man who's done enough of them to know what works.

Boy George's Essential Mix certainly is unsettling, but only because of its sheer, unexpected brilliance -- which perhaps should not be so surprising, considering George is now a veteran performer on the decks.

But, despite the added highlights of obscure noise effects and spaced-out keyboards, you can't help but notice that the music seems, at times, to lose a bit of momentum on certain tracks, serving as merely a backdrop for Malkmus' spontaneous bursts of guitar improvisation and catchy hooks.

A short, razor-sharp set...

Low has crafted a recording that exceeds its own high standards of creativity, harmony, and subtlety.

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.

Guitar-heads will automatically buy this, but it also deserves to reach any audiences excited by imaginative music working outside commercial boundaries.

Like John Mellencamp and Bruce Springsteen, Stewart has done a reasonably good job of making his music millennium-friendly without alienating aging baby boomers for whom the occasional Tom Waits cover is adventure enough.

It's obvious right from the start that Vitamin C is going for a sexier, vampier, and more grown-up image on More... But for all of her provocative lyrics and musical innuendoes, Vitamin C doesn't necessarily make a convincing argument that the change is a positive one.

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

Dolly Parton has at last returned to her musical home and, boy, are the neighbors ever grateful. That "home," of course, is Kentucky bluegrass music and the melancholy acoustic strains of the Appalachian Mountains.

Most of the songs on 2000 Years of Human Error feature the now clichéd mix of distorted vocals, loud guitars, and electro rhythms, and, as a result, the band sounds too much like its brethren to be distinctive.

While the album is a distinct improvement on 1999's Twentieth Century, it still fails to rise above the level of a few good songs padded by a whole lot of filler.

York Blvd., Acetone's fourth album, is its most fully realized effort yet, attaching guitarist Mark Lightcap's drowsily effervescent solos to a set of shaggy but economical tunes worthy of Neil Young's stamp of approval.

The disc is strangely uneven... t's puzzling right from the start, as what should be the climax -- a rambling, 18-minute version of "Cowgirl in the Sand" -- appears first.... The remaining tracks vary widely in quality.

A reminder of how great the band could be when its members put their minds to it.

O Brother, Where Art Thou?, features some of the finest bluegrass and old-school twang to be assembled in one place in recent memory. Put together by a team that includes production maestro T-Bone Burnett and singer Gillian Welch, O Brother is carefully -- almost encyclopedically -- compiled, with an emphasis on the sort of gospel-like, acoustic-and-harmony-reliant country once popularized by the Carter Family and other such groups.

De la Rocha's rabid diatribes occasionally go overboard, particularly on the tracks (Eric B & Rakim's "Microphone Fiend" and Minor Threat's "In My Eyes," for example) that feed into the band's sometimes one-dimensional rap-metal groove. But when the band steps out of character -- as it does during its rudimentary take on MC5's "Kick Out the Jams" or its pacific reading of "Beautiful World" -- the results can seem truly transcendent.

Ghetto Postage sticks to the classic No Limit formula -- lots of fat, dusted synth-beats, courtesy of C-Los; a ton of guest spots from the No Limit camp and its associates... Still, Ghetto Postage suffers from a lack of something. Big names maybe -- with the exception of Silkk, most of the collaborators here are scrubs.

A record that's certain to be name-checked by pop savants 20 years from now.

Less Casio-centric and nicely encompassing more of the Nottingham native's pop side, Volume 2 is decked out with piano, horns, and a plethora of guitars.

All the big Wu dogs are here -- Ghostface Killah, Method Man, Raekwon, Genius, etc. -- and it sounds like they've been sharpening their skills like knives. They toss rhymes back and forth with the precision of a machine -- they're so good it's almost scary.

Sharper, edgier, and more twisted than its predecessor, Vol. Two is like a throwback to Everclear's early days, before So Much for the Afterglow launched the Portland trio into the arena rock stratosphere.

As works of art go, it isn't exactly Blood on the Tracks, and it isn't as blissfully fine as Millennium, but Black & Blue is unquestionably the most seamless boy band release of the year.

Mama's Gun wisely doesn't stray too far from the free-flowing R&B of Baduizm: Almost every track here is slinky, scat-influenced soul with rich female backing voices, seeded with the occasional string section, trumpet, or sample (most notably Dr. Dre's "Xxplosive"). Lyrically, most of Mama's Gun rings true, with "Bag Lady," the somewhat draggy first single on which Badu dispenses soulful advice to a homeless woman, as the sole exception.

Besides knowing how to pick an evocative voice to work with, Delerium ably mutes big, often funky bass lines with easy flowing beats while adding mood-altering touches.

As with any classic live album worth its audio sweetening (Get Yer Ya-Yas Out, Kiss Alive), the imperfections are part of the deal. A raw-throated Liam sounds like he's clawing to hit each note, but he's still got enough in the tank to spout off between songs. Much of the charm lies in the dysfunctional Gallaghers' homage to rock's majesty, be it Noel's Lennon-worship in "Don't Look Back in Anger," or the nod to Led Zeppelin's "Whole Lotta Love" at the end of "Cigarettes & Alcohol."

While Moore has retained her attractively demure vocals, which have a Diana Ross classic pop-soul quality, Exposed subtly updates the sound she's honed since her 1992 debut, Precious.

Previously merely noisy screechers with no sense of how to play their instruments, Marilyn Manson is now an accomplished and complex industrial-strength hard rock band... It's a point driven home by the group's new album, Holy Wood (In the Shadow of the Valley of Death). Though not as strong or consistent as the glammy Mechanical Animals, Holy Wood instead bridges the gap between that album and its dirtier, raspier predecessor, Antichrist Superstar, with songs that are catchy on the inside, but noisy on the outside.

There are a few saccharine missteps, such as "I Surrender," with its smarmy smooth-jazz guitar harmonies. And certainly this isn't the most varied album, especially by compilation standards -- Sylvian's instrumentals are unfairly slighted, and some more energetic tracks were left untapped. But the flipside is that this is a remarkably coherent collection that largely sets a mood and sticks to it, with the lush productions and Sylvian's charmingly tremulous, attractively reedy singing soothing casual listeners, yet revealing greater depths should one choose to listen for them.

Parachutes is full of devotional songs that whisper their honorable intentions in our ears like a repentant sinner's promises, while moody sonics mostly call to mind Radiohead, though at times you can hear the grandiose bellow of U2 and the vocal poignancy of Jeff Buckley.

A frothy soufflé of an album, heavy on the groovy dance beats and go-girl goodwill, light on profundity.

Obviously trying to explore horizons beyond big beat (a genre now loathed by many in his native England), Cook diversifies his palette but, as the title unfortunately foreshadows, he only gets Halfway there.

It's the between-song banter that makes The Mark, Tom, and Travis Show worth its weight in gold.

The duo's music remains irresolutely unlistenable.... If Insane Clown Posse's initial idea was to parody pop culture's foibles, then this is the sound of a band waving the white flag.

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.

Throughout, the music (produced almost exclusively by the group and its DJ) shines with the glint of successful experimentation. However, it never outshines the words, which is where the group has as much to offer, if not more so.

Haunted is largely a concept album. With 17 tracks, several clocking in at over five minutes a pop, it's a bit heavy to carry in its full weight. However, for listeners up for the challenge, it's a beautiful, psychological journey in audio.

The aptly titled Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea plays like an almanac of her adventures of the past few years, and reflects a newfound sense of self. Her songs once again reek of sexuality -- sometimes frustrated, sometimes satisfied -- resulting in alternating episodes of blistering, trashy, gutter guitar rock, and keyboard ballads of sheer melodic grace. She also reveals a greater command of her vocal abilities (with all the shrieks now in just the right places), and inspired new lyrical dashes.

Weaving fragmented elements of hip-hop, folk, and bossa nova, Whoa, Nelly! is one wildly entertaining multicultural jam.... Though her lyrics are a lot smarter than today's average pop offering, they do wear the more common clichés of hippy-chick wisdom a little too proudly at times. But that's OK: If she's got to get her cosmic ya-yas out, the first record's the place to do it.

Still walking that tightrope between seductive soul and fearsome BPM counts, Size and crew grab you by the earlobe and drag you along, whether you like it or not. This time, though, they've polished their sound to a liquid smoothness and brought some friends along, namely Method Man and Rage Against the Machine's Zack de la Rocha.... At a time when drum-and-bass has lost its momentum and focus, In the Mode glimmers with brilliance simply because it's everything that drum-and-bass isn't.