Like Supernatural, the record tends to smack more of market research than the soulful expression of a rock legend at times. But in some instances, the duets pay huge dividends.

The record does go on a bit long, flagging at the end. But there are enough wonderful songs on this disc to knock at least a couple of boy bands off the radio.

An eclectic, enjoyable array of quirky tunes.

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

Nellyville is quite calculated, right down the tired skits about bootlegging -- it sort of has to be, given what's at stake, though one would wish otherwise.

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.

Sleek and motorized, gusgus has paid close Attention to detail in etching a metallic mural of current interests.

Similar to the Radiohead-lite maneuvers of fellow Brits Coldplay, the bright spots (of which there are a fair share) are dulled by the facsimile presentation.

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.

Unemotional throughout, Long Walk Home is without obvious peaks of joy or valleys of sorrow, offering instead a steadfast, unerring journey.

With its brand of easily accessible pop rock, the Austin, Texas-based trio presents an extremely likable musical front that's based more upon influence than innovation.

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.

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.

While the soul-searching is utterly sincere, the music is only intermittently successful.

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

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.

Unfortunately, a couple of the early tunes are so slick as to lose all feeling, while some of the lyrics are dumber than a doormat, but as party albums go, this will keep you up for a while.

Throughout the mix, Oakenfold follows the proven formula of prefacing more beat-heavy, climactic tracks -- such as Max Graham's "Airtight" and Tone Depth's "Majestic" -- with otherworldly vocals-only tracks by Dead Can Dance and Sabel, among others. The build-up is no doubt effective on the dance floor -- where Oakenfold excels -- but the effect sounds a bit repetitive after the first few occurrences.

Somewhat of a Squarepusher overview: digitally diced, partially digested, and sometimes brutally regurgitated, of course.

Like many a club anthem, Chicane's massive tracks have a formulaic feel.

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.

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.

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

It's a tribute to Williams' almost delusional self-confidence that he sounds equally at home no matter what the musical form; he invests each track with an energy many of them don't deserve.

Tweekend certainly isn't mind-blowing or revolutionary, but it's abundantly clear that the Crystal Method has found its sound: the hard rock and hip-hop influences that inflected Vegas move to the forefront, and the tempo comes down a few notches, thus emphasizing thunderous bass and hardcore head-bobbing.

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.

Neither as sonically striking or politically conscious as Cornershop's well-received 1997 release, When I Was Born for the Seventh Time, Disco and the Halfway to Discontent is definitely the type of album a band can make when success provides an opportunity to experiment.

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).