As on Hybrid Theory, there's a definite formula at work in all 19 songs, but it's flawless and effective.

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.

A throbbing pop record of schizophrenic highs and lows as hyper-kinetic as its beats.

10 is a return to form for LL, and the album finds him doing what he does best: Making relaxed, radio-friendly jams while giving the ladies a little something extra.

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."

A dozen WB-ready theme songs that slay in that charmingly plastic way.

Trinity is a more diverse album than their last, but there are times when the songs feel too disjointed.

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.

Her triumphant, long-awaited Righteous Love is no carbon copy of Relish, but that's because Osborne, who's always demonstrated open ears, has continued to develop as an artist and take on additional influences.

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

Its tight-as-a-drum musicianship and the sense of threadbare vulnerability resonating in singer-guitarist Kevin Palmer's songs elevate the band above the ever-expanding pack of like-minded acts.

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.

Too much of Britney is dictated by Max Martin's teen-pop formula.

On such ballads as "Corner of the Earth" and "Black Crow," Odyssey seems to come up short.... But when the intention is to make you move, Odyssey shines brightly.

The Tight Connection's unfussiness would be the perfect playground soundtrack.

Spouts off on multiple tangents and never returns.

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.

Sadly, [lead vocalist Chris] Shinn's love of drama often overshadows the band's taut and atypical rhythm section, and the somewhat left-of-center construction of Thorn's guitar parts.

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

While convincingly earnest and certainly ambitious, the result is formulaic, and lacks the free-wheelin', soulful magic of the original

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.

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.

There's nothing lasting or substantive about the 12 tracks (plus one hidden one) that make up Mad Season.

Of course, despite experimentation, Revelation is bloated with ballads.

Cocky's surprises remain few and far between.

Aguilera needs more than a just crash course in Spanish -- she needs a good translator (some songwriting help wouldn't hurt, either).

All the glitter does not make gold: being Nelly Furtado ("Yo Yo") doesn't work, and a couple of Natalie Imbruglia-esque power ballads ("Saturate Me," "Crush") capture Moore in all her adolescent awkwardness, while the uptempo tracks rely on oddly placed Middle Eastern arrangements that don't fit the dance floor.

The album is haunted by echoes from both Marr and Sumner's past lives, which dates it a bit. But the duo shows a rare aggressive side on the album, which crackles with attitude even while indulging Sumner's moony, depressive lyrics.