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.

Breach is equal parts likeable, lyrical jamming, and inflated mediocrity. The Wallflowers achieve their most noteworthy moments in their uptempo, instrumentally thick songs, such as the first track, "Letters from the Wasteland," and "Sleepwalker." When the band leans hard on lyrics as the primary stability of a song, the album falters a bit ("Witness," for example, is slow and tedious).

A truly superb and definitive record...

An early study of California hip-hop, Überzone mixes twisted, bubbling Roland bass, big beats, and vocoder effects to make futuristic electro-anthems that manage to pop and lock like robots, but recall the organic '80s breaker heyday and never sound sterile and stiff.

His eighth album again plays out his lonesome blues as the sincere struggle of a lovesick man -- and, as only Isaak can, he gets away with it.

Cake often veers close to the land of Dr. Demento -- but its catchy, quirky music always manages to pull back from the brink of madness by being a bit more substantial than your typical novelty tune.

It's an impressive debut, and one that justifies the hype she's gotten.

A sophomore album that actually lives up to its hype.

Despite its obvious classic-rock feel, what could have felt like a novelty album -- a tired K-Tel collection of long-forgotten hits -- feels like a revelation in places.

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

Daybreaker's more conventional nature puts a greater and more intriguing challenge on Orton's vocal cords to be the album's main instrument; that voice, a breathless cry that falls somewhere between Natalie Merchant and Bjork, is more than equal to the task.

Sonically, this is the most diverse and intriguing work of their careers.... A welcome surprise.

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.

How Sweet It Is shows Osborne's strength as an interpreter far more than her already-established singing talent.

The problem with Flowers is that McCulloch's voice never soars. He still has the timbre, but he's lost his range and forcefulness, resulting in a lost sense of urgency.

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.

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.

In anybody else's hands, a blending of techy aesthetics and near-tender melodies would be a musical oxymoron, but in Squarepusher's, it is delicious.

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.

The rockers here, however, aren't his best work, sounding like the Goo Goo Dolls with steel guitars.

Miller explores his usual subjects -- getting out of places and into relationships -- with more unusual touches.

At the core of these lush power ballads is a lot of empty posturing -- especially when it comes to lyrics.

Oddly, it's the faster songs -- once Pearl Jam's forte -- that detract from Binaural as a whole.

Bloodflowers is a marvel. It has something to say, and it delivers that message with passion.

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.

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.

The most alluring aspect of The Platform is the array of finely-crafted beats assembled by Evidence and DJ Premier protégé The Alchemist, which are in turn juggled and sliced at will by the hands of DJ Babu, the oft-forgotten man in the hip-hop equation.