What South demonstrates most effectively is that Nova, who had been awkwardly marketed as an edgy alt-rock chick, is now a performer perfectly poised for adulthood, and the mature listening audience that comes with it.

There are moments on Stillmatic where the old fire is rekindled, the power of his emceeing reborn.

An eclectic, enjoyable array of quirky tunes.

Blink-182 sticks to the winning formula of past efforts Dude Ranch and Enema of the State on Jacket, an extremely well-produced, hard-hitting exercise in pre-pubescent punk rock that will no doubt sell millions to throngs of misguided juveniles who relate to the band's piss takes on life's everyday miseries.

RZA and company get back to basics with the kind of stripped-down ghetto menace that made the Wu Tang great in the first place.

Vintage Reed?

Few bands can both rock and pine as well as Duritz and company.

For the most part, Amy Ray and Emily Saliers have abandoned the experimental plugged-in nonsense that bogged down their last two releases, concentrating on pure songwriting this time out.

Lenny benefits from being Kravitz's most consistent album in years, if ever.

The scattershot recording technique seems erratic for a quartet of chums who've spent upwards of fifteen years gelling together, and most of the rock tracks like "Hella Good" and "Platinum Blonde Life" suffer from a mix of overproduction and lack of urgency; missing is the California garage band vibe that was the trademark of their earlier, more energetic material.

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 prickly edged new wave of the band's debut has morphed into keyboard-addled post-punk on The Menace.

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

You'd be hard-pressed to find a prettier set of songs about love and disappointment than the ones that grace Teddy Thompson's self-titled debut.

This collection shows Mitchell as the self-conscious and restless innovator, picking her way carefully through the minefields of human relationships, leaving a trail of eloquent breadcrumbs, as she describes the passing scenery with her evocative and off-kilter imagery.

The only misstep is in the pacing.

What holds the whole thing together is still the wicked combination of Mystikal's shotgun bark and the Neptunes' bumpin' production.

Dirty might not have been worth the nine-year wait, but it's one of the finest and most colorful dance-oriented discs of the year.

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...

Unlike any of the pop princesses that have gone before her, however, Lavigne offers a sound far more guitar-heavy, and lyrics packed with unshakable attitude.

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.

Hyacinths and Thistles takes a grab-bag approach to whisper-soft pop, though, at times, the lullaby vibe dangerously teeters between being appealingly fey and overly precious.

Undoubtedly one of the most infectious records you'll hear this year.

Highly Evolved is clunkiest on long, drawn-out stuff like "Homesick" and "Country Yard," but singer Craig Nicholls has most of Kurt Cobain's shrieking mannerisms down, and, like most grunge, the band's simple three-chord rock is most exciting when played extremely fast.

A fun, contemporary pop record that's uber-cool without ever seeming forced.

Still, the faithful wonder if it's the same Belle and Sebastian that gave them such fey, storied gems as Tigermilk and If You're Feeling Sinister. They can breathe easy now.

There's little here that rises above the prosaic.

Bizarre, surreal, and captivating, this record does nothing expected...