There are some impossibly fun tunes in the mix.... But will this album really change your life? No.

His lyrics remain slightly twisted, the music is uniformly dark and the singer's still a little freaky.

An album that lacks severely in all areas, including production, direction and inspiration.

A frustratingly half-assed album, full of great ideas executed in the poorest way possible.

There's no denying the music is ridiculously fun, as it bounces from Strokes-style garage riffs and Nirvana-esque angst to epic Brit-pop melodies and pop twists.

It's a well-produced disc, but the cavalcade of stars and cartoonish beats make the songs sound more dated than the originals.

Feels like it was designed by committee.

Thanks to soulful orchestral swells, the songs have lush contours, which soften the singer's macho stance.

The Life Pursuit is all swaying tempos and vintage summer-sad melodies that sound like a postcard from home.

The music on Comfort of Strangers is at times so complex and distracting that it often overshadows Orton's winsome voice.

The disc is made up mostly by mid-tempo classic rockers and sweet nothing ballads. Disappointing? Well, yes.

Sure, the band is still peddling the same vaguely Americana M.O.R. sound that the Wallflowers and Counting Crows perfected in the mid-'90s, but for once it actually sounds interesting.

Though it's an interesting idea and is at times stirring, the results don't always work as well as one would hope.

It sounds all too familiar.

It's [Lewis'] powerful voice and compelling storytelling... that makes the songs of busted relationships and failed faith really sting.

Wonderfully soothing, late-night music that is simply beautiful.

With nothing to react against and few new ideas to air, P.O.D. mostly operates in default mode, relying on hitmaker-for-hire Glen Ballard to inject the music with new life. Sadly, he doesn't.

The band goes a different way now, and it's not necessarily a better one.

The music on the group's debut album... feels as if it was inspired by awkward adolescent feel-up LPs by the likes of Pat Benatar and Cheap Trick.

With Love and Squalor certainly won't change pop music as we know it, but it packs surprisingly huge melodies and shamelessly danceable beats.

An album that is as lovely as it is seductive.

Julian Casablancas continues to sing as if roused from a deep sleep, the rhythm section keeps the tunes as puckery tight as the band's trousers and guitarists Nick Valensi and Albert Hammond Jr. balance melodic strumming with some impressive shredding.

He fails to come up with an album that keeps up the standard set here by a couple of standout tracks such as "Strawberry Wine" and "Nightbirds."

Someone get this woman some drama, pronto.

Whether he makes it all work via his musical skills or chameleonic acting ability, we don't know, but it does work.

The most rewarding reworkings (Boards of Canada's "Broken Drum," Octet's "Girl") come from those who avoid novelty and realize that, underneath all the blips and glitches, Beck is just a soul man.

Has a polish that verges on parody.

Ultimately, like her manufactured pop rivals Ashlee Simpson and Hilary Duff, Lindsay is a little too superficial to sell us angst.

The lyrics seem clumsy, and some of the melodies feel warmed over, and the Carlos Santana-appearing "Illegal" is a total buzzkill. But it's not all a loss.

Reaffirms the Los Angeles-based band's strong pop sensibility.

Anyone order more of the same?

The joyful "I Love the '80s"-style disc fans have been yearning for since she took up yoga.

The band turns each song up to 11 and lets its rabid hometown fans provide thousand-strong backing vocals. It'll make you want to yell "Woooh!" too.

The songs don't always match the brouhaha surrounding their arrival, but there's no denying the exquisite craft on display.

It's stripped down (and we're not just talking about the jumpsuits), simple and the songwriter's best work in ages.

Chesney sticks with what he knows best: drinking ("Beer in Mexico"), driving ("Somebody Take Me Home") and raising his glass to everyday heroes ("Who You'd Be Today").

Though not terrible, Trey Anastasio's latest is miles below what he's done before.

Even Santana sounds bored, absentmindedly delivering Latin rock-influenced guitar licks behind a parade of stale melodies.

Not only is Depeche Mode virtually indestructible, the pioneering British synth-pop group also keeps getting better.

The pop hooks are there, but we can't shake the feeling that the sentiments come off as phony.

Most the songs feel like they should have come out around the same time Clinton moved into the White House.

As subversive as it is weird.

She might be unplugged--but she's still electrifying.

There's a bit an identity crisis going on here, but fans of this stuff ought to fall under the Numbers' spell pretty darn fast.

Her voice has grown huskier with age, the songs are barely there, and hip-hop producer Mike Elizondo doesn't have the delicate hand that's required to bring them to life.

Simply great.

Z seems like just the beginning of a whole new phase.

Most tracks have a commercial sheen that makes the songs sound like they were custom-made to be played in the background of pivotal scenes on The O.C.

All the Right Reasons doesn't so much pick up where 2003's The Long Road left off, but damn near replicates that album in whole.

C&C's music factory comes across as a unique, modern perspective of both rock's past and present.

We'd rather watch the Dandys than listen to 'em.

[Gray has] stepped up his own game with richer production, bigger arrangements and a renewed sense of purpose that makes songs like "Alibi" and "Disappearing World" sound like his most epic work yet.

Even though he didn't use Godrich's elegant landscaping to its full advantage, we'll still listen to what this man has to say.

People will be Takk-ing about this truly amazing album for years to come.

[Plans has] ginormous power-pop melodies in songs such as "Soul Meets Body" and "Marching Bands of Manhattan" and wussy-boy lyrics that'll make your heart grow a few sizes.

A couple of indiscretions taint the disc, but hey, nobody's perfect.

Songs like "Invincible" and "Do What You Want" don't disappoint and should be on the playlist for any retro dance party.

A dynamic piece of work.

With soft electronic rhythms and tape loops bubbling under, her impassive voice lays out rich lyrics as melodies build and explode around standout tracks like "Galaxies" and "Parisian Dreams."

Sessions is loose and fun and, while not blazing any trails, it doesn't sound like a bad karaoke night either.

It's business as usual.

Chapter V is merely a carbon copy of, uh, chapters I-IV, simply rehashing the same punishing riffs and self-pitying lyrics.

The singer doesn't disappoint here, wringing out every strand of emotion in songs such as "Mississippi Girl," a strong return to her country roots.

The white-boy funk routine wears thin fast, but the overbearing Broadway-style ballads are even worse.

The rich pop melodies and soft psychedelic touches of songs like "Empty Room" and "Waves" remind us of Coldplay and Grandaddy.

Six albums in, Missy's recipe for success is still pretty fresh.

A set of really great songs.

Doesn't disappoint.

Even more of a musical jumble than her first album.

There are a couple snoozy and wonky moments among the hits, but Longwave is definitely worth warming up to.

For the most part, the vitality is gone.

Sadly, The Way It Is never quite lives up to the album it could have been.

Haunted Cities has more of a street-smarts vibe and is actually more listenable [than their debut].

The first half is instantly familiar, throwing up the same flurry of guitars and post-grunge drudge the Foos have been hammering home for years. The more laid-back stuff is... charming and warm.

Even if they aren't Never Gone, their inspiration certainly is.

[Shows] a renewed sense of purpose.

Some may call it repetitious, but with songs so beautifully crafted, everyone should agree that X&Y equals A.

A disc packed with so many surefire club-ready hits it'll be impossible to avoid these jams over the next year.

[Will] leave White Stripes' fans divided.

Tunes such as "Escondite Ingles" work in any language, mixing mad Latin percussion with big rock riffs and Carribbean rhythms.

It lacks the raw energy and tunes that made people want to hum uncontrollably in the shower. Worse yet, the brazen confidence the Gallagher brothers displayed during the early years has faded.

Get past the dark stuff and Demon Days reveals a stash of songs that are more fun than a Hong Kong Phooey marathon.

The Woods seems like a retreat into the '90s, playing up the grunge and angst of the band's Northwestern stomping grounds.

The foursome has still not found a common sound to call its own.

A sprawling, varied disc that's as laid-back as a cool summer afternoon.

Costa backs away from hip-hop beats and glossy pop melodies and instead digs into meatier classic-rock and soul influences like Sly Stone and Janis Joplin.

Merely highlights all the weak spots, like the lifeless voice, generic MOR melodies and the highly noticeable lack of Jakob being Bob.

You'll be left wondering why other bands aren't so daring.

With the macho posturing out of the way, it makes it easier to appreciate his powerful voice and million-dollar arrangements.

The disc's cool atmosphere and expansive orchestral arrangements go a long way in making a mood.

The official return of the DMB shows them in full force and stretching way Up.

The strangest sensation? It's actually all pretty good.

You can hear them struggling on Make Believe to keep fans bouncing along to the power-pop anthems but also keep it interesting for themselves so frontman Rivers Cuomo won't put the whole thing on hiatus again.

Even if it is twice as long as it needs to be (thus, a couple of dead spots), we're not arguing. We're just enjoying the music.

Unfortunately, this straightforward approach also reveals how straight-up dull Mann's country-tinged songs can be.

More in line with his tighter debut, Pretty Hate Machine, With Teeth is made up of bursts of dark, scary and paranoid gut punches.

Are you listening, Quentin Tarantino? Here's the soundtrack to your next movie.

But even if it's only half as good as it used to be, this Call sounds okay to us.