A much more spiritually fulfilling listening experience.

Following 2002's experimental Phrenology, which featured all manner of drum 'n' bass and techno influences, the real-instrument-playing Philadelphia hip-hop collective ditches the frills on Tipping Point.

There's enough melody and structure to keep one engaged.

She's the perfect '70s soul-funk mama, and lucky for us, she's stuck in 2004.

It's hard to imagine a set of songs that better reflects every phase the group has navigated through its turbulent career.

Seventy Two & Sunny breezes by with the worst kinds of countrified clichés... sung by a guy who was never meant to carry a harmony.

The one thing Banks lacks is Fiddy's natural charisma--he's also about eight bulletholes short in the "life-experience department."

Afrodisiac teases more than tantalizes.

If the album weren't so agreeably off-kilter--short, whispery tunes alternate with long, rambling epics--its mix of guitars and piano would almost seem like the stuff you'd hear on rockers like Layla or Abbey Road.

[A] balanced mix of streetwise, club-ready and bedroom-bumping cuts.

His voice is rough, the melodies fall flat, and there's even a guitar solo by Eric Clapton.

Fun, but hardly fresh.

As studio swan songs go, this sounds pretty darn good.

The Killers sound like a delicious puree of Blur, Pulp and the Cure, loading Hot Fuss with stylish synth-pop effects and big blazing choruses.

This ain't another Daydream Nation, but Nurse is a good cure for what ails the airwaves.

Happenstance is lush and brooding, the kind of record that makes most sense coming through the headphones late at night.

Rather than coming across as an unfriendly piece of self-indulgence--which may or may not have been the intention--her latest CD is quietly captivating.

Mostly made up of charming-but-harmless ballads and little bursts of fiddly Celtic pop.

Velvet Revolver sounds like a hungover bar band playing catch-up, wading through tired blues licks and meaningless grunge imagery.

Sounds like a funky offshoot of the Stone Roses, mining blissed-out acid grooves, hypnotic rhythms and the kind of distant, detached vocals that don't sound like vocals at all.

Her thin voice is no match for the thick guitars that dominate this metallic pop marathon, but there is a strange, earthy quality that makes songs like "Overpower Thee" and "Skin Receiver" compelling.

Under My Skin gets generic at times, but that's why it works.

He can still work a guitar and woo the pants right off of you, but after listening to another round of patchouli-soaked ballads like "Baptized" and "What Did I Do With My Life?" you really begin to consider running the other way.

It's nice to hear a garage band that actually sounds like it was recorded in a garage.

Yes, she still has an interesting voice that's beautiful and quirky at the same time, but there's so much here to sift through and nothing much that immediately grabs you.

The opening song, "First Wave Intact," is nine minutes of churning Led Zeppelin-size rock. And it gets stranger from there.

Think of it as more of a mix tape because the British quintet's jam-band explorations dip into everything from Beatles-esque pop and Delta-blues-influenced ballads.

Okay, so it's not the most revolutionary concept album, but the raw energy and mad buzz make it one that's easy to get hooked on.