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

The overall psychedelic mood works wonders for any self-respecting fan of the Beach Boys and David Bowie.

The group sounds genuinely reinvigorated.

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

Some of the livelier tunes don't suit her as well, and neither does overproduction. Luckily, Rosey's vocals shine through where it counts.

Simply the Flaming Lips doing what they do best, which is being beautifully weird and loving every minute of it.

As lyrically inflammatory as ever.

Casual fans of modern rock may drown here (and probably won't get it), but admirers of like-minded artists such as the Flaming Lips and Built to Spill will certainly get Rev-ved up.

It's still the group's own thumping concoctions--"Ready for Action" and "Blowout," for instance--that ring the loudest.

It gets somewhat spotty when naughty numbers like "Bootylicious" and "Nasty Girl" swing against a praise-the-lord melody, and "DC-3" is little more than a self-referential pat on the back to friendship and success.

Most of it strikes deeply and poignantly.

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.

Taken seriously or not, Splinter holds together just fine.

While it's not as immediately user-friendly as the group's early jazz-rap infusions, this album still bubbles with head-nodding boombox pleasures.

The tough stuff works. But Temptation is really tempting when Rule drops all pretense of authenticity and lets the good vibes flow on the bouncy "Mesmerize," silky sex-jam "Murder Me" and the horn-infused title track.

Fang packs all the punk-rock wallop, menacing guitars and dirty, funky blues Spencer fans crave.

Thoroughly enjoyable.

Like a crisp Xerox of the band's multiplatinum Break the Cycle, with everything sounding bigger, brighter and tighter.

Backed by 22-year-old grandson Cedric Burnside on drums and longtime slide-guitar partner Kenny Brown, the trio locks into a groove almost instinctually on tracks like "Skinny Woman" and "Goin' Down South."

At 23 songs... his second solo full length is as bloated as a rummy's liver. Still, it's good.

The music doesn't impress much, serving as more a backdrop for Morrissey's lovely chops.

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.

Each cameo adds style, pizzazz (and most importantly, cool vocals) to the four-man crew's turntable acrobatics.

The hip-hopper's gravelly vocal style benefits greatly from the many collaborations here.

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

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

So what if the clean-ish production elicits screams of "Sellout!" from longtime fans? This is good stuff. Somewhere, Courtney Love is wishing she made this album.

Sounding like a Pabst Blue Ribbon-slamming cross between John Cougar Mellencamp and Janis Joplin, Etheridge unleashes pool-hall rockers... as if every night is Friday night.