Some of it sounds similar, but Pink sticks to her guns on relationship tunes ("Last to Know"), decent dance-floor jams ("Trouble," "God Is a DJ") and tougher rockers ("Try Too Hard").

Her voice is still in fine shape, but tracks like "Fallen" and "Drifting" are so mild-mannered you have to wonder if anyone will even notice she's back.

While he lags a bit in the emotional department, he nails the spirit with songs like "She's Lost Total Control" and "So Alive."

Skull Ring delivers some truly pumping generation-bridging rock moments.

From the amateurish cover art to a succession of clumsy diss tracks aimed at Fiddy, Blood in My Eye merely makes the Tupac disciple look desperate and directionless.

Sure, the lyrics are a bit weak at times, but when a band's having this much fun, you can't help but want to join in.

If he approached these songs with the slightest hint of subtlety, he might get his point across, but he's happy just hammering everyone with his trailer-park politics.

Sounds like it was recorded in a tin can and constructed from leftovers off the group's debut.

Simply awesome.

Moore's voice has grown stronger, she updates the covers with some youthful enthusiasm, and, well, these songs are hard to screw up.

When all is said and done, Everything to Everyone manages to be good for many.

Any music snob who has ever fantasized about grafting Belle & Sebastian's deceptively sweet melodies onto Modest Mouse's angular rhythms and riffs needs look no further than the Shins.

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.

Gone are the inspired melodies and sweet emotional turns of their past triumphant albums, replaced by boring philosophical musings and wafer-thin tunes.

Jet has more fun with songs like "Cold Hard B****" than most bands do during their entire careers.

When Ludacris promised his new album would cover all bases, he wasn't kidding.

Ben Gibbard has a knack for painting scenes of such intimate detail they come off as universal.

Rife with hyper-marketable flamenco guitars and jazz pianos, it's world music for people whose idea of adventure is a trip to Banana Republic.

That's not to say that it's bad--it's just that the radio-friendly chanteuse's lightweight fusion of beats and folk songs is sleepy and barely discernable from one track to the next.

More scattered than his past works, Wainwright's skills bubble to the surface here only after repeated listens.

Nickelback's so safe, so sanitized and so damn catchy that it's downright scary.

Sorry, dude, the Results are in--and they're not good.

On "Hands on You,"... Trice gets to show off his incredible lyrical flow alongside an unusually subdued Eminem.

By far the best showcase for Dave Matthews' seductive, haunting and deep warble.

Double the pleasure, double the fun? Definitely, definitely.

It's a rootsy, honest album in the simple tradition of Hank Williams and Jimmie Rodgers.

Sure, it takes some time to sink in, but once it gets a hold of your heart, it won't let go.

Grand Champ would make a great single. As it stands, it's about a full hour more of DMX hollering gruffly than anybody really needs.