Overall, a nice trip back to Plant's British folk rock and American blues roots.

43 minutes of thrills.

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

Just when the bombast teases with sounding like nails on a chalkboard, the band turns things around to remain more cool than annoying.

It'll charm the chaps off both diehards and the folks who've discovered these backwoods sounds because of the O Brother, Where Art Thou? soundtrack.

Too much of this mopey stuff can be Hard to take.

A majority of By the Way features astoundingly wise steps in new, mature directions.

Pretty much the same Beatles-esque pub-rock with Middle Eastern punches you'd expect--though with more shared singing and songwriting duties than past outings have had.

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

A winning combo of thick club cuts, hands-in-the-air call-outs, pop ingenuity and a perfect balance of entertainment and realism in his rhymes.

Walk's mellow mood sidesteps the usual overly melodramatic soundtrack hoo-ha for a journey that works as well on the stereo as it does on the screen.

Diverse and constantly engaging.

A mixed bag at best.

Precise? Yes. But does it work your frustrations out? Only a little.

Stanley's eloquent, understated and unpretentious folk music is more than up to the challenge of finding its place in a world devoted to teen pop and nü-metal.

The song, sentiment and anger remain the same.

The best he has sounded in years.

Cookie drips with R&B, hip-hop, Latin grooves, experimental jazz, blues and techno tidbits for yummy multilayered goodness.

The Canadian rocker looks like a (prettier) member of Sum 41, sounds like a slightly less-pissed Alanis Morissette and has the streetwise 'tude of Pink.

At worst, a couple of the songs sound like bad Oasis remixes--"All or Nothing" comes to mind--but the good stuff can get any club (or car) hopping.

Rich with melody and drama, even the band's experiments--like adapting King Crimson's "Moonchild" into the lush "M62 Song"--work.

In essence, it's a younger, fitter and infinitely hipper version of what Moby is doing.

One listen, and you'll be hooked on the happiness.

He often riffs for too long, so by the time he's singing to his daughter on "Hailie's Song," you feel the album's nearly 80-minute length.

A just-okay collection of mellow ruminations that, at its best, recalls Tom Waits' Bone Machine, and, at its worst, sounds like indie rock's answer to James Taylor.

Her lilting angelic voice and ethereal alternating waves of electronic and acoustic musical accompaniment make Nova's contemporary folk-pop tunes perfect for TV-styled teen angst and lessons in love.

Another cool chill-out album.

What the Kids lack in pep this time they make up for with honest, homey performances.