Perfect pop fun for short attention spans.

Some tracks are as disconnected as a David Lynch film, but no one does misery like this neo-blues hollerer.

Veni Vidi Vicious literally explodes with frenetic guitar jangle and audacious hooks.

This solo disc by Phish phrontman Trey Anastasio offers some delicious bait.

The end result is creative, inspired and, most important, individual.

The songs lack the emotional depth of Bewilderbeast, but the jaunty folk-pop is just so much fun.

Elvis Costello is back, bashing and clanging away at what he does best: delivering out vitriolic songs of curdled romance and sodden, soiled dreams.

The sonic pleasure of the band's languid guitar balladry still pulses, and bassist Britta Phillips adds pleasant Stereolab-y vocals to some tracks, but there isn't much here you haven't heard before from Luna.

[Stereo] is brimming with expressive, beautifully articulated songs that speak to both sides of his personality.

This disc's rich, exotic flavor gets more intense the longer you chew on it.

The disc's bountiful electric piano, plaintive acoustic guitars and gentle vocals recall old AM radio fare like Cat Stevens or, more currently, an American version of Travis.

It sounds like the band is trying too hard to recapture the quirk factor, and the overdose borders on annoying.

There are more than enough moments when Sheryl really shines in that Sheryl way.

A weird ride, but a good one.

A quietly retro mix of guitars and organ-fueled songs, the music simmers rather than boils over.

Another collection of wise, witty tracks marked by her usual spunky vocal style and slashing slide-guitar work.

Headed for a prom near you... it's the Goo Goo Dolls.

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

Hummingbird does not disappoint fans who like their R&B buzzing with a side of multitempo hip-hop.

Call us out of sync, but we never got the memo proclaiming that wafer-thin cheese metal sung by deranged lunatics is back in fashion.

A glorious noise in which wailing guitars, teeth-rattling drums and Ralph Cuseglio's bug-eyed hollering leave no place for pretense.

Taken as a whole, Souljacker comes off so bleak it overwhelms the album's strengths, like its memorably catchy melodies and sonically brilliant tracks.

Become You serves up sparse coffeehouse acoustic arrangements with a side of gorgeously hoarse and shimmering vocal harmonies.

Evokes Jamiroquai, Steely Dan and Curtis Mayfield--all at the same time.

The album bubbles with climatic ambiance and sophisticated grooves.

A surprisingly agreeable, if lightweight, disc.

Just like the architects behind Kid A, they take all these creepy elements and make something totally excellent.

His pontification gets in the way of his songwriting.