The ballads are nice enough, in a syrupy, overwrought way. But slamming dance songs have always been Beyoncé's strength, so it's no surprise that the "Sasha Fierce" half of the album is the better showing.

City of Refuge is an eerie, archaic record, and even the CD version sounds as though there's years of thick dust packed into the grooves.

In the context of such a refreshing, instantly likable album, even the abstract linking tracks work, breaking up the 13 sugary full-length songs and allowing each to be unwrapped and savored individually.

Midnight Boom" opens with its excellent first two singles, "U.R.A. Fever" and the danceable "Cheap And Cheerful," and from there things get pretty sleepy until the cheerfully blown-out "M.E.X.I.C.O.," a 97-second anthem so catchy that you'll get a callous on your thumb from skipping back to it.

Holland's airy, electronic pop music with layers of vocals. It's pleasant enough, though it's not as compelling as March of the Zapotec.

Those nostalgic for a '70s arena-rock past they were too young to experience can live it with this album.

On her second album under the name A Camp, Persson drapes herself in breezy '60s-pop arrangements, lamb's-wool duds that dress some deadly ideas.

Hammond's lyrics and vocals aren't as distinctive as those favored by Strokes singer Julian Casablancas, but the guitarist's music breathes in ways Strokes songs don't.

His voice is as yearning and creaky as ever, at once aged and childlike, and if the music doesn't always have a lot of weight, Lytle's songwriting remains pleasantly distracting on the surface and thoughtfully sublime upon closer inspection.

Although she finds some niches to distinguish her wild side from the likes of Gretchen Wilson - the romp "Down," for example - Lambert's abandon is never quite reckless.

The highs aren't as high on "Sam's Town," but it's a better album overall.

A carefully manicured, but still lively assortment that highlights her substantial vocal strengths.

The band reassembles its signature elements and evaporates concerns about age by showing some fresh spring-loaded party pop.

Songs bleed into each other and meander all over, underscoring David Kesler's spidery writing with crackling, sample-laced arrangements.

What's experimental for K-Os is not necessarily new. That caveat aside, his willingness to add a few new tunes to his hymnal make this album, in many respects, the "Joyful Rebellion" he boasted about before.

Sparse arrangements enhance the material's mood and texture, which range from the chipper instrumental splashes that color a revision of her iconic 'Big Yellow Taxi' to the supple pulse that lends a meandering flow to the hopeful, grounded meditation of the title track.

Some may be turned off by his showy leads and somewhat cheesy sentiments, but those are the very things that hooked longtime fans in the first place.

There is occasional resemblance here to the drowsy Memphis vibe on Cat Power's 2006 album, "The Greatest," but Sykes' tour [of] the soul is both grittier and spookier.

Despite the subtly uplifting message, Lucky lacks the emotional heft of the former.

There are a few clunkers, and the three songs sung by other band members don't add much, but the so-called "Red Album" is better for its unevenness.

His sun-and-fun lyrics can be saccharine and anachronistic, but his complete lack of artifice helps to sell the sticky likes of 'Forever She'll Be My Surfer Girl.'

As shimmering and energetic as anything the group released during its late-'80s prime.

It's a poignant record, but McCartney balances his recollections with reminders that life is still about what's happening here and now.

Longtime fans may accuse the band of losing its edge with age, but The Lucky Ones is still an exciting and efficient bridge between the Stooges' growling ruckus and Nirvana's noisy pop anthems.

It’s a strong album, but The Big Doe Rehab grows wearying by the end, like pounding Red Bull to stay up all night debating whether there ever were any weapons of mass destruction.

Not every missile here reaches its target, but the older, wiser Dears will remain darlings of all who keep hearts affixed firmly to their sleeves.

A collection of sleepy, emotionally blunt songs that feel whispered from the wee hours.

It's by far his most personal album, but "Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer?" keeps the self-absorption to a minimum, in favor of vivid descriptions and up-tempo music that's catchy and engaging regardless of whether you're invested in the difficult back story.

By and large, though, the players justify their flightiness.

Even if her vulgarity is her main selling point, she's more than just a novelty act.

While few have ever actually accused the singer of using good judgment, Chinese Democracy shows him to be a man who, however divorced from reality, hasn't lost the instincts that once made him great.

This is agitprop the old-fashioned way.

While not all of the songs are so wide-eyed 'Time' is about resigning oneself to a life of domestic boredom--the Strips tend to keep things bouncy and light.

A long swim from the mainstream mainland, Islands has made an album that's slow to unravel and difficult to grasp. It's best enjoyed as it was most likely written: in small pieces.

An album as engrossing as it is sometimes unsettling.

McKay's voice is the real treat as she trips gaily from airy on "Pink Chandelier" to the vocal equivalent of a furrowed brow on "There You Are in Me."

Evolver delivers what it promises: A singer, songwriter and musician pushing himself to grow. This is a good first step.

Like his hero, Bruce Springsteen, he's willing to lay his feelings bare and, in a heartfelt, plainspoken sort of way, invite lovers to ride beside him on life's bumpy path.

Not all the songs work as well... But Adams dials in the sound of vintage Willie on a new version of "Sad Songs and Waltzes," and suddenly the pairing seems positively inspired.

Proof of Youth can be awfully fun and should go over like gangbusters live, but listeners seeking depth or clarity in this hyperactive pastiche will come away disappointed

Although the group's signature speed raps suffer without Bizzy's haunting high harmony, the Thugs' collective ear for a hook remains undiminished.

Starr's songs have an old-friend quality, and their familiarity overshadows their hokier moments.

Though these songs, like 'Feeling Better,' are the album's goofiest, they present the band at its most sincere, celebrating the vitality, if not the emotional immaturity, that precedes one's 20th birthday.

Had the album been inspired by any other play, that ambiguity would be a problem. Given the vagueness of the source material, however, Burnett's interpretation makes perfect sense.

While the overall arc is inspirational, the album takes an unflinchingly dark view of the civil rights struggle.

Planet Earth has its moments--he is Prince, after all--but instead of muscling their way forward, most of these songs seem content to stay where they are: firmly in the middle of the pack.

The songs are pleasant enough, but they ultimately feel a bit over-thought, and Bragg often makes his best points with nothing more than his voice and an acoustic guitar.

The English duo's cheeky moniker implies some kind of inferiority complex, and while Owen is certainly not immune to wallowing, he spends the group's sophomore album examining loneliness and isolation through a number of different lenses.

Doherty's second album with Babyshambles, is a fine effort and marked improvement on his first post-Libertines sally, but its explosiveness is held in check by an unfortunate air of self-awareness.

Oxford Collapse reportedly wrote 30 songs for this record, keeping most of them short and not finishing the lyrics on many until right before they were put to tape. That would explain the more straightforward feel of BITS, and why the band can't quite match the heady, smart-acre highs of "Remember the Night Parties."

The current Who takes what seemed, conceptually speaking, like a really bad idea - that is, recording without Entwistle - and turns it into a triumphant re-emergence after nearly a quarter-century of creative inactivity.

It's a little less immediate than the first album, but also takes Ne-Yo's case where it belongs: to the dance floor.

These new tunes are lovely, thoughtful and gentle, though they don't quite match his best songs.

Carpenter... us[es] image-rich, airy tunes to sweetly embrace positive persistence in the face of adversity.

The star power behind this album--a joint executive co-production between Jay-Z and 50 Cent and featuring Scarface, Rick Ross and Lil' Wayne--leads to the predictable can't-please-everyone mishmash, an appreciable step down from the sampled elegance of the Just Blaze-dominated "Philadelphia Freeway."

Besides his singular style on the mike, it's Busdriver's willingness to challenge orthodoxy that's most refreshing.

Enjoying the Moondoggies, though, hinges on being able to accept a couple of Seattleites in their early 20s digging so earnestly into the '70s.

Off-kilter humor is a trademark of Samberg's, though, and while most of the songs here won't have much staying power, they're funny enough right now.

"Tha Blue Carpet Treatment" and its no-frills West Coast productions are refreshingly focused on Snoop, not his guests.

At its core, The Party Ain't Over is a strong testament to Jackson's enduring talent, and White's vision for how best to deploy it. Even though Jackson was never actually gone, it's a pleasure having her back.

Gonzalez's debut disc, 2005's "Veneer," won over fans with its straightforward lack of production, and his sophomore effort, In Our Nature, does not stray far from the path.

It's easier to marvel at, than relate to, something like 'How Do You Tell a Child,' a country song about explaining death to a youngster. The same goes for 'Katrina.'

"Hip Hop Is Dead" feels bloated and a little self-indulgent at 16 songs, not all of which are as essential as the first few, but that doesn't change the legitimacy of the point Nas is trying to make, or the guts he shows in making it.

For all its sorrowful beauty, "West" is often excruciating to hear as Williams mourns the death of her mother and a stormy relationship that ended badly.

Although Common has always been an earnest rapper, his drive to induce meaning on many of these tunes sometimes comes at the expense of catchiness. They're like cauliflower: nutritious, but without much flavor.

Skip the heavily lifting and split the record into smaller chunks, which makes it easier appreciate the songs for the obvious care that Eisold has put into them.

Some of her tunes are more steady than sizzling, but when she taps into the likes of the soaring, synthesizer-driven 'I'm a Fire,' her smart combination of rich personality and kinetic energy invites a trip to the dance floor.

These songs are fine, if unexciting, vehicles for her voice.

Like "More Specials," the Specials' second-record departure, It's Frightening isn't nearly buoyant as its predecessor. Insofar as its purpose is to rattle the bones, it's a fidgety, impenetrable success.

It plays like a late-career recap of all that's come before, referencing both the bubblegum synth-pop of its early days and the self-conscious black-leather sensuality of its 1987-1993 creative peak.

Jackson ties everything together with his own understated strengths, a sincere manner and grounded perspective that anchor tunes even as they brim with thoughtful passions.

It makes for compelling listening, even if you're not always sure what, exactly, is going on.

However much Los Campesinos! need a good editor--both for its music and lyrics--a red pen would only ruin the fun.

Comprising organ, piano, upright bass and acoustic guitars, as well as the occasional fiddle or burst of New Orleans brass, the music wheezes and strolls with old-timey authenticity.

All the fuss last week over Kanye West and 50 Cent was misplaced: Chamillionaire bests them both while neatly sidestepping the sophomore slump on his second major-label album.

At a mere 33 minutes, "At My Age" leaves listeners wanting more, but then, that seems to be part of Lowe's seduction technique.

He delivers everything that makes Silver Jews records great, but he's fallen victim to his own past successes: the peaks and valleys that made "Tanglewood Numbers" such a dizzying listen have been smoothed down and filled in, leaving the faithful with an album that is merely good.

Subtlety was a defining characteristic of her first two records, and it carries over onto "Not Too Late," where even the differences are understated and discreet.

Pierce hasn't totally rejected quick tempos and piled-high productions, but in the context of the album, the livelier songs are actually the least effective.

It's a strong album that rarely skimps on gut-churning guitars.

The album may lack the emotional heft of the Cure's more patient, atmospheric recordings, but should it wind up being the group's last, it will be remembered as more than an unnecessary footnote.

It's pub rock, but smarter and more ambitious, with music as nimble as the lyrics are sharp.

3 Doors Down--the band and the album--won't be breaking any records with this release, but they have produced a solid, if not spectacular, collection of a dozen tunes for their fans, who have been waiting two years for something new.

Modern touches aside, many of the songs fall somewhere between the Stones' "Exile on Main Street," minus the desperation, and the Kinks classics " Village Green Preservation Society" and "Muswell Hillbillies."

The Atlanta pair's third album, Love on the Inside, adheres to the musical method on which the act has feasted to date, and adds occasional fresh wrinkles to its buoyant, pop-laced country.

Hagerty's chords radiate like heat from hot concrete, forging shapes from the nothingness, like an audio mirage. So it goes for most of the album's 33 minutes.

The vocals come in a robotic monotone on 'I'm Losing My Mind,' and there's not much holding together all the rhythm on the opener, 'The Feeling.' It just shows that finding the right mix between melody and rhythm is a delicate balance, but these dozen tunes strike it more often than not.

The first Lemonheads record in 10 years makes a great case for meat and potatoes, verses and choruses, distortion pedals and minimal production.

On its ninth studio album, the group tells tales of true love and trucking--subjects all country artists are entitled to explore--but it also takes plenty of off-road detours.

"Era Vulgaris" is dense and loud, and though there are hooks beneath the grimy surface, they're not always immediately apparent. Yet with enough patience, you'll find these tunes burrowing in a little deeper each time through the record.

Keith Urban's music and the themes that fill it rarely stray from predictable territory, but his pop-friendly country constructs are fueled by outsized charisma that keep them consistently above the pack.

"The Cost"... comprises 10 tracks that range from hopeful (but triumphant!) to sorrowful (but triumphant!) to morose (but triumphant!).

It’s an earnest homage to lean guitar rock with bluesy underpinnings.

It's what he does best; his musical past may be pilfered, but at least he treats it well.

If it's a well-worn groove, it's also an accomplished one.

Thunderheist prove more winning than most, due to Isis' knack for calm, rhythmic flow, all one- or two-syllable rhymes and the schoolyard-inspired spelling out of words.

A vehicle for his much-improved vocals, strong enough now to carry some songs.

However nonsensical, Perry's rants remain entertaining, and despite its flaws, the album holds together from start to finish.