The collection's mood is occasionally bleak and her penchant for amusing vivacity never rears its head, but the soothing comportment of her introspection makes for pleasant listening in even the darkest of corners.

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

It’s as entertaining and theatrical as the music is rough and compelling.

It’s ecstatic music, surely; and intense, too, even as it’s joyful.

The San Diego rockers haven’t completely reined in their runaway libidos on Slick Dogs and Ponies, but they stray from the devilish attitude that made their brazen dirty talk such a riot.

Black Mountain pushes its songs further on In the Future, experimenting with druggy synthesizers and shifting musical dynamics on complex arrangements that veer from hazy psychedelia to brutal riffage.

They’re subtle, but loaded with the laid-bare emotion she spent so long learning to harness.

If Isbell’s departure was the cloud, Brighter Than Creation's Dark is the silver lining.

The songs on Oracular Spectacular are considered and carefully constructed, and as a result, they’re taut, hooky and highly danceable, in a hipster-dance-party kind of way.

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

Nash is more than just another girl on piano, and some of the songs on Made of Bricks are promising. But her inconsistent songwriting and penchant for falling back on cliches show that originality requires more than just an English accent.

There are glimmers of appeal elsewhere--the understated soul 'vamp on 'Day Too Soon,' or "Buttons,' the hidden rocker tacked onto the end--but the tunes feel too often like surface exercises that lack heart.

She saves the best for last, though, layering piano, subtle guitar and synthesizers over a steady four-beat rhythm and singing a lilting melody with strong lyrics taking stock of life and love.

These songs have deep bones, and though they don't always have an in-your-face immediacy, they're worth revisiting.

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.

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."

The Hives' best tunes are the ones that race pell-mell through churning guitar riffs and pounding drums while singer Almqvist hollers about, well, whatever.

'Like You'll Never See Me Again' is a reminder, amidst the clutter of many cooks on As I Am, that perhaps Keys was best as she was, after all.

Ire Works is one of the best metal records released this year, full of brutal math-metal freakouts such as 'Fix Your Face' and 'Nong Eye Gong' and beautifully crafted, more melodic songs, including 'Black Bubblegum' and 'Dead as History.'

High points are overshadowed by the abundance of filler on Intoxication.

Jay-Z sounds much more engaged on American Gangster, a collection of taut, focused songs heavy on musical references to the '70s

Williams finds himself on the respected electronic label Tigerbeat6, raising expectations even higher. He more than meets them, navigating ably through sugary tracks tempered with a dark streak.

Situation actually represents Terfry at his razor-sharp best; it's a disc that should appeal to any fan of good hip-hop, indie or otherwise.

Blackout is her fifth and most hilarious record, thanks largely to the contrast between the often-brilliant musical production and Spears' steadfast insistence on taking herself seriously and expecting you will, too on songs called 'Get Naked (I Got a Plan),' 'Freakshow' and 'Why Should I Be Sad?'

It's a record full of deep, freaky grooves.

Helm’s voice is still poignant even if it’s nowhere near as strong as it once was.

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.

With its varied sound and subtle optimism, Chrome Dreams II stands in marked contrast to Young’s more strident recent efforts, but at least he got around to sharing these dreams.

A record with stronger songs that somehow manages to sound just as banal as her first.

Left to his own devices, Gahan, a mediocre songwriter at best, is forced to rely mostly on personality. Hourglass, his second solo album, is more a collection of moods than tunes.

The breadth of new realms both singers explore is one of many highlights of a collection that is nothing short of remarkable.

Ray Raposa's creepy folk explorations as Castanets remain intimate affairs writ in miniature, despite a backing band with up to seven members and a choir of 10.

The hooks are less immediate as well. Songs like 'Carry You' and 'Here it Goes' retain the compact force of past band gems, but too much of Chase is afflicted with a degenerate case of sameness.

He remains a singular performer, one who can't be overwhelmed by the usual Neptunes production. Williams' typically sparse 'Loose Wires' sounds simultaneously like Kenna's surefire smash--how could that Michael Jackson-inspired hook miss?--and the proof, thanks to its android-crooning verses, that the world will only see Kenna's face on his own, refreshingly distinctive, terms.

In Rainbows, the band's seventh studio album and first since 2003's "Hail to the Thief," is dense and thorny, complex and beautiful.

Harry remains a creative force, and it's clear she needs to continue making music, but her new songs lack the cohesive spark needed to make anyone but diehard fans take notice.

Credit Condon with a vivid imagination to go with his intuitive songwriting ability, and embrace The Flying Club Cup as one of the best albums of 2007.

No one does puzzle-pop quite like the Fiery Furnaces, and despite the multi-genre pileups and lofty literary pretension, when they get it right it's enough to forgive them for when they get it wrong.

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

The Swedish indie-pop singer shows a remarkably keen eye for detail, finding surprising moments of sweetness, poignancy, and humor in a variety of situations.

Band leaders Justin Warfield and Adam Bravin write songs that are well-constructed and generally catchy. Then again, that's not such a marvel when so much of it--the drums on 'True Romance,' the stinging guitar riff on 'Pretend the World Has Ended,' the synth-heavy hooks of 'She Will Always Be a Broken Girl'--comes from a template some other band crafted

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

You could say the closing, piano-and-strings showcase 'Heaven and Alchemy' borrows from some of them. But as a whole. Mantaray proves it's much more the other way 'round.

Springsteen's latest is very good, and a handful of tunes approach the level of urgency and raw desperation that made his earlier music so compelling.

Songs of Mass Destruction is a crop of solid, occasionally over-refined songs in which she consistently delivers lyrics with grand flourishes even as she lends them powerful intimacy.

These are full-band songs, with prominent piano, and it sounds more like guys playing in a room than the careful construct of a recording studio. That's a good thing.

Its all-too-mechanical new album fails to meet the band's genre-melting potential.

Jones’ powerful voice grows more compelling each time through, and every full, round bass note, horn blast and guitar fill the Dap-Kings play is, well, perfect.

Grohl often shows off his sky-high vocal range, award-winning ear for bridges and choruses and penchant for ending opuses with dark, pitch-perfect shrieks.

The prettiest moments here come on less characteristic musings, such as the shifting perspective of 'Down Here Below.'

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.

A late-album glut of so-so, mid-to-slow-tempo material like the Anthony Hamilton duet 'Losing You' and 'Work It Out' leaves you with a lesser impression than the disc probably deserves.

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.

The band's latest, Reunion Tour, appeals directly to your brain.

The Scottish singer builds on the promise of her first album with Drastic Fantastic.

It's more of the same on his second album, a collection so bland, it makes hardtack seem sumptuous.

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.

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

If Hot Hot Heat try a little too hard here, they still pile on infectious charm and solid songwriting until resistance seems futile.

The current reigning male vocalist of the year for both major country music organizations sticks to that blueprint for Just Who I Am: Poets & Pirates, taking no chances on a collection full of slick, predictable hooks and an easygoing manner.

With such tight songs and a loose but relatable theme, Shout Out Louds easily avoids a sophomore slump--the new album is, in fact, stronger than the first

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.'

The jumble of languages and sounds gives La Radiolina the feel of a noisy, colorful street bazaar where there's chaotic beauty on the surface and a certain poetic logic that runs underneath.

Play It As It Lays is a satisfying, engaging album that deserves to stand apart from the Boss-related madness that's sure to overtake it.

Aesop's fables still require a decoder ring, but the plainer settings make them more effective as post-Beat poetry.

The beats are tight, the rhymes are tighter and the ladies seem like they're having fun without trying too hard or taking themselves too seriously.

The bare-bones production style of Lifeline is practically experimental by today's standards, and it's a testament to Harper that he and his band could record a stellar album using outdated technology in a fraction the time it took to create most of the albums currently on Billboard's Top 40.

Kala is pop music without the vapidity, and political music without the condescension.

Challengers live up to a certain essential challenge: They’re catchy enough to spend long periods stuck in your head.

Lewis has tons of charisma--but it's a shame the shift in focus coincides with an album so superficial that her characters' hollow-eyed come-ons seem genuine by comparison.

Most songs, including the single-worthy 'Come Clean,' are still built on soaring vocal interplay and a childlike sense of wonder.

Folk and rock collide in happy fashion as McKenna celebrates the commonplace on the rugged title track, setting vocal grit alongside flowing organ and a punchy backbeat.

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.

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.

Beauty & Crime, an artful array distinguished by classy sonic design and lyrical charm.

The title of the Smashing Pumpkins' new album seems like wishful thinking. So does the music, for that matter

Editors show they're ready to take over with the spacious, stately love-conquers-all tune "The Weight of the World" or the pop-philosophy of the twitchy, pulse-pounding title track.

There's plenty for everyone to love here, actually, and despite the silly title, Spoon's latest is worth going ga-ga over.

While the slower, gentler moments are not without charm, large sections of the album land on the wrong side of the drowsy-dreamy divide.

The simpler arrangements suit Isbell on songs with an understated but unmistakable Southern rock flair.

Libertad, is another riff-happy collection of big, juiced-up rock songs perfect for summertime thrashing.

The ballads that apparently deal with Rowland's ex-fiance, Roy Williams, are the broken heart of the album: They also eschew subtlety (lyrically, at least), yet the results show Rowland has artistic depths that keeping up with the Knowleses doesn't inspire.

It's the most focused and cohesive album Adams has released in years.

"The Mix-Up" is all about groove and texture, sometimes at the expense of hooks.

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

An uneven album with some tremendous bright spots.

These relatively simple power-pop songs aren't always big or memorable enough to support their grand conceits.

They strike a forceful balance between elemental and ornate.

An honest, humble, rootsy record that shows the band maturing.

It's really not that complicated at all - it's just good fun.

"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.

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

"You Know My Name" gives listeners a point to skip to on an otherwise mediocre album.

Among Manson's most compelling records.

A freewheeling stylistic brew.

The National hews too closely to established formula on "Boxer," content to revisit previously explored territory without expanding its sound.

A stunning return to form.

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