Whatever else it is, Linkin Park's third studio record is a nu-metal record at heart.

"Tio Bitar" is an excellent follow-up to "Ta Det Lugnt," offering another far-out trip courtesy of Ejstes and his musical magic.

Her songs and the ways in which she works them frequently lack distinction, and though an artist whose appeal is rough edges doesn't need to be sophisticated to be effective, neither should she be quite so ordinary.

An album so confident in its experimental spirit that its eclecticism seems nothing short of captivating, even though its charms are subtle enough to require a little time before they become apparent.

Healy is back to penning unabashed, sparkling pop gems.

Where Francis suffers is in the music.

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

"Baby 81" isn't an all-out fuzz free-for-all, though, and the California trio retains some of the gentler ideas it explored last time out.

It's a deliberate album that never sounds over-thought, and it's moving without even a hint of cliché.

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

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.

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

"Whaleheart" is sure to be one of the year's finest releases, which shouldn't come as news to anyone familiar with Callahan's singular, indelible songwriting.

A second album as outstanding as this one is no nightmare; it's a dream come true.

After several listens, the album's warm, golden melodies surface, like cream rising to the top.

The songs are lively and well put together, but sometimes they could be a little more fun.

This is agitprop the old-fashioned way.

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

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

The songwriting is weaker than on her previous two albums, though there are plenty of sugary pop hooks and a slick, punked-up guitar sound that exists solely in $1,000-a-day recording studios.

It's dark and harrowing, but "Year Zero" is the most compelling and fully realized album Reznor has made since "Pretty Hate Machine."

Cave comes on strong and rejuvenated.

"Cassadaga" is an insular, self-referential album that strives for depth and profundity and sounds instead like a high-school poetry reading, full of rhyming-dictionary couplets and banal pronouncements about life.

The everyday-ness of the songs makes them easily relatable, but, like a commute where traffic and weather happen on the 10s, the album starts to feel routine by the end.

Although it's stylistically diverse, the album feels coherent.

The real shock of the disc is the hit-or-miss results.

A sophomore effort that rarely rises above middling.

Gray's latest is an engaging, soulful effort from a singer who is proving herself to be more of a career artist than a hit-maker.

A collection of smoothly produced, soft-pedaled cowboy anthems.

It's a straight-up masterpiece, blending indie-rock attitude and clattering dance beats with lethal sardonic humor.

It's a successful experiment... largely because the differences between Marr and Mouse turn out to be more harmonious than anyone could have expected.

His songs here aren't always as memorable as on previous albums, but the good tunes are great.

While he's a fine creator of moods and verse-long vignettes, Malin often has trouble stretching a cohesive narrative for the length of an entire song.

The Impressionistic sound painting El-P has long threatened - and finally delivered.

At times... "Introducing" sounds like the long-sought missing link between neo-soul and future-soul.... When "Introducing" falters, however, it's done in by the twin killers of modern soul: too much sex, not enough melody.

Much of "Turn the Lights Off" is inspired by '80s artists who wanted to sound like they were from the '60s.

"Black Pompadour" suffers from split- personality disorder.

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

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

The best record the Strokes should have released after "Is This It."

An atmospheric downer.

These 11 songs comprise an ambitious song cycle, and the songwriting on "Neon Bible" is stronger and more focused than it was on "Funeral."

The band sounds crisper and cleaner than it should.

Although the folk songs fit the theme of the album, they don't showcase Cooder's skills as a composer.

Essential background music, if such a thing exists.

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

In some spots, the pacing proves problematic.

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

The emotional outpouring on display dwarfs what most vocal "emo" bands do.

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.

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

Swift makes good on his promise with 10 soulful new songs loaded with heart and smarts.

A pop album that, for all the lightness and joy that come with humming synthesizers, punchy horns and sing-along melodies, requires listeners to do some pretty heavy lifting.

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.

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.

It hits hard without sacrificing any of Lerche's classic pop appeal.

Like Maroon 5... Fall Out Boy has found a middle ground where its raffish charm is edgy enough to engage teens in love with angst, and safe enough for the mass consumption that's sure to follow.

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.

She has blossomed into one of contemporary folk's most enchanting voices.

A delightful album designed to sink in over repeated listens.

An incisive and funny introduction to the 21-year-old English singer.

It's worth giving it a second (or third) listen.

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.

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

"Friend Opportunity" is arguably Deerhoof's finest album so far, and it ensures the band remains among contemporary pop's most fascinating and forward-thinking artists.

With haunted, abstract songs that are about as easily grasped as passing specters or gusts of sea mist, the Good, the Bad and the Queen is a dream collaboration that sometimes feels like a nightmare.

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.

"Friend and Foe" might be the first truly great record of 2007.

Hersh returns to her rocking roots, straying from the confessional folk that dominated her post-Muses solo work.

Mellencamp's folk-leaning rock style remains as distinctive as it is uncomplicated.

"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.

Even when they're abrasive, though, the songs are fascinating for what they show about the band's creative process.

Almost every dramatic synth swell, exploding snare and multi-tracked "Yeaaahhhh" has been done better elsewhere.

The handful of [balalds] isn't enough, though, and vapid lyrics and cluttered beats on the rest of "The Sweet Escape" makes for musical heavy lifting.

The problem is that the ballads - a key to the crossover longevity Ciara desires - are almost uniformly limp.

The bloody, boastful rhymes are mostly DOA, victims of songs that value attitude over arrangement.

"Hell Hath No Fury" has nearly redefined its genre; it takes the coke trade's dead eyes and empty hearts, found from penthouse to pavement, and turns them into music.

A muddled mess of convoluted textures that is at times, frankly, unlistenable.

The album holds some pleasant surprises.

Waits is fearless in generating atmosphere and relentless in avoiding polish.

This record is far more cohesive and creative musically, but it's less inspiring lyrically.

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

Less conceptual and experimental than its predecessor, it's a moody album, loaded with dark imagery and moments of torturous self-doubt.

Taylor has vastly improved as an MC since last year's "The Documentary," and though his material is still largely built around hip-hop cliches... he shows flashes of mordant wit that are as sly (and smutty) as they are surprising.

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

The lack of experimentation isn't necessarily a bad thing, though, and the album's finer moments come when Hoppus and Barker stick with what they know.

The album as a whole is a tad precious, but the songs are pretty and Campbell's voice is subtly captivating.

The natural energy of his performances keeps his songs appealing, but his catchy anthems sometimes sink into formula that does not take full advantage of his musical prowess.

A full-length debut strong on deft, cheeky wordplay and blessedly free of the usual hip-hop clichés burdening her American counterparts.

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."

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.

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.

Soul music impeccably poised between past and future, anchored by a warm voice comfortingly similar to Bill Withers'.

It's a compelling record in the same way as Green Day's "American Idiot" was: Each shows a band pushing itself to grow, and succeeding far more than anyone could have reasonably expected.

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.

You could argue the all-star assemblage of "Press Play" - Diddy's first solo set in half a decade - would have been even stronger without the auteur's direct involvement, and certainly without his pedestrian rhymes about love and life.

For all the impressive ambition inherent in its size and scope, its working parts boil down to a testament to the fun of making music.

A little more texture in his vocal approach and songwriting could elevate him from able, level-headed craftsmanship to the realm of signature music, but in the meanwhile he has built a fresh supply of appealing tunes on a solid foundation.