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.

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.

Wynonna Judd takes what appears to be a quirky assortment of songs she enjoyed while growing up and unifies them into a consistent and appealing album with her roomy vocal warmth and expansive personality.

Green Day's latest is a collection of powerful songs worth waiting nearly five years for.

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

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

Mandy Moore faces the same challenge any other singer-songwriter does: delivering songs that are consistently compelling. She does a decent job of it on Amanda Leigh.

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

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

A subtler, smarter album with a considerable capacity to get you moving.

A tight collection fueled by glints of the rock, soul and country that came out of FAME Studios in Muscle Shoals, Ala., in the '60s and '70s.

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.

Whereas its early tunes built from twitchy verses to shout-along choruses, the new material skews glossy and nondescript.

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

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.

Despite the catchy moments, The Orchard is not a distinctive record. In fact, aside from showcasing Duquette's inventive, propulsive drum work, the only chance the album takes is that it doesn't really take any chances.

He gives indulges that portion of his muse on the instrumental-centric Play while also managing to deliver a collection that is consistently lively and fun.

He's alternately reflective, rueful and accusatory, and he combines all three on 'I'm Sorry Baby, But You Can't Stand in My Light Any More.'

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

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.

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.'

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.

But at its core, the album is no great departure. It's the same seamless amalgam of pop, folk, country and R&B Sexsmith has perfected, like influences and admirers Elvis Costello and Nick Lowe, as poetic and thoughtful as it is tuneful.

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.

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.

The good songs are great, but the empty bluster on some of the others overshadows the spunky personality that made Clarkson a draw in the first place.

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.

At its best, Keep It Simple is a comforting dispatch from the fairyland where folky soul Morrison masterpieces like 1971's "Tupelo Honey" were born.