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

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

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.

Although Free Somehow doesn't reach the energy level of Widespread Panic's best live performances, with Herring in place, the band has certainly rediscovered its musical roots.

Robotique Majestique is compelling and eminently danceable, and it has as much visceral kick as cerebral appeal for the indie dance kids who demand both.

No one is likely to describe Lee as "happy" - her music relies on an element of gloom - but she sounds confident and in control, and that gets Lee most of the way there.

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

When juxtaposed with the album's bubble-gum bounce, the creepy parts just seem creepier.

The set's signature disc Lotusflow3r, is its most consistently enjoyable, a far-flung cornucopia of electric guitar licks from one of the instrument's sharpest practitioners.

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?'

A sophomore effort that rarely rises above middling.

They succeeded admirably on a pair of sexually frank EPs in 2006 and earlier this year, and they're back for more on their full-length debut.

Their latest, A New Tide, is their most accessible set yet.

The Last Kiss ends up a reasonable, though backward-looking, outing.

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

Professionalism is the order of the day, and most of Entertainment, recorded over two years and produced by Killers boardman Jeff Satzman, aims for the same middle ground.

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 disenchanted Brits drag their romantic confusions onto the dance floor, where they hope sparkly synths and pulsing club beats will point them toward some much-needed answers. As might be expected, they make little headway, though their wheel-spinning isn't all for naught.

Chesney's sincerity is never in question, but his songs are uniformly garden-variety and obvious no matter how they are dressed.

The laughs are in short supply on "Release Therapy."

The 30-year-old San Diegan makes another foray into sonic cross-pollination with heavy doses of polish and free-flowing energy on his third full-length studio album.

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

As a spirited reintroduction, the album is by no means too little, but given the time the band has been away, it may be too late.

A stunning return to form.

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

Only one or two of these 15 songs (there are also five skits on the 20-track album) features the dazzling wordplay and unparalleled lyrical flow that made Marshall Mathers one of the biggest names in rap.

It's a collection packed with groaning clichés and calculated banality, and while that's not so different from plenty of music in any era, Leave This Town is so formulaic, it could have come from a laboratory at DuPont, where they make plastic.

As it turns out, the 45-year-old English singer's exploration of Soul comes up short in interpretation as it retreads ground long since broken by others.