At its core, though, Anywhere I Lay My Head is a curious project that never seems to light on any raison d'etre beyond indulging Johansson's love of Tom Waits.

Despite any pretensions otherwise, their second album sounds a lot like the Day-Glo disco and retro house being pushed by every other hip indie-dance act right now.

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

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

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.

Akon's undeniable gift for hooks makes this an easy listen, and the ex-con posturing isn't missed.

While that darkness gives the album its semblance of originality, it may prove incompatible with the group's mass-market ambitions.

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

Healy is back to penning unabashed, sparkling pop gems.

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.

Sov never quite recaptures the brash personality and cutting-edge sound of her first album. The beats here are more pedestrian, the lyrics more tentative, and for all her talk in the press notes about resuming her career (after a six-month break) with a sense of control over her music, Jigsaw sounds more like an album without a firm direction than the wide-ranging statement of purpose she meant it to be.

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

It's Street Sweeper Social Club, pairing guitarist Tom Morello with rapper Boots Riley on a self-titled collection of striking, strident songs that take aim at the status quo with devastating riffs and searing lyrics.

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

The group doesn't stray far from the template, turning in another batch of hooky mid-tempo songs that are pretty without necessarily sounding distinctive.

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.

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

Lyrically and musically, the album is not a big departure from the band's classic sound, with all 13 tracks telling a glam-rock story of tattoos, drugs and strippers.

An act that thrives on formula continues to mine it with Unstoppable, another celebration of puppy love and sugary hooks boiled down to their simplest forms.

Lewis and Staind sound as though they have emerged from a long, dark tunnel, and that kind of progress is more than just an illusion.

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

Universal Mind Control gets stuck in the same rut as so many other booty-jam records do: It's not all that memorable.

It's a bland album that rarely shifts tempo and shows almost none of the personality Jackson used to have.

By the end of Teenage Dream--hell, halfway through--it's apparent that neither Perry nor her collaborators had much to say that was meaningful, or even particularly interesting. It sure didn't stop them from saying it anyway.

Even Banks' better-than-average skills can't save "Rotten Apple" from mediocrity.

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.

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

The music on Take It to the Limit is forceful and full of bright, churning guitars, with just enough melody to elevate the songs above most of the hedonistic hard rock out there.