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

This is decidedly Muhly's vision, and though he plays only keyboards and a few other instruments here, he composed the entire album, which will go down in history as a cult classic for especially adventurous listeners.

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

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

Beck has shown an affinity for retro-leaning styles on his previous records, too, but he's never found a sound quite as consistent or compelling as the one Danger Mouse dials in here.

Wainwright's songs are tight, cohesive and show real emotion.

Metric is back with its strongest collection of songs so far.

Despite the subtly uplifting message, Lucky lacks the emotional heft of the former.

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

As on past releases, he mostly celebrates the snap and polish of the sharkskin '60s. His songs crib so blatantly from that era that citing his influences--Sam Cooke, Ray Charles, Van Morrison--is almost redundant.

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

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.

It's a loose, easy-rolling centerpiece to an album that shows, after several fussier efforts, how effectively the Decemberists can make use of open space in their music. The King is Dead--long live the king.

Longtime fans may accuse the band of losing its edge with age, but The Lucky Ones is still an exciting and efficient bridge between the Stooges' growling ruckus and Nirvana's noisy pop anthems.

It's provided great fodder as devotees of celebrity gossip speculate on who, exactly, she's singing about, but with Swift's endearing appeal as a singer and ever-growing skill as a songwriter, Speak Now makes for great listening, too.

Some of those changes have been for good, and some haven't, but the former wins out on Hiatt's 20th album.

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

In some spots, the pacing proves problematic.

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.

Deacon is hampered by his boundless creativity. In his mad dash to leave no pathway unexplored, he neglects to chart a course toward anyplace in particular.

White, a Wesleyan graduate, takes the best elements of punk, new wave, dub reggae and electronica and fuses them into an utterly arresting sonic pile-up different from anything else around.

Best of all, though, in these 14 piano-driven, acoustic settings is the pure, lustrous Thomas approach to everything from blues-drenched soul to chic jazz balladry.

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.

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

The album is loaded with arresting musical touches.

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.

There are plenty of worthwhile moments, such as the banging soul romp of the title track, but Weller surrounds them with exhausting filler cuts and showboating genre change-ups.

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.