A noodling version of the Truckers' own 'Space City' wanders a little too aimlessly to close, but Potato Hole overall is a subtle album with enough fire to prove that Jones can still bring the heat.

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

He picks solid songs with themes just about anyone can relate to, and he sings them with a hint of twang in his warm voice. His songs feel like home, and his latest, Twang, is no different.

Even when the guys indulge in cheesy temptations, like the piano at the end of 'Lawless River,' it's usually in the service of making their catchy, extroverted anthems even more so.

The Killers only stumble here with the nearly seven-minute closer 'Goodnight, Travel Well,' a sleepy meditation on all things cosmic that's hopelessly lost in space.

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

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.

"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.

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.

Seventh Tree is the inevitable comedown, a pastoral holiday that trades glittery hedonism for quiet contemplation.

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

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.

He overreaches on occasion, but more often pulls off the sort of trick he manages with 'Families Cheating at Board Games,' merging faith and offbeat, cerebral underpinnings to forge quirky slivers of fresh perspective.

Libertad, is another riff-happy collection of big, juiced-up rock songs perfect for summertime thrashing.

The result is a restless hybrid that never completely settles into the groove that has defined the singer and guitarist's best albums.

The best songs here stand alongside the best songs in Newman's repertoire, but not everything on Get Guilty lives up to so high a standard. Make of that what you will.

A collection that finds the 49-year-old singer laudably unchanged on tunes that are comfortably quaint and rich with homespun charm.

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

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.

Healy is back to penning unabashed, sparkling pop gems.

Band leaders Justin Warfield and Adam Bravin write songs that are well-constructed and generally catchy. Then again, that's not such a marvel when so much of it--the drums on 'True Romance,' the stinging guitar riff on 'Pretend the World Has Ended,' the synth-heavy hooks of 'She Will Always Be a Broken Girl'--comes from a template some other band crafted

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.

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.

The Heavy shines best on stage, where the band is an overwhelming force, but Great Vengeance is an entrancing peek at crush-worthy musical raw power.

It's really not that complicated at all - it's just good fun.

Anything that reduces Pink's in-your-face presence, and that includes a preponderance of slowed-down, tarted-up examinations of divorce, is probably an ill-advised move.

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.

The guitars are rough and the lyrics mumbled, but even the most rote garage tunes betray a craftsmanship often missing from the genre. The collection is the Lips' first that would have benefited from some trimming.