Full of juicy hip-pop hooks in the grand P. Diddy tradition.

A beautiful excursion of weird cross-genres slices.

Lost In Space is packed with Mann's seductively droll delivery that spikes up the melody while it goes down hard on love.

Audioslave is the best of both bands.

By far the best album from the New Orleans rapper.

Arling & Cameron continue to cook up a unique and effervescent blend of European electro pop and future/retro lounge exotica all sprinkled with a computer-calculated dose of kitsch.

Wade through a couple of outtake-sounding openers that consist mainly of mechanical strumming on an acoustic 12-string and Kozelek's duo-toned vocals and you'll be rewarded with some of the his most fully realized songs to date.

Underworld's grooves pump with less impact now, but they make them work harder and with more diversity.

The band’s most energetic record since 1993’s Get A Grip.

Unlike artists who "discover" the idea during songwriting droughts, Ferry is one of the few "rock" singers to embrace (and master) the underrated art of "song stylist."

The vitality of these ditties is such that you'll be swept up in the excitement without much time or inclination for deep lyrical dissections, or fretting about Rancid's originality.

One of the best commercial rock albums of the year so far, and the sort of quality work that should dispel any skepticism about Crow's current hyper exposure.

Oasis is back, and in top form.

Not quite jazz, not quite electronica, and not quite indie rock, Tortoise continues to define and evolve their own compelling cosmology.

The Soft Bulletin is sparse and enchanted, like the band has awoken from a long dream spent spinning in outer space.

Grace includes lots of atmospheric touches that are two steps beyond country and miles too ethereal to call pop.

With years of added wisdom and maturity, Silverchair has learned how to do much more.

Permission To Land is actually good enough to motivate more than a few curious, intrepid listeners to give their dusty old Dokken albums another spin.

Unlike a lot of mix-and-match groups, the tracks are filled with grooves that are substantive as they are moving.

Luke Jenner's vocals may drive you insane, but he is to be ignored anyway. Echoes is all about perp-walking bass, funky white-boy cowbell, and enough brain-goring good guitar riffs to make Keith Richards collapse in amazement.

Highly recommended.

The Thrills continue to crank out buoyant melodies that keep singer Conor Deasy from downing in his bittersweet lyrics and brokenhearted vocals.

But even with all the billowing moods and lush female vocals, what is paramount to The Mirror Conspiracy's muse is rhythm.

Deep Down And Dirty marks the MC's' glorious return to style. Old-school to the core, Deep Down And Dirty is like a blast from the past, a rumbling collage of hip-hop attitude and riotous sonic delirium.

A pleasure to examine at close range.

Recall[s] both Fugazi's punk slam and early Santana's psychedelic sheen.

He hasn’t made a great album, but even Tupac never managed that; the bombed-out landscape of Boy In Da Corner burns instead with all the anger, confusion and messed-up desperation of youth.

Felix Buxton and Simon Ratcliffe, like the Chemical Bros. before them, have the brains to upend house with music as disparate as Spanish flamenco, bebop, Motown funk, and Philly soul.

This experiment in rock 'n' roll Poe is a great success even if you occasionally forget that this is rock 'n' roll after all.

Genre-wise, it's a schizophrenic shambles, yet somehow it all hangs together wonderfully as a solid, satisfying album.

These days they sound like Hootie & the Blowfish shot through with Viagra.

Corporate radio won't touch this kind of overheated pop, but American Hi-Fi's slamming musicianship and party ready anthems should wow any college DJ worth his university-issue condoms.

This is a carefully nuanced collaboration, with stepping stones of surprising convention leading listeners slowly into deeper waters.

Even without Timbaland, who filled G's first two outings with some of his finest future funk, Ginuwine has a game plan as solid as his abs.

This time around, she and her collaborators have also figured out how to blow away the incense without losing her mystique.

This is beautiful music set in minor keys.

A few dopey passes at world music are forgiven, as he still can't sing.

From the sound of Hammond’s latest it seems the swampy spunk of Wicked Grin has kept him fired up.

With an elastic talent--lyrically witty, vocally gifted, compositionally unusual--and a vague hyperactivity that keeps all the beach balls in the air simultaneously, Wainwright likes nothing more than trying on playful exteriors to match his churning insides.

Nu electro, crunchy big beat, oddball Irish jigs, Royksopp covers a lot of territory but always with its signature, blissful blend.

PJ Harvey's frequent collaborator John Parish produces, and he brings a dark, melodramatic, and very theatrical sensibility to the songs that is much more interesting--and a much more flattering setting for Carol Van Dyk's expressive but limited vocals--than the straightforward guitar churn that dominated the last couple of albums.

The soundtrack was clearly as much a labor of love as the film...

A strong, solidly melodic rock album, gorgeously written, tastefully arranged, and impeccably played.

While their hitmaking formula is responsible for countless success stories, the talent, smarts, and overall quality of this album prove the Neptunes are infinitely more interesting than most of their clients.

Touching Down is thrilling for its purity of thought, and equally chilling for its singular modes and moods.

Adamson lives in a dream and his music is a delicious trip through time.

Can Our Love... finds the band still mining a quirky romantic sensibility, but with more honest soul than ever.

A MY-T-FINE punk rock album, chock full of swirling harmonies that came into fashion sometime around the Descendents rise in the mid-1980s.

Mark's best work yet.

One of his best.

Rinocerose's specialty is dropping an army of scratchy, shrieking guitars into the dumbed-down world of modern disco.

Another batch of tunes that entwine gorgeous, intricate arrangements with the dark, intoxicating side of our libidos.

Reality is easily one of his most emotionally transparent albums.

Everything Must Go is another great Steely Dan album, a hardy inclusion to their splendid canon.

A shimmering example of wistful chamber folk-pop.

With the exception of the swaggering "Vegas Two Times," Just Enough may not pack the same wallop as Cocktails, but tunes like "Lying In The Sun" and the soaring "Watch Them Fly Sundays" instantly stand out as some of the band's best to date.

The perfect combination of restrained production and sparkling tunes.

Whatever angst might have settled under the surface has been swept clean and in its place a jubilant spiritual quest in is place.

Throughout, Young's guitarwork--in tone and style--is noticeably on the money, playing his fuzzy, single-note melodic lines with the deliberateness of a horn player.

While there's no question that this is rooted in the '80s (not always a good thing), when the two concentrate on songs, it sounds mighty good.

Beautiful, sparkling folk-pop reminiscent of Velvet Underground's Loaded era, but with distinctive swooning melodies.

With the exception of "Undertow," Long Distance falls short of perfection. But as no one else stateside is currently making pop quite this lush and lovely, Ivy continues to raise hopes.

His latest rocks, boogies, swings and croons with a comfortable feel that's low on BS and high on integrity.

Honkin’ On Bobo is a big bruiser of an album, with heart, soul, and fury to spare.

Stellastarr stand out from 2003's even-newer-new-wave-of-new-wave pack in that they manage to borrow from the suddenly-cool-again decade of Pacman and parachute pants without sounding like they've spent the last six months sequestered in a loft watching VH1's I Love The '80s documentary series in a constant loop.

Yes, it's an earful of music, but it's a good earful, with more smarts, twists, turns and ear-pleasing trickery than one band should be allowed.

Daylight ups the electricity and the songs cleverly find their way into your immediate recall.

Stronger than 1999's terminally delicate Out Of Tune, Excuses takes a bolder and more assertive approach to Halstead's tunes, giving him a sound akin to like-minded Aussie singer-songwriter Paul Kelly.

An album that sounds vital and immediate.

Tito Puente meets Daft Punk!

Wait a minute... you mean this isn't a Duran Duran album?

The album carries a compelling intensity among the varied and evocative songs.

While Souljacker is not exactly a great leap forward for the band, it is a satisfying continuum from the superb Daisies Of The Galaxy.

The album never shifts into angular or faster textures but maintains its overall coasting level with clarity, precision and charm.

An extremely organic sounding album that can stretch throughout genres (reggae, blues, hippie rock) without letting the bong smoke escape.

Hammond's vocal, minus Waits's affected (and annoying) growl, puts the emphasis where it belongs--on the songs. The effect is to make peculiar vistas like "Jockey Full Of Bourbon" and "Murder In The Red Barn" even more vivid and the tunes truly sound like artifacts from another era.

Night Works proclaims the victory of brains over booty-call, mind over matter, craft over cash.

Keeping their collective heads above water here is a solid adherence to strong uncomplicated melodies and the kind of sugary harmonies you don't much hear these days.

Geogaddi is even more stripped-down and beautiful than Music Has..., BOC using simple circular rhythms and eerie samples to create an airless, ethereal ultraworld.

It's always great to find a new zone-out-leaving-the-planet disc, even better when it retains some edginess. This is probably the best modern psychedelia since Spiritualized let Ladies & Gentlemen We Are Floating In Space slip out.

B.M.R.C. deliver potent, intelligent, memorable melodies that are both subtle and provocative.

Much to alarmist indie-rockers everywhere, Martsch has been making his fondness for classic rock--and Neil Young, in particular--more pronounced with each release. Now, he goes one deeper, following the Young vibe into his own world of introspective weirdness.

Gold has its good points and its filler.

Songs like the stirring "Side," the delicate "Dear Diary," and the glistening "Follow The Light" are among the best and most fully crafted of [Fran Healy's]short but accomplished writing career.

On Slow Motion Daydream Everclear proves that it's still quite capable of delivering solid, rocking songs with memorable hooks, and frontman Art Alexakis still has plenty to say.

Impossible to pin down to a single genre or slavish style, Echoboy references everyone from David Bowie to Thomas Dolby to Roxy Music to nu electro, yet its sound, at times basking in cathedral drones, other times rent with oddball choirboy humming, is its own.

All the experimenting produces inevitable indulgences (take Amiri Baraka--please!), but even throughout them, each backbeat from drummer ?uestlove hammers an exciting new sound into place.

Newcomers will be shocked by his natural ability and old-time fans will just nod the same knowing appreciation and file the album next to the ever-growing mass of excellent if unspectacular releases.

In the end, the disc is less odd than it is charming with more than enough twists and turns to keep it interesting.

Lucky Day proves Shaggy's optimism and charisma don't require market-tested hooks.

Not terribly exciting for a long-awaited comeback, but a sensitive collection of songs for people traveling down life's lonely highway hand in hand with themselves, for sure.

Armstrong... gives it a welcome sense of cohesion.

Brainwashed is rich in warm Harrison vocals, couple with his distinctive slide guitar style. Unfortunately, it's also rife with often too-glossy production.

All this anger's not just therapeutic--it also makes her transition to hard hip-hop diva seem sensible, instead of just a marketing move, by grounding it in something real.

It all sounds nice, but little sticks.

With harmonies that could have been stolen from Pet Sounds altered by Aphex Twin or Squarepusher, Zoomer is the perfect way to introduce pre-school tots to techno-pop pleasures.

Wisely, Slim Shady has focused on quality over quantity and delivers a trio of his best-ever tunes.

It's better than Souljacker, though not quite as good as Electro-Shock Blues and Daisies Of The Galaxy.