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.

The band's strong suit--which, when it gets down to business, has gotten noticeably stronger (and tighter and more focused) over the course of four releases--are earthy dance tracks like "Music Plus 1" and "Wog.com" which take hypnotic bass and drum tracks and embellish them with a variety of samples, noises, etc., and Tjinder Singh's simple, effective vocals.

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.

At the very least, it's the best album of Paul Westerberg's spotty solo career.

Mark's best work yet.

The mournful, blues-and-gospel-based "Fallin'"--a great song that was certainly no obvious choice as the first single--is the most notable declaration of independence, but Songs In A Minor is full of them.

Rockist textures and lush dreamscapes that could very well be the Cocteau Twins take on heavy metal.

Both her songs, mature and articulate, and the quality of her voice, airy and haunting a la Nico (but not as dark), are of uncommon quality.

Some may find the Aluminum Group's love-on-ice songs too slick, too lacking in visceral emotion. But like a cool breeze in summer, the Navins make melancholy a delicious treat.

Other than "PMS," a misguided Lauryn Hill cop, the album also gets stronger as it plays, concluding with an impressive trio of songs that show off Blige's gospel roots.

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.

"Implosion" is a bit of an overstatement. These guys go soft and introspective in the face of crisis and it never reaches the point of any actual combustion.

Celebrating nonsense and good sense, Beta Band make music from junk and found sounds, their quirky combo of serendipity and sample skills paying off in spades.

This is 33 minutes of pure pop bliss; there isn't a bad song or a missed opportunity anywhere here.

Liars got the punk wave thing down, but what makes them more interesting than their peers is their willingness to explore beyond the edges of the new-wave box.

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

Surreal and disquieting, yet comforting, Drawn From Life chills your bones while it lulls you to sleep.

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."

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.

Musically, the tunes are more cohesive this time around, with more of a "band" feel then simply people accompanying Amos and her Bosendorfer.

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

At times the reliance on heavy-breathing, laid-back grooves is a little annoying--Aaliyah doesn't quite have the pipes to carry off melodramatic fare like "Never No More," and a few more club bangers on the order of the springy, sassy "U Got Nerve" certainly wouldn't have hurt.

It strikes a balance between the buzzy pop of their first album and the heavier thud of their second.

Whether you're an experienced fan or a newbie, the easy and honest appeal of their high melodicism should be readily apparent.

Tito Puente meets Daft Punk!

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

Essence is the album Roni Size's Breakbeat Era hoped to be, a song-based, drum 'n' bass epic that works on many levels.

Oozing confidence, clarity and common sense, the group's four MCs tackle their topics like the greats of old, distilling complex thoughts into simple, powerful rhymes.

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.

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

Costa is a potent force with all the ballsy punch of a power rocker and the brazen belt of a sharp-tongued R&B survivor.

A rich collection of tunes that definitely will put you in the mind of [Nick] Drake--but stop one (small) step short of sheer imitation.

You remember Bee Thousand, Alien Lanes, Mag Earwhig! ? Well, those days are here again.

Bjork-obsessed fans hungry for more of the songwriter's customary eccentricities might be disappointed with the brief and thematic focus of the album.

Kiss Of Death is certainly an improvement on its predecessor... However, what continues to bar Jada from the inner MC circle populated by Jay-Z, Eminem and even Kanye West is his lack of a broader vision.

A shoo-in as one of this year's "best of's."

Track after track of colorless bounce sabotages the memorable verses.

This powerful set restates Springsteen's great showmanship and generosity of spirit, and the sheer force of his magnificent band. Simply one of the best live albums imaginable.

It's that rare record that both thinks and rocks.

Sounds like one long song of wheezing harmonium and heavily echoed, slightly out-of-tune vocals.

Exhibiting a lyrical prowess which has made him a fan and critical favorite over his relatively short career, Xzibit holds his own...

Failed experiments ("Techno Pimp") and a glut of odd skits and snippets not only seem forced, but make a mainstream move such as the friendly disco of "Missing You" sound equally bizarre.

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

Sum 41's second album careens with the impassioned joy of young men less interested in taking the system down than in entertaining their fellow mallrats.

Is this Mezzanine lite? In a way, yes. There is nothing here as gripping as "Angel," "Risingson," or "Inertia Creeps." Womblike and seductive, this is make-out music for hibernating astronauts.

It rocks less but parties harder than 1997's Tellin' Stories.

How Animals Move, much like its creator, has "side project" written all over it. The songs meander freely, setting up moods, throwing together unusual sounds.

The album forsakes Doe's past rockabilily, country, and punk leanings for a fairly morose, maudlin mood.

Recalling Come Away With Me only for Jones’s sultry voice, the album has its share of pleasant throwaways, but those are balanced by a handful of starkly beautiful and excellently arranged songs.

A beautiful excursion of weird cross-genres slices.

By muting Tool's over-the-top attack, Keenan has more time to devote to deepening the textures throughout.

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

Full of the obscure and deranged moods that made Security alternately delightful and demented, this album revels in craggy vocals, thumping beats, esoteric instrumental sounds and a general feeling of beautiful dread.

This reviewer wishes he could tell you that Skull Ring is as good as his best past highlights--but it just ain't.

The production can be a little too clinical and antiseptic in spots.

This is still an excellent band composed of three excellent musicians who can produce one hell of a noise.

Taking a large step in expanding its lexicon, the group, singer Gaz Coombes in particular, has tightened up its songwriting and come up with tunes that rival the band’s first hit "Caught By The Fuzz."

Gray's idiosyncrasies are sometimes buried beneath the syrupy strings (which may have been the intent), robbing the album of unpredictable highs as well as lows.

While her voice has never sounded better, the lion share of songs she selected for the album are mediocre at best.

A shimmering example of wistful chamber folk-pop.

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.

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

Reality is easily one of his most emotionally transparent albums.

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.

Even in a blindfold test, you'd probably guess it was his creation. That's both how distinctive and predictable he's become.

The B.Coming is no metamorphosis; Beans remains the same powerful but limited rhymer, a blunt object hammering the mic and stumbling after the ghost of Jay-Z.

What Clones proves, beyond its certain hits, is that the Neptunes have to be considered alongside the handful of great artists (Bowie, Prince, et al) who kept pushing boundaries as they pushed up the charts.

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

Most of these rhymes are too shallow to warrant the hopeful comparisons to Biggie and Tupac. But if you want the best disposable gangsta tunes on the market, 50 Cent offers a definite bargain.

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

Length considerations aside, only die-hard Beck devotees and studio nerds are likely to be dazzled by the dithering, technoed-out proceedings here.

The album, produced by her longtime collaborators Jimmy Jam & Terry Lewis, doesn't drift from their if-ain't-broke-don't-fix-it formula that supplies Janet with dreamy, radio friendly R&B/pop to balance the record's angst and lust.

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.

By and large, the disc is made up of ambitious but misguided attempts to elevate mundane rock 'n' roll to some kind of higher art form.

What gives Afrodisiac its allure are the confident club jams that mask B-Rocka’s vocal limitations without overpowering her.

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

At first listen a morose rumination on the many shapes of love, the album slowly unfurls as a grand, almost gothic epic of vast proportion and luxurious significance.

As a vocalist, she remains somewhat faceless.

Rufus is self-effacing and clever enough to keep the music from becoming totally insipid.

The album often revisits the troubled vibe of her early days, in sound if not lyrically.

Yet another bombshell of an album, blowing the lid off with majestic melodies, muscular pop-metal, and lyrics that detail singer Scott Weiland's battle with life and inner demons.

Once again, Hefner has delivered what is sure to be one of the most original releases of the year.

Time to pull out Dig Your Own Hole while the Bros. claw through this current slump, er, evolutional period.

Brilliantly combining Spanish dialogue and hauntingly serene vocals with conga, timbales, accordion, cheesy organ, and funky guitar, Kinky intertwines it all with coiling bass, mad samples, and sexy synthetic grooves.

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

Straight Outta Cashville is simply the same, moderately catchy collection as Beg For Mercy or The Hunger For More, made inferior by the addition of a few tuneless crunk trunk-rattlers.

These dozen songs, which swing with the organic, old-school funk Prince began embracing in the late-’80s, also avoid his ‘90s excesses, combining rock and soul as effortlessly and succinctly as he ever has.

Sure, it's nothing that hasn't been done before.... Still, there's no denying that She's In Control is one helluva bad-ass, booty-shakin', funky-fresh party record.

Over-sentimental country-rock posing, limp rapping, and turgid AOR classic rock are only where this young man gets started.

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

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

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

Cole is a slick producer, dropping just the right sounds to impress fellow DJs and keep club kids doing the boogie fever.

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

Disappeared hints at the cathartic spillage of drum 'n' bass, while also dropping beats from Motown, rock, and beyond. But unfortunately the melodies that were once so incisive and pliant soon grow monotonous and alien.

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.

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.