While, lyrically, Keith's material aims for the lowest common denominator, even songs like the shameless arena-rock ballad "American Soldier," are a pleasant change from Nashville's typical assembly line product.

Dozens of like-minded female acts have followed the trio into the R&B arena, yet 3D demonstrates how wide a gulf there is between the originals and their imitators.

Albarn is the melodious voice of western pop tradition throughout; at first you might think his are the barmy brains behind this band, but it's just not so. His loose-kneed vocals are like pop tarts in this bumbling hip-hop parade, but it's the bumble that makes the rumble.

Always undervalued as a songwriter, Franti reassembles his familiar building blocks of rock, reggae, and vintage R&B into the funkiest, most inviting neighborhoods he's yet created.

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.

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

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

It really isn't any different from any of the higher-charged rock albums in his repertoire.

The pair simply revert to the beats and concerns that made them an institution in hip-hop's golden age; except for the occasional cameo (Snoop Dogg, Jadakiss), The Ownerz could have hit the streets a decade ago without raising eyebrows.

With songs full of piss and vinegar, Soft Cell's return is triumphant and toxic.

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

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.

Listen beyond the surface and you'll hear an old school folkie who could just as easily curl up with her acoustic guitar and sing you to heavenly sleep.

Daring and inventive, it takes the kind of stylistic chances and creative leaps that were once the property of the heavies of '60s rock and pop.

Their strongest effort since their strong run in the mid/late-'80s.

Like P. Diddy in his prime or even Jay-Z, Nelly simply knows what the people want, and delivers--which is never as easy as the haters suggest.

A scrappy little album that at times has a frustrating same-y-ness to it, but with each of the disc's tunes lasting no longer than three minutes, the Raveonettes' proto-punk formula never outstays its welcome.

While there is much to recommend this disc, Moth would be wise to develop a more distinctive voice.

When Adams sticks to the pop-rock mode, he can be dynamic as well as one of the cleverest pop thieves since Nick Lowe.

Offers 12 diamonds that aren't quite total pop or total rock--but fall in a wonderful zone somewhere in between.

In austere style and apolitical theme, it's similar to Ndegocello's 1996 outing Bitter, but this is the work of an older, wiser woman who can view that album's romantic failures within a bigger picture.

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

Glossy, electronic, and at times quite infectious, the record extends Vitamin C's bubbly reign.

Finally, a near-perfect pop disc from Minneapolis's Semisonic. While the band has always hinted it had the right stuff to deliver a truly great record, Chemistry is the first of the band's three releases to make good on the promise.

Certainly a tougher and more traditional album than its two predecessors.

Duritz isn't the soul singer he'd like to be.

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

What "Menace" lacks in continuity it more than makes up for with brass balls and a sense of adventure.

Life For Rent breaks no new ground, and while the publicity machine proffers a failed Dido romance as its inspiration, the album retains her debut's style yet without its wonderfully miserable substance.

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.

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.

The elements of free-jazz, mopey techno, and hypnotic riff rock find familiar combinations as Pierce's peace, love, and drugs philosophy takes on a perfunctory turn.

If you can forget that Mitchell once used to swing, the settings offer warmth and bring out melodies that weren't apparent her first time around.

While Elvis is quite the crooner, an entire album of achy-breaky heartache is too much for the casual Costello listener to bear.

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.

Unfortunately, the album is a bit of a downer from a lyrical standpoint, making something like Jackson Browne's Late For The Sky seem almost upbeat in comparison.

No matter the song, from the stumbling “Me And The Devil Blues” to the murmuring “Come On In My Kitchen,” Me And Mr. Johnson sounds rehearsed and controlled.

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.

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

An astoundingly bland helping of hollow dance pop grooves and nauseating pleas for sex.

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.

There just is a real feel of lightweights here--be it in the band's often balls-less bottom end (a real problem with so many rock bands these days) or just in the overall music itself.

Most of Eve's third album won't come as much surprise to those who bought the first two--and that's nothing to complain about.

When you get over Everyday's new look, you still have the best Dave Matthews Band record ever.

God Says No brings the New Jersey quintet into the millennium with the same sharp approach of their other four records--it's loud, it's brash.

Dead Man Shake is a kick in the pants that shouldn't be missed.

Donelly focuses on tunes that enter your head with a determination to stay for the long term.

The basic ingredients are delicate, minimal, well-conceived songs that utilize instruments ranging from guitars and analog keyboards to melodicas and chop sticks.

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

For those who missed Nico’s erotic darkness the first time around, Midnight Movies have found the recipe.

The disc lacks the coherent vision that would have made the best argument for Clef's claims.

Unfortunately, the spell breaks down and the songs grow tedious as the album nears its end, practically running out of a steam like an emotional rollercoaster stranded at the bottom of the tracks.

Nothing terribly original here, but they do manage to kick out the jams with fervor and the kind of enthusiasm that only wavers when carpel-tunnel or rheumatism sets in.

Buckcherry's overblown rock 'n' roll is exactly the kind of music that can be dressed up by production, almost (but not quite) giving the illusion that something exciting is happening when, in fact, its merely recycling the already recycled.

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

There is some real grime and songwriting grit in these songs, that while outfitted in lush production, faux-soul effects and banal duets, rock harder than anything Sting has offered in ages.

The good humor and easier tempos also make Twista’s forays into Guinness World Record speed more effective, even if manic window-rattlers like “Kill Us All” seem a bit predictable once you’ve heard his latest, slowed-down twist.

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

Both accessible and fun.

Happy People [is] a featherweight collection of midtempo, Marvin Gaye-influenced tunes... The sacred material on U Saved Me, by contrast, is more exciting--and troubling.

Just when you figure he's down for the count, he comes back with an album as majestic and epic as this one.

The best work of his inventively mad career.

Some of it sounds remarkably sedate and conventional ("Televised Executions," "American Mean") while other tracks ("Beggin' For Miracles") ramble psychotically into the good night of avant-garde minimalism.

While the kiddie trance and dirrty hip-hop are as blatant a bid for credibility as young Brit's moans upon discovering the joys of all-night raving and her own hand, the pop princess of old keeps peeking through the steamed-up windows, and ultimately saves the disc from disaster.

Yet while the familiar spirits-soaked verses of J-Ro and Tash will reassure old fans, it's the music here that should encourage them to set down their cans and bottles and listen.

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

The grooves here prove Chuck D and Flavor Flav can bring the noise of old.

Channeling greats from Gaye to Wonder, his stripped-down bangers bang harder, his ballads have more gospel bluster, and he sings with the desperation of a loveman who knows the cops are waiting at his bedroom door.

The biting but insider-ish humor sometimes limits the potential audience, as Paul ironically marginalizes himself before the business and its politics can.

Even when the songs aren't particularly gripping, the breezy hopelessness of the music makes you feel gloriously bad, self-pitying, and just plain worthless.

Tricky's most upbeat and accessible album ever, occasionally hinting at his noirish trip hop masterpiece, Maxinquaye.

Her acoustic soul is even smoother than before, making its use as a vehicle for Oprahspeak the more deadly.

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

Weighted with tunes that approach middle age with tension and caution.

It's the addition of producer Steve Jordan's bass guitar (an instrument JSBE has wrongly assumed unnecessary) that makes this a complete listening experience.

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

An album that’s simultaneously stimulating and crappy.

Releasing two strong outings in the past year drained him of the juice necessary to make a compelling two-fer.

This is classic underachieving at its peak.

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.

Nothing matches the artists' very best work--but, excepting a ghastly appearance by Linda Perry, it's still mostly fun.

Survivor is cute at best... The few good songs--the jittering, sing-along "Survivor," hypocritical "Nasty Girl," and a cappella "Gospel Medley"--leave 1997 Destiny's Child fans feeling cheated.

Don't discount the reggae portion of the program; with island impresario Tony Kelly involved in much of the album, songs like "Party Hard" and "Pure Pretty Gal" strongly affirm the tropical origins of this storm.

By far the best album from the New Orleans rapper.

It's a strong effort, probably the kid's best thus far, and Dad should be proud.

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.

Hard rock that is neither hard nor rock.

An elegant masterpiece of unabashed Anglophilia, all slow-motion shoegazer guitars chiming like beautiful bells of doom and icy, disaffected vocals that sound like the Psych Furs' Richard Butler minus the three-packs-a-day larynx damage.

Haven's one weakness is their failure to ever pick up the pace or well, y'know, really rock; like Coldplay's two agreeable, unhurried albums, there's a sort of same-y-ness throughout Between The Senses' 12 lullabies.

About as far removed from Dire Straits as it can be.

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

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

Audioslave is the best of both bands.

But for all the high-level assistance the group receives, what keeps Built From Scratch consistently interesting remains the fantastic four’s work on the wheels of steel.

The band builds on the power of the previous Thirteenth Step, applying hypnotic arrangements, brooding melodies, and droning rhythms to a collection that sounds absurd on its surface, but is woven together by A Perfect Circle's heavy and dark-lidded instrumental approach.

Slicker Than Your Average too often slides that slippery slope to mainstream blandness.

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

Thankful is everything an American Idol viewer would expect from a debut album: the musical drama of Meat Loaf, Celine Dion, and the crew from Titanic, the R&B pyrotechnics of Whitney Houston, the (sub)urban melodrama of Mariah Carey and lots and lots of vocal gymnastics. That it all sounds like it came from a can is beside the point.