Overall, the album is a little more rock, a little more sophisticated and includes actual artistic input from the artist herself. A wonder in these modern times.

Eventually the piano-based songs grow repetitive, while retaining their lush romanticism.

Oasis is back, and in top form.

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.

Throughout there is a warm, unguarded, generous spirit.

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

It's a shame that an album so impossible to dislike is equally impossible to remember later.

Instead of luminous horizons of color and virtual travel, Communicate is stalled in a monochrome world of dead beats, chintzy melodies and anticlimactic climaxes.

Highly recommended.

She can still sing--the stories about her losing her range, or her voice itself, are demonstrably false--but that's about the only positive to take away from the mess that is Just Whitney, even though the fault isn't just Whitney's.

Her vocals are so mannered, self-conscious, and limited, there is no way to gloss over the facts, except when booming dance grooves rule the mix.

Lose the skits and a couple of ballads Ashanti may never be ready for, and her summery second outing delivers on the limited promise of her first.

Street Dreams reveals itself as a hollow gem when Fabolous tries to have it all, unveiling a gangsta sneer so unconvincing it makes Nelly seem dangerous.

Musically speaking, "Damn" is the only real memorable tune in the bunch. Which is exactly the expletive many of her old fans may express when hearing this often over-bombastic effort.

Where the Robinson boys once seemed perpetually stuck in the butt-skankin', Faces-meets-Sticky Fingers pit, Lions draws more on communal southern boogie rock--slightly less on doofus monster guitar riffs. Not that Lions signals any reinvention, the Black Crowes are just masters at resaddling their one-trick pony.

Save for a few heavy-handed tracks, such as the lame religion-as-porn clunker "Blue Movie" and the drag of "Loreta Young Silks," the disc offers a satisfyingly rich aural texture.

While the group attacks things with great velocity and singer Chud shreds his larynx at regular intervals, the always difficult follow-up album features actual melodies and mature textures that make the band's eventual transformation into a progressive rock band nearly inevitable.

In making consistently mediocre music, the group appeals to the country fan with the lowest expectations out of life, one who never wants his moon-pie-and-RC-Cola values challenged, but likes his emotions jostled once in a while.

The album makes clear that these men really like music. They like singing it; they like playing it. And there’s enough fun being had here to convince you that you might like hearing it as well.

Mission Accomplished finds Tricky still musically intriguing, still lyrically fascinating; but the fix is too short, the message mostly unaccomplished.

A step ahead of the J-Los of the world; a step behind what may prove to be a career pinnacle.

Testify is a perfect album for anyone who still treasures Face Value, Hello, I Must Be Going and No Jacket Required.