Semisonic are the lambswool jumper pulled over the eyes of people who have an irresistible soft spot for 'classic' songwriting. Fail to give their songs full attention - and God knows, that's easy enough - you could almost believe this is literate radio-friendly pop; just the thing for those blustery rides through an imaginary Santa Monica freeway.

Hidden under the pit floor, however, are frankly scarier prospects. Like AAF's toe-curling cover of Michael Jackson's 'Smooth Criminal' or the awful sub-Police reggae lurch of 'Flesh And Bone'. Singer Dryden Mitchell over-emotes at every turn too, further slickening 'ANThology's pomp rock gloss.

Much of the 'Smith's music is reassuringly familiar, barely changed over their previous 12 albums, a mix of loose-jointed Stones raunch and vast power ballads impressive enough to bring out the 40-something in all of us.

This is really little more than a half-baked infantile indulgence.

'The Red Thread' is a frequently beautiful record, as dark and twisted and funny as anything the band have ever produced.

Cydonia is a stillborn relic, flawed throughout by chronically stunted ambitions.

The Queens trio still flow properly and cut a dash.

It's surprisingly gentle, allowing the emotional context of a soundtrack or accompaniment rather than the vacuum-packed, controlled conditions art of their last album.

The record is both labour of love and exorcism - Frusciante plays every instrument himself and every song is, without exception, pointedly self-analytical and emotionally probing. This, combined with Frusciante's ropey but breath-catchingly fraught voice, can make for uncomfortable listening. Nevertheless, there remains an underlying optimism and fondness for unapologetically pretty melodies that imparts a redeeming and lasting warmth.

Ladytron slide perfectly vacuum-moulded from the Kraftwerk production line, a brand new model of synthesised splendour, power songwriting, and industrial dance shudderings. 'He Took Her To A Movie', 'The Way That I Found You' and 'Jet Age' capture the exotic Teutonic soul of 'Don't You Want Me' or 'The Model' while sounding thrillingly modern.

Low have always sought to make music that can both swell the heart like a gospel tune and capture the amplified absence of a funeral parlour. It's difficult to imagine a more perfect expression of their vision than this.

Simplicity obviously works to their advantage. True, with all unnecessary distractions gone you're painfully aware of Wareham's stretching for the high notes, but from the leathery creak of 'Bewitched', to the arch pop of 'Moon Palace' via the rollicking fuzz of '23 Minutes In Brussels' it hardly seems to matter

It's unfortunate that Frank Black And The Catholics' fourth release falls so close to that of his former band the Pixies' B-sides compilation. Next to the twisted urgency of Black's heyday, his current shortcomings are even more stark.

Sure, 'J.Lo' is competent, but like Lopez's voice, it lacks sincerity and warmth.

The Donnas are utterly convincing...

Here is another dry collection of sullen machine drones and subtle tonal manipulation; signals to the outside world explaining that all is well in Pan Sonic's overpoweringly masculine universe.

Make no mistake, this is a poor, poor album.... Frustratingly, it's a waste of talent. For Snoop has lined up an array of musical back-up here (Swizz Beats, Timbaland, Eve, Master P: all marshalled by Dr Dre), and his is one of the most distinctive voices in rap, but he chooses simply to repeat himself with it.

What's so impressive about Xzibit is his rhyme flow, which is one of the smoothest in rap and provides a wonderful contrast to his profanity-led ghetto dwelling lyrics. With Dr Dre providing beats for three of the tracks and overseeing the whole project, Xzibit now has the perfect musical canvas to accompany his underrated skills.

Volume 2' is a suite of profoundly unhurried, directionless and pointless noodling, passed off only half-heartedly as some exercise in musical exploration.

While there are blips in all areas of life - the possible existence of Bigfoot, the rich and strange wildlife of Madagascar - few things cast more suspicion upon the whole survival-of-fittest concept than the continuing career of Everclear.

But trying to be something you are obviously not does have its downfalls, the main one being - true colours are never easy to hide. Early on, songs such as 'Take Care Of Me', and 'I'm Keepin' You', have a guarded and helpless feel to them. She sounds even less confident and seems to provide a glimpse of inner pain.

All told, it's incredible this is a debut album. Accomplished, yet subtle, it works perfectly as a whole in a way all the production skills in the world couldn't replicate.

Kelly shows how easy it is to keep it simple, melodious and un-synthesised; and on these occasions, Kelly's lyrics come to the fore.... when he shelves his obsession with opening your legs and opens his mind, that he is capable of making thought-provoking material.

PJ Harvey's best album since 1991's 'Dry', a return to the feral intensity of that remarkable debut.... The clarity of the electric guitars played by Harvey, Rob Ellis and Mick Harvey is enough to make you fall in love with elemental rock all over again.... You could quibble Harvey has absolved her responsibilities by making an album earthed in the New York sound of 20 or 30 years ago. But when rock is so invigorating, so joyous about love, sex and living, all arguments are null and void.

Allowing bonus points for successfully merging personal lyrics and shuffling beats without once evoking lazy trip-hop, she still too often confuses blandness for adult sophistication.

Dense and relentlessly angry... 'In The Mode' is an example of fierce, righteous, and - despite the American input - fearlessly British innovation.

An album of gloomy, almost gothic techno splendour. Beneath its typically sleek, urbane deep house grooves, it beats nervously with foreboding, fear and loathing for humanity as a whole.

An inventively arranged mixture of blues, hip-hop, strings, folk and metal, 'Eat At Whitey's' is like Fun Lovin' Criminals' cameo in The Sopranos: by turns, flash, atmospheric, melancholic, and very masculine.