Ward’s controlled voice never falters or fails, which makes his words of wisdom drill into the soul with unquestionable power.

It’s phat, it’s hooky and it’s got tune after tune after tune of stylish, contemporary urban ragga-soul for 60+ minutes, all wrapped round with a voice like socially-aware and really angry honey.

The album’s beauty lies largely in its simplicity, but so too does its weakness.

Supper is a fine accomplishment, a record of sad grace and folky simplicity that outdoes its predecessors and hints at a very worthwhile future.

Trip-hop has been brought into the 21st century, at last.

This record is packed with deceptively simple melodies -- often aping established pop forms and the singer’s usual array of influences -- that are nearly irresistible because of the detail that Momus and Talaga infuse into each of his songs.

Mostly consists of generic rock, the sparkling production wiping clean any trace of roughness or originality in the group’s sound.

Barlow has stripped away the beats that made it interesting and blurred the line between this band and his others.

Come Here When You Sleepwalk is a soporific reverie that wafts gently and beguilingly but ultimately insubstantially.

The net result is an amazing pileup of discount psychedelia and stoner rock grind, with ample doses of ecstatic amplifier brutality thrown in to explode any ham-fisted accusations of classic rock necrophilia.

This material is as inconsistent as anything off their past few records, but when they do hit upon a good moment, it tends to be really good.

La Bella Mafia is one of the top hip-hop albums of 2003, so far.

Part Banana Splits, part The Wicker Man, part genius, The Coral may just have produced the most intriguing, tuneful, humorous and enjoyable debut album of the year, and then some.

Five decent tracks (only three new) does not make a good album, and that is why Street Dreams only improves on Fabolous’ debut marginally.

It’s the most lush, symphonic pop music since, well, Wilco’s Summerteeth.

His last two efforts weren’t as focused, but this time he’s got about half an album’s worth of quality work.

Freeway is great on guest appearances, but it seems that he can’t string together an entire song by himself.

The Notwist are obviously talented enough to keep me guessing if they wanted to. They just don't. They are quite happy making simple pop songs, albeit with complex ingredients.

The combined effect is gargantuan. It’s big, it’s fast, it’s loud, it’s got a backbeat you can’t move with a juggernaught and it’s definitely not clever.

Overall, the impression generated by Tulsa for One Second is one of inoffensive pleasantness.

If the arrangements were given as much attention as the astonishing, rich, in-the-same-room production: 9.1

There’s plenty to recommend this album, but rarely do Shipp and Antipop ever really come together.

Never once during the course of the album’s ten songs, do its creators even graze the surface of mediocrity, instead settling in the sunny middle ground that Gibbard so often inhabits.

Feast of Wire is a startlingly diverse album.

Sleep and Release is both an exceptional release and an unfortunate release, and even when it’s at its best and at its worst, it remains both of these- its emotional and musical scope help the album succeed and cause it to fail.

They rock hard and fast and damn the stylistic similarities, because they have as much energy and explosive tendencies that even the Stooges themselves showed back in their heyday.

A polished, carefully crafted set of beautiful, intense songs that lay bare the singer’s heart as honestly and effectively as anything she’s attempted before.

Another fine batch of eloquent, classic sounding pop songs, with a little bit of mustard added to it as well.

The naysayers do not understand. Their expectations hamstring them.... Like the glass sculptures featured in the artwork it is precise, transparent, dangerously fragile, and ominously lit. 100th Window is a masterpiece of its kind.

The cover of Blondie’s “Heart of Glass” is pretty inventive.... Unfortunately for the group, the album doesn’t approach these moments of sublimity nearly enough.

Anyone expecting direction changes and unpredictability may not find this band particularly exciting, but anyone who is a sucker for catchy, contagious pop tunes will revel in Life On Other Planets.

There is flatness where once there was majesty; there is garbage where once there was gold.

The variety and talent this album offers is enough to recommend it to almost any rap fan.

This record is Weezer-lite, emo-lite, corporate radio, MOR rock junk.

While the record is surely Tweedy’s most experimental to date, it’s also, amazingly enough, his most lighthearted. In the end, this is both the gift and curse of Loose Fur, in band and album form.

But for all of the good things that can be said about the first half of the record, the second half misses the very things that made both of the previous two records such conflicted masterpieces.

It's an album that is filled with plenty of big hooks, ample rock crunch and a loving attention to detail.

Quite simply, Sunshine Hits Me is fantastic.

It’s all quite beautiful and inoffensive, and that in itself may be an admirable goal. But what it lacks is the experimental--or at least, improvisatory--bent of Tortoise, as well as lacking a lot of what made the last Brokeback record so great.

Bachmann’s transition from indie curmudgeon to singer-songwriter is complete: his arrangements are now horn- and string-fattened creations of grand sophistication; his songs now contain hope and broken spirit simultaneously; but the most significant growth displayed on Red Devil Dawn, and the reason this album is Bachmann’s finest moment since his Barry Black days, is that you can now see Eric Bachmann as the subject of most of his songs.

The record is very innocent on the surface, but it’s in the lyrics (again) of Alun Woodward and Emma Pollack that make it cold and dark, even though their vocals seem to make it all sound safe.

A complacent, inoffensive set of songs that belie the talent and vision of their creators.

Elvrum’s tightest song cycle yet, truly focusing and clarifying the themes and ideas he’s explored on all his albums.

Suffers from a distinct lack of vision.

Easily the most satisfying album of his decade-plus solo career, Illumination marks the first time in ages that Weller has sounded at ease in his own skin: mellow, upbeat, yet aggressive and gritty in all the right places.

The nice thing about God’s Son, although it isn’t fantastic or at the level of Stillmatic, is that it honestly doesn’t feel rushed. Nas is responsible for the lyrical content of the album, and it, like his previous releases, is nearly flawless.

So, is this genius or is this madness? As enjoyable as it is on occasion, I’m inclined to side with the latter.

Not quite the apocalyptic inverse Screamadelica that XTRMNTR was, it’s still a damn site more radical, experimental and dangerous than anything produced by any other mainstream rock band this year.

Of course, as far as production goes, it would be nearly impossible to top Doggystyle. However, Paid the Cost tries as hard as it can.

Mainstream and casual fans will remember them best for Things Fall Apart, but probably only hardcore fans will be able to see the value and dedication that much of Phrenology holds.

The album certainly holds enough strong melodies and well-written songs to elevate it above the majority of Harrison’s uneven solo career, but is somewhat brought down by Lynne’s posthumous production.

Last Night sacrifices the unified statement of Someday for a more varied, deliriously fun lack of coherency.

A 21 minute 41 second short burst of booming, stylish rock alchemy.

Has a laid-back, gleeful quality to it, one that gives the listener the sense that its musicians are making things up as they go along, unable to hide their excitement at the fact that it all sounds so unexpectedly awesome.

Languid, lifeless, and generic.

It may not be the psychedelic mind-warps that the Chemicals usually offer up, but it is an excellent debut and delivers the tunes we were hoping for earlier in 2002.

Quality is a very conflicted album. On one hand, many of the tracks are close to the level mind blowing, production and rhyme wise. On the other hand, some of the tracks are just plain boring and muddy.

Lacking individuality, distinction and imagination, this album is over-produced, overlong and over-indulgent.

From the onset, this disc excels on a new level.

The songs are immediately accessible, with a classic rock/modern pop delivery that’s every bit as lively and exciting as the very first disc this band released.

This is a definite upswing from the steaming pile of crap that was Binaural, but not the return to form that older fans of the band may have been hoping for.

The energy the band packs into their songs is unbelievable.

If The Blueprint proved that coming back is easy, The Blueprint 2 proves it’s difficult to stay on top.

Is it alchemy or robbery? Inspired or insipid? Who knows.

The inferior quality of the covers belies the excellence of American IV’s originals.

The Machine EP is a bizarre experiment for the YYYs: is this studio-glazed rocker the one that will show their true colors - or is this just a little endeavor to see what they can pull off? Either way, I’m pretty pissed.

The disappointments just keep on coming.

Few songs on the album are as perfect as [the opening] two, but many of them are nonetheless excellent.

Mediocre to its very last note, it reminds you that mediocrity is indeed far worse than simply awful.

What remains is a sometimes cold, sometimes confusing collection of epics that are more intricate than anything GYBE have ever created.

More inventive song writing and a less antagonistic stance could have helped Sigur Ros create something as equally stirring as their previous album.

They sound like little else you’ve heard before.

Yes, it’s a concept album, but it’s not crap. Actually, Scarlet’s Walk is very suitable for an artist with Amos’ capacity for spewing drama from her intense and highly articulated words.

In attempting to show all of the things she has been doing since we heard her last, Aguilera lessens the impact of the better songs on the record. Instead, in between ten to twelve mediocre/good songs, we have eight to ten songs that would be better served as B-sides.

Saint Etienne have regained their touch.

There is no denying the power of this album.

While little here strays far from the sound Death Cab has been tweaking for the past five years, it still makes for an intriguing listen for even casual fans of the group, and has its share of genuinely stunning moments.

The album maintains a consistency that was sorely lacking on Amon Tobin’s previous records. However, in doing so, the album sacrifices the innovation and uncontrolled experimentalism one expects from Tobin.

Unlike the playgrounds inhabited by those chillout bands--and other post-Air types, for that matter--the rhythms aren’t just here to keep time. Instead, they add texture and purpose, swinging from chunky bass lines to dub soundscapes.

RUOK? sees Dangers with his abilities at their fullest, but with aspirations in a less interesting direction.

Velocity is one massive dose of extremely fuzzed-out pop.

A number of songs crumple under the weight of the album’s ambition.... Regardless, Amore del Tropico is a fine, fine record: a lively, lovely concept album that bridges the gap between Nick Cave and Calexico.

Nick Franglen and Fred Deakin rarely miss with this album.

One of the more unique pop albums of the year.

Musique Automatique captures both the vibrant spirit of Europe as well as the feel of modern pop to create a wonderful album.

Power In Numbers is like a coming out party for J5, as it shows their ability to shed their label as a novelty and proves they are talented in their own right.

While Petty is to be commended for putting himself on the line in some manner for his beliefs, the spirit of music would fare better if people of his stature took a harder stance than he does here.

It’s the rare reunion project that actually adds something of significance to the band’s catalogue.

While the idea of delving into the cars of local wrecking yards and their contents is an interesting one, the music that emerges from it is noticeably weak, in comparison to other works in the genre.

For completeists only.

Man Mountain is a poor album. It feels forced (the worst kind of feel for this kind of music), it feels cheesy, and sadly it doesn’t conjure many more feelings beside ‘I think I know what they might have been going for with this…’ Unfortunately they never get there, and it’s a chore to hear them try.

You best spend your time listening to older Xzibit joints and wait around for the next one to buy new.

The psychedelic underpinnings of old are cleaned up a bit and the anger and bile that lay beneath the surface of the earlier material has been calmed, but there is still much to be enjoyed.

It improves on Mutations with sparkling variation and a depth of emotion Beck seldom seems to achieve.

Despite some clunkers, Dirty Dancing delivers.

An album of quiet, introspective folk music.

Separate, the songs all sound great, but together, they don’t make a real album.

Their best album since Dubnobasswithmyheadman.