Ripe rides a similar vibe to 2005's "Awake Is the New Sleep": quick-and-dirty pop melodies polished with chiming guitars, piano fills, and Lee's exuberant, boyish vocals.

His performance throughout is solidly heartfelt.

The disco-rock jitters come back soon enough with the next selection, 'Let Me In,' but there's no denying that the group's horizons have broadened. For every throwback Cure sound-alike, such as 'Give Up?,' there's a lush retort featuring the Abbey Road Orchestra-like 'Outta Heart.'

The Pixies' alter ego alludes to Brood either candidly or implicitly in all 11 songs, veering far from the Nashville-and-Memphis tones of the last two Black albums for a return trip to his raucous roots.

Say what you will about influences on sleeves, this is pop music at its best: nostalgic and angst-ridden, but ultimately life-affirming. Shout Out Louds have found a winning formula.

His first recording of his own material in four years reminds that he has few peers among contemporary singer-songwriters.

Lead single 'Rainin in Paradize' alone should propel Chao (née Oscar Tramor) into the kind of stateside fame he's long enjoyed in Europe and South America.

The results range wider musically than Heavy Trash have previously, without compromising the sonic squawl and psychobilly vocals that have long provided the duo's signature sound.

The sharpest, most assured, and best record of her solo career.

It's pretty dour stuff on the whole, but delivered with playfully melodic wit and a certain poetic resignation usually found only in the hearts of forgotten souls and madmen (and maybe Tom Waits).

You're presently reading about what may be the best album of 2007, hands down, by the most under-accorded American musical genius.

Most songs keep well away from a standard verse-chorus structure, with lyric and instrumental passages stitched together like some indie rock Frankenstein, but Minus the Bear keeps the melodies potent and the emotion high enough to prevent Planet of Ice from drifting into impenetrable shoe-gazer territory.

Unglamorous clearly shows that the 36-year-old has graduated.

Another Public Enemy album is always good news for hip-hop fans, and How You Sell... carries the torch.

Whether Finding Forever surpasses "Be" is a matter of individual, song-for-song taste: At worst, it's on par--a laudable accomplishment for a veteran now 15 years into his career.

There's an elegance to it that Prince fans, no strangers to pop music that's truly sublime, won't fail to appreciate.

The Con skillfully packs its instant hooks in so tight, virtually every line becomes the one you want to sing along to--and the twins' lyrics aren't your typical pop pabulum.

The group has balanced its studio ambition with just the right amount of real world restraint, coming up with a disc that actually improves on the first while maintaining the trio's wry quirks.

The entire album is seamless and offers new facets with each listen.

For every catchy electro-dance, there's a tune that leaves you scratching your head.

Unsurprisingly, the lyrics are direct and honest, while they've broadened their sonic palette to allow a tad more dissonance in with their urgent and propulsive pop-punk.

On their third album, a major-label debut with one of rock's great titles, the trio wears a newly polished sound proudly, while not coming close to straddling the sell-out ledge.

The results are richly satisfying throughout.

In time-warp fashion, the band plays as distinctively and playfully as ever.

Overall, Corgan's captivating effort to mine both the spirit of these turbulent times and the soul of his defining band is a smashing success.

The black-clad New York quartet still sounds inflexibly menacing, grasping tighter than ever to its doomy post-punk influences and delving further into frontman Paul Banks's emotional unrest.

Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga is the mark of men confident enough to give their album one of the world's goofiest titles.

Justice does appear to be that rare breed of dance artist equally capable of stimulating the body and the mind, though neither Richard James nor the Basement Jaxx need fear this act.