He sounds rushed, like he doesn't have time for too much tinkering. This is a good thing.

This is his State of the Union address, with guitars that chime like the Byrds heralding sentiments that recall the socially-conscious 1960s, yet sound all the more pertinent today.

The freshness of the arrangements appeals throughout.

As intoxicating as a Brazilian breeze and ironic as a David Lynch night in L.A., the Los Angeles duo the Bird and the Bee make a soothingly hip, deliriously cool blend of pop.

Stirrat and Sansone revisit the immaculate production of their previous work, but with greater cohesion and broader instrumentation.

Fans and casual enthusiasts will no doubt be bewildered by the extra experimental outings of an already daunting band--but for completists, this is the last word.

Few modern songstresses work a beat better.

Hell Hath No Fury isn't as well-assembled as Lord Willin' or as spontaneous as Clipse's lauded mix-CDs from 2005 but it is coldly efficient in knocking out 12 songs backed with superbly dark and sparse tracks by the Neptunes.

This set stands alongside Waits's finest work.

A perfect gift for the Christmas-inclined indie rockster.

Make up for lost time and embrace these wonderful smartypants-es today.

An album that sounds unlike anything else.

Not quite as endearing as his raw and seductive 2002 debut.

It plays like a hilarious concept album more than anything.

Songs like "Baby Come On" and the spooky "Little Death" show the musicians finally delivering the substance that was promised on Blink 182's self-titled 2003 release.

Campbell's second extraordinary release of 2006.

As a player, his bold, midrange-heavy tone complements his most nuanced vocal performances.

Features the kind of envelope-pushing fans have come to expect.

It has been said that Nelson can sing just about anything--which doesn't necessarily mean that he should.

No, it does not rank with the band's best work. But yes, as long as Pete Townshend and Roger Daltrey walk the earth in tandem, the Who live on.

More a pop orchestral mishmash than a well-defined rock opus, Bat III is dark, seemingly hopeless at times, and über dramatic. Oddly enough, that's also its saving grace.

Don't expect a derivative mash of smudgy, nostalgia-filching sounds, though, because despite its retro leanings, what's in store somehow crackles with currency.

Noise Floor presents a mixed bag that will enthrall hardcore Conorites but leave others frequently reaching for the skip button.

Her sing-songy tunes are honest and earthy, her diction intense and mannered but never pretentious.

His talents and the heart he puts into his writing, singing, and picking remain at their peak. This stellar collection proves it--four times over.

As before, he continues to flawlessly integrate straight-ahead, unforced vocals into a riproaring sound.

Imagine the Mars Volta undergoing electroshock treatment or Blonde Redhead at war with an army of feral cats.

Unable to pen and record a clunker amidst his handsome ballads and cascading rockers, McCaughan coalesces sugar-coated melodies with personal, often uproarious lyrics that can make his 40-something voice sound half its age.