The swapping out of Justin Harwood for Britta Phillips on bass seems to have enlivened things somewhat, but what starts so promising, sputters as the album progresses.

After a while -- a familiarity period if you will -- it becomes clear that these songs are not only fully realized, they're damn near brilliant.

Control's opener "Options" is one of the saddest, most sincere songs to come down the pipe in years.

Maybe this is what passes for rebellion now -- a major label, videogenic looks, and VH1's stamp of approval -- but it equals undistinguished California rock and will probably sell a couple million.

Just how bad can an LP produced by "Neil Young & Booker T. Jones with Duck Dunn and Poncho Sampedro" be? Not bad at all.

The whole back half of Souljacker drops into a range between plain bad and plain vanilla with only the occasional standard deviation above musically amusing.

Modulate has its share of dogs; tepid opener "180 Rain" and cheesy "Quasar" could've been left off here with no net loss. When Mould lets the guitars ring through the layers of keyboards and drum machines, as on the romantic lament "Come on Strong," however, minions will find their faith restored.

There's a heavy, unmistakably classic funk groove to much of the material here.

What 20-year-old Kweller lacks in crafting his own sound, he makes up for in crafting virulently infectious hooks, the kind that find you singing along despite the fact that you only have a tenuous grasp on the lyrics.

Great albums are great from the very first note, and the first 10 seconds of Walking With Thee will stop you dead in your tracks.

The Blokes have evolved into a dynamite backup band, folding Bragg's own lyrics into tight jams at every opportunity.

He may be preaching to the choir at this point, but with rejuvenated style and without those annoying excursions into cocktail swing.

An album that absolutely cannot be ignored.

There's a seductive quality to the simple yet sophisticated and intimate ambience Jones creates with this music.

Rouse has pushed out the boundaries that molded his first two full-length albums. And he's done it in all directions.

This is the first absolutely essential UK disc of the year.

With no new scratches, no innovations, and an abuse of mere battle scratches, the X-ecutioners overcompensate for their overall lack of creativity by cluttering tracks with constant restatements of reaffirmation, forcing even credible MCs to become pawns of the ornamental obsession to their own greatness.

The Ride has Macha's dreamy, pulling, mournful feel, yet as the name Seaworthy implies, this is more blurry blue aquatic.

While Point is ultimately plenty of fun, it's also serious work that can be taken seriously.

Like XTC's Skylarking, the Sunshine Fix's Age of the Sun utilizes the song-cycle form to take listeners on a warbling, blissed-out journey that revolves around the life-giving power of the sun as a central theme.

Elbow is a sad lot, likely to lead to a life of Merlot, Silk Cuts, and a straight razor or two if you don't watch out. They're gorgeous just the same.

The worst mistake you can make is to write off this band as just another sappy, sentimental Brit-pop effort, because you'd miss out on supreme moments of emotional clarity that far outweigh the muddier, more overwrought mistakes.

The edges have all been sawed off of Lynne's sound by producer and co-songwriter Glen Ballard, and she appears as a positively wimpy adult.

This is mellow, ambient electronica that takes its time in getting where it's going, and rewards patient listeners.

Since I Left You is as much of a revelation now as Primal Scream's life-changing Screamadelica was a decade ago.

The Argument is the first outing for the Dischord flagship band since '98's End Hits, and offers substantial improvement over that LP's uneven sonic experimentation.

Get Ready is one of New Order's better works, and that's saying a lot.

Their four-way harmonies soar to meet that now-familiar, West Coast country jangle, tart pop songs blending into a deep, rich mulch out of which melodies grow like wildflowers.