Emo kids will flock to German class when they hear the original version of 'Monsoon,' the band's biggest hit, which closes this strangely fascinating Euro-glam effort.

London-bred singer Estelle's stateside debut, Shine, is heaving with catchy, instantly likable hip-hop/R&B/ pop songs produced by the likes of Will.i.am, Wyclef Jean and Mark Ronson, to list a few, and featuring Kanye West and Cee-Lo, among others.

Pitch-shifting strings punctuate the background like reminders of the cinema of the past, but this Portishead doesn't wink at anything, eschewing style altogether. In our self-referential culture, an album like this is an aberration. Again.

From the cheeky hip-hop of 'Konichiwa Bitches' and the warped bass underpinning her cover of Teddybears' 'Cobra Style' to the Kylie Minogue-esque 'With Every Heartbeat' and sweeping strings carrying 'Be Mine,' the album holds 14 sassy and sweet dance pop gems.

'4 Minutes,' with Timberlake, is already a top three Billboard Hot 100 hit, and harmonious ballad 'Miles Away' might be some of her best work yet. But it feels familiar.

Santogold pours all that experience into a bracingly eclectic set full of fuzzy New Wave synths, sticky avant-soul melodies, busted-laptop beats and sing-song vocal chants inherited from the likes of Neneh Cherry and Björk. If you've managed to avoid her until now, you won't be able to for much longer.

Elsewhere, 'Criminal' and 'I Will Not Apologize' find the group making its most acute, nail-driven points in years.

The band's first new set since 2002 is full of these well-intentioned attempts to recapture some of that '80s pyromania (or in the case of the absurdly large power ballad 'Love,' herculean '70s prog-rock balladry), but without producer Robert "Mutt" Lange, who left for the much more profitable world of country years ago, the results are solid if unspectacular.

Lil Mama shows off some impressive verbal firepower here, like when she challenges her skeptics over a booming trash-can beat in 'One Hit Wonder.'

Nine Lives follows suit with a set whose nine songs display an ensemble sensibility that gives a generous allotment of sonic room to members of Winwood's band.

For his second solo studio record, the Quannum Projects godfather veers left from his sample-centric background and into something that should be highly pleasing to anyone who enjoyed hip-hop in 1988.

Whether you prefer him shouting vitriol on the picket line or whispering sweet nothings in the bedroom, you'll find plenty to enjoy here.

The songs on Elephant Shell are a sensible progression from the Strokes-like hooks of earlier material, showing an increasing sophistication. As with before, the brilliance is in the brevity.

Bittersweet World is a party worth attending, but not much is missed if your invite got lost in the mail.

The lyrics hold their own as comedy poetry, and the album as a whole is stuffed with feel-good laughs.

Even if it's easy to miss the full-tilt pyrotechnics of yore, Reis' new approach allows you to appreciate his wound-tight tunecraft like never before.

Carey's made a pop album with equal parts levity and gravity.

Though nothing quite reaches the heights of past work, there's ambience to spare on "We Own the Night" and the lush "Highway of Endless Dreams."

The Kooks aren't exactly redefining the sound of British pop/rock on their sophomore album, but they certainly aren't giving it a bad name either.

Not only is this one of the best new-artist debuts in recent memory (think Dixie Chicks in 1998), Lady Antebellum's self-titled set will go down as one of the year's best, period.

What the disc might lack in substance, it makes up for in some of the best sleazy, synthy, testosterone-fueled electronica since the Prodigy's 'Smack My Bitch Up.'

For The Alchemy Index Vols. III & IV: Air & Earth, the material is appropriately lofty to represent the former element but surprisingly sparse for the latter.

The latest batch of tunes definitely includes some keepers.

By tossing some horns and a variety of dark basslines into the mix, the U.K. quintet creates intense, unique songs that are more than a sum of their influences.

The album as a whole finds a strange homogeny, and Tapes 'N Tapes keep exploring hip, leaving everyone guessing as to whether they meant to make such a confusing outfit or the pieces were just on sale.

A truly welcome return.

Chock-full of glockenspiel, keyboards, hand claps and boy-girl harmonies, Youngster is playful and fun.

This is the definitive Moby album.

Clever but tasteful arrangements and an impeccable shine make songs like 'Same Old Thing' seem anything but.

Accelerate may not stun on impact like some R.E.M. records, but it's still habit-forming.

The album is front-loaded with these relatively energetic tracks. Much of the rest ('End of the Land,' 'Song of Home') is resigned, reflective and spiritually attuned, but not always keenly focused.

Throughout, Kozelek connects memory to emotion with masterful strokes.

More than 40 years into their career, the Stones sound raw and dangerously alive.

Funplex works best when the voices blend into the ass-moving momentum.

15 tracks of welcomed live drum sounds, symphonies and stacked harmonies.

The band stretches out in some new directions on the trance-y 'Washington Square' and incorporates psychedelic overtones into 'Insignificant' and 'Le Ballet d'Or.' 'You Can't Count on Me' sounds like the flip side of a Bruce Springsteen love song, and such tracks as '1492,' 'Cowboys' and 'Come Around' rock with sweeping dynamic energy.

Most of the dozen songs on Midnight Boom are driven more by looped beats. As a result, the melodies on such tracks as "Getting Down," "Cheap and Cheerful" and the hand-clapping "Sour Cherry" are framed with spare urgency, while "U.R.A. Fever" and "Alphabet Pony" boast an urban, nearly hip-hop ambience.

Bejar may consistently tinker with his sound, but the output has been reliably solid, and Dreams is no exception.

Denver-based Devotchka delivers another batch of aching, spacious and histrionic tunes on A Mad and Faithful Telling.

His hooks can be rock-solid ('Ack Like You Know') and his interest in gleaming synthesizerism (opener 'American Superstar' comes into 'Tubular Bells' territory, really) helps set him off from the legions of rappers clawing over each other to break out of the South.

It seems that the more comfortable the principals get with Gnarls Barkley, the more haunted Gnarls Barkley gets. And it gets stronger, too.

Luckily, [the a bland name and album title are] the most awkward things about this surprisingly rewarding collection of dusky, mesquite-flavored torch songs.

On the Missy Elliott-assisted 'Bad Girl,' the group croons about its seductive ways over heavy drums, while the bass-laden 'Sucka for Love' finds it confessing to being "addicted to kissing and hugging/touching and rubbing."

Lanois' sixth studio album is an eclectic mix of richly textured rock songs, mellow vibes and hypnotic instrumentals, interspersed with snippets from philosophical conversations with mentor Brian Eno.

While King's songs often hew closer to contemporary classical than pop, the patient listener will discern new colors in these lovely painted-desert landscapes with each listen.

Snoop Dogg's ninth album is perhaps his most progressive one to date.

His fifth album puts the Dutchman in the company of the Chemical Brothers, Basement Jaxx and Paul Oakenfold: those rare dance producers who have the artistic fortitude to create a fully realized, addictive long-player.

The label's tendency toward bottom-heavy, fog-thick beats sounds awful nice under Del's syrupy brainiac flow, which goes back to his battle-rap basics here.

While not as immediately memorable as "Lump" or "Peaches," punchy songs like album opener "Mixed Up S.O.B.," "More Bad Times" and the breezy "Loose Balloon" come across as less novelty-like as a result of songcraft.

It picks up right where Bauhaus left off: a wet dream for original fans and a blast of recognition for the newly eye-lined.

Janet Weiss adds welcome flavor on drums and vocals, but overall, how much you enjoy rummaging through this Trash will probably depend on the amount of patience you have for the Malkmus' indulgences.

Saturnalia, is teeming with the kind of raw and gritty music one might expect to hear kicked around in, well, the gutter. And considering the project is a collaboration between Mark Lanegan and Greg Dulli, that's certainly not a bad thing.

At times it feels like a lot is going on, others not so much. The pieces are all there, but it just doesn't add up to more than the sum of its parts.

Born Ruffians are in the business of kicking out jumpy live-band power-pop jams far more concerned with melodic zing than textural depth.

Warpaint mines the same Allmans-to-Zappa synthesis of influences that's been the Crowes' stock in trade but finds the group fortified by sharp songwriting and lace-tight, live-sounding performances.

Asking for Flowers is filled with literate and provocative lyricism, vivid characters and cinematically engaging scenarios.

With accompaniment as varied as vocals from Ollabelle and Brazilian percussion from Mauro Refosco, White still keeps us off balance with rich, unpredictable textures ("Diamonds to Coal") that convey lost-in-the-backwoods disorientation ("Counting Numbers in the Air").

Seventh Tree is as deliciously subversive, and in some cases more so, as the duo's past work.

Curtis Mayfield would be proud of both lyrics and her throwback sound.

Her first mainstream country album in years is an important reminder of the breadth of her singing and songwriting talents.

Merritt isn't one of alt-country's most distinctive vocalists; her singing here is wide open and affectless, occasionally to the point of near-anonymity. But instead of making the tunes on Another Country seem forgettable, that quality actually ends up inviting you into the material

Rock's in a comfort zone on his first album in four years, a solid effort that makes up with work ethic and historical good will what it lacks in door-blowing moments.

The album may consign the Raveonettes further to cult-level status, but like a challenging mate, it seduces us into coming back for more.

Pretty much all John Darnielle's songs sound the same, but that sameness affords a remarkable consistency.

Its debut U.S. set showcases its accessible modern rock and frontman Paul Noonan's ambitious lyrics.

Cox followed his muse and ran with it, and what resulted is a collection of music that's as intriguing as its creator.

The net result is smart, personal and potent.

It may be his poppiest and slickest work to date, but Golden Delicious is more proof that Mike Doughty still knows where to make the melodies twist and turn to find the sweet spot among the ridiculous, the sublime and the sad.

Hiccups aside, there's something really brave and thoroughly punk rock about hearing her tackle Ma Rainey's 'Daddy Goodbye Blues.'

Morcheeba returns with Dive Deep, a gorgeous collection of folk- and blues-inflected electro-pop ballads.

Early on frontman Yan (Scott Wilkinson) wishes us, "Welcome for a day--or stay forever," and if you do like rock music, you'll likely choose the latter.

Simple Plan is a shameless little heatseeker, which isn't much of a musical problem. Provided you're after a good time, several cuts make excellent use of keyboard bleeps and drum-machine beats.

Free Somehow, which marks the debut of new-ish guitarist Jimmy Herring, is no less of a tease, boasting three or four memorable songs (none mightier than 'Airplane') and the rest serviceable filler.

This is the same pop-wise Hot Chip, only wilier and with a more dastardly sonic arsenal.

The roots-rock of Detours is old-school-sounding Crow now with a heightened consciousness of the world around her.

Lucky is full of jangly little gems that could put a skip in the step of even the saddest of sacks.

Watershed, k.d. lang's new torch-and-twang exploration, will hover delicately in the background of many a coffee shop, but it does little to elevate itself to a more conscious musical experience.

Saying that Jack Johnson's fourth record is languid and breezy is a little like saying the Cubs probably won't win it all this year, but Sleep Through the Static takes Johnson's über-chill, barefoot-in-a-hammock vibe to new heights--or mediums, depending on how you look at such things.

The mostly one-man-show of Time is another amalgamation of the vintage rock stylings that are his stock in trade.

District Line is a fine showcase for the differing sides of ex-Hüsker Dü/Sugar frontman Bob Mould's repertoire.

Most of the time, however, the band makes a righteous racket that straddles the worlds of prog rock, funk, fusion jazz and world music, with Eastern motifs spicing 'Aberinkula' and a bit of cosmic blues making its way into 'Conjugal Burns.'

Listeners are only too lucky to get a hot breath of summer fun in these cold winter months.

On his first release since reuniting the original Joe Jackson Band in 2004, Jackson is at the top of his game as a writer, singer and player.

This confident piece of work is like mannah from the heavens for college rock fans, freshening up loose, rhythmic song structures with a charming lo-fi aesthetic.

Instead of paying tribute as concept, Lynne owns these songs, taking inspiration from the renowned blue-eyed soul singer to create her own sober renditions of indelible melodies from the '60s and '70s.

The latest from this genre-bending Welsh band is largely a smoothed-out pop record, reining in some of Super Furry Animals' more left-field tendencies and tenderly nurturing the catchy, chart-friendly hooks of Gruff Rhys and company.

The album has an undeniable flip-flop feel throughout; like the unplugged soul-chick hoedown Beyoncé tried to conjure at the end of the "Irreplaceable" video.

It's this mix of the loud and the trippy that Black Mountain specializes in, and In the Future sees the band striving for epic proportions.

Marshall's reinterpretations reveal a welcome intimacy.

Brighter Than Creation's Dark is one of the meanest, leanest 19-track albums you'll ever spin.

Taking pages out of some very strong playbooks (think Superchunk, Guided by Voices, early Wilco), the Whigs find a way to revive honest-to-goodness pop rock for a new generation.

Joining fellow hotly tipped Brooklyn bands Vampire Weekend and Yeasayer, MGMT (pronounced "management") merits just as much attention for its psychedelic experimentation as it does for its melodies and hooks.

I'll Be Lightning is a low-key charmer.

The epitome of a melancholy winter record.

While his talent as a lyricist may leave something to be desired, you can't fault the guy for his dedication to putting a smile on the listener's face.

On his sophomore album, the Washington, D.C., native offers a flawless blend of serene, soulful music with emotion-filled lyrics about his love, respect and appreciation for women.

Sia still brings enough weird on Some People to satisfy old-school fans.

Marah manages to convey the manic energy that makes it such a great performer, and the result is its best album yet.