This tuneful, seemingly effortless set of sun-kissed pop reminds you why he's in so much demand.

It's simply another sturdy album that plays up what Fall Out Boy does best: rocking the arena with barely a second to catch your breath.

The former "Moesha" star has never made a bad album, and she's not starting now with the appropriately rich and varied Human.

If sonic similitude is any indicator of future successes, When the World Comes Down will only cement the band's top-of-the-heap status.

One thing we do know after listening to Leucocyte--the Esbjorn Svensson Trio's grandest achievement--is that its leader had much more to say, much more to explore.

His singing throughout is flawless and expressive.

Some of the phrasing on "MPP" sticks; some of it soars; most of it slips and slides through puddles of rich sonic texture. Only at a distance does the magic of the whole major-key mess become clear.

Bringing in an unknown vocalist, Minneapolis alt-rocker Wendy Lewis, may sound like a risk, but it works exceedingly well.

On his third and finest CD in 16 short months, the Florida-based MC has emerged as one of hip-hop's best by dropping unvarnished, aggressive songs with unsparing detail.

This deeply introspective album is vast in scope while retaining the intimacy of a concert-hall recital.

This album is his best yet with his own band, a potent dose of rock and R&B instead of the lighter jazz and world music of past efforts.

The man's wordsmithing is even headier than his beautiful songs.

Ray Guns Are Not Just the Future is not an enormous departure from their self-titled debut; after all, why mess with a good thing?

For all its immediately recognizable debts, "Dance Mother" is something fresh.

The three raw but riveting demos that conclude the album illustrate how close to fully formed Biggie's style was even as a teen.

It's refreshing how single-minded some of the new songs are, especially when coupled with Allen's lyrical zingers.

On his fourth album, the Arizona-born artist continues to impress on one well-written song after another.

Zapotec has a regal, brassy sort of sweep--check the martial melody 'The Akara'--and the best songs on Holland twist and turn over a warm, buttery backbeat.

The indie troubadour spins out his trademark blend of vintage country-folk that begs to be played on an old turntable and heard through the screen door. Fortunately, great music transcends its medium.

Years of Refusal is Morrissey's third album this decade, and it is easily his most vital and engaging and maybe even heartbreaking since 1992's "Your Arsenal."

After releasing two albums that bored even its most ardent fans, . . . And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead is back to blowing minds with The Century of Self.

Troubadour, the Somali-born artist's follow-up to his great debut, is a smart fusion of influences.

Grimy and disheveled, clever and infectious, it's a sloppy heap of classic pop, psychedelic haze, spastic rock, and teenage disaffection mixed to lo-fi imperfection in some kid's filthy garage.

All of these songs could stand alone on separate albums; it just so happens that this good music supports a good cause.

Wrath furthers Lamb of God's reputation for craft and innovation and argues to a broader audience that metal is a style rife with fresh ideas.

Roll On finds Cale back in vintage form.

Middle Cyclone is by far Case's most quixotic album, and that's saying a lot considering the abstract ideas behind her last studio album, 2006's "Fox Confessor Brings the Flood." Yet it's also the most revealing and rewarding work in a 12-year recording career that has seen Case evolve from an alt-country siren to a singular songwriter as capricious as a weather vane.

This is a more basic, stripped-down affair, yet Copeland's vocals are no less powerful. Boy, has she got a set of lungs.