His gruff voice may have earned him comparisons to Tom Waits and Captain Beefheart in the past, but let's face it: Everlast is treading awfully close to Neil Diamond territory here. Salvation, as always, comes in the grooves. Eat at Whitey's is instrumentally opulent, adding cushioned layers of percussion and vintage keyboards to the familiar blues-hop template that launched "What It's Like."

There's little in the way of cohesion or artistic forethought here, and some of the tracks are just bad, though nothing is as surpassingly awful as lead single "Rollin'," its shout-outs overly reminiscent of "Bawitdaba."

With Bedlam Ballroom, the Squirrel Nut Zippers sound rejuvenated. The musty '20s and '30s influences that made their previous endeavors sound occasionally laughable now crackle with ornery energy.

But just as a couple of cool originals on its debut distinguished Orgy from the Antichrist Superstar cover bands current working the bar circuit, if only slightly, so too do a clutch of strong tunes on this, its second album.

Shopping Trolley is a fun, for-the-fans work with a heavy dosage of otherwise unavailable rarities. It's safe to say, however, that casual listeners looking for Gomez's Philips [TV commercial] appeal are not best served here. Try 1998's Bring It On instead.

This disc is that rare combination of substance (both musically and lyrically) and fun. For those who thought the Cherry Poppin' Daddies were a one-hit, one-dimensional wonder, Soul Caddy will be a pleasant surprise.

Breach is equal parts likeable, lyrical jamming, and inflated mediocrity. The Wallflowers achieve their most noteworthy moments in their uptempo, instrumentally thick songs, such as the first track, "Letters from the Wasteland," and "Sleepwalker." When the band leans hard on lyrics as the primary stability of a song, the album falters a bit ("Witness," for example, is slow and tedious).

It's a tribute to Williams' almost delusional self-confidence that he sounds equally at home no matter what the musical form; he invests each track with an energy many of them don't deserve.

With 18 songs that clock in at over 63 minutes, The Hour of Bewilderbeast meanders too much, and the quirky pacing (there are many random instrumental interludes) makes it difficult to enjoy as a whole. But taken in sections, it's a bit of a grower.

With Kid A, Radiohead has made the ultimate 3 a.m. stoner-headphone album, one that marks an entirely logical progression from -- if not necessarily an improvement upon -- the techno-but-not-really O.K. Computer.... Occasionally, it feels less like a rock record and more like a museum piece, and as a work of art, it's laudable. As an actual, listener-friendly offering, it leaves something to be desired: It's precisely the sort of record a band makes when it has endless amounts of time and money, and has spent long periods of time being told what geniuses its members are.

Their simplest, softest sound yet. While 1997's The Fawn thrived in tender disarray, this 10-track outing sparkles with a warm and graceful confidence.

Simon aims his melodies outside the box this time around, incorporating world-beat rhythms and working his sublimely dour mood to best advantage.

Sailing to Philadelphia, the singer's guest-star-heavy sophomore outing, is a deliberate, grown-up record (in a season which has seen a pronounced lack of adult offerings) that feels -- heavily in places -- like Dire Straits: Five Years Later.

Of course, despite experimentation, Revelation is bloated with ballads.

Golden Lies shows that even when a good band goes bad, it can still make a great record.

Throughout the mix, Oakenfold follows the proven formula of prefacing more beat-heavy, climactic tracks -- such as Max Graham's "Airtight" and Tone Depth's "Majestic" -- with otherworldly vocals-only tracks by Dead Can Dance and Sabel, among others. The build-up is no doubt effective on the dance floor -- where Oakenfold excels -- but the effect sounds a bit repetitive after the first few occurrences.

A thoroughly modern, introspective album... The lush sound of earlier Go-Betweens albums has been traded for simpler, more restrained instrumentation even when accented with cello and violin.

With its brand of easily accessible pop rock, the Austin, Texas-based trio presents an extremely likable musical front that's based more upon influence than innovation.

Music is a weaker record than its predecessor, with only a few tracks possessing the strength, pop sensibility, and hooks that made Ray of Light such a success.

Solaris is like no Photek album you've ever heard before: It's an album that celebrates both dance and relaxation, touching on deep house, trip-hop, and ambient, with (gasp) only one drum-and-bass track (the typically spare "Infinity"). Sentimentality for his musical roots and the desire to create music with a warmer, more human feel drive Photek on these 11 disparate tracks, and the outcome is mixed.

It's a bit uneven, but you would be hard-pressed to find better runway music this year.

Aguilera needs more than a just crash course in Spanish -- she needs a good translator (some songwriting help wouldn't hurt, either).

Her triumphant, long-awaited Righteous Love is no carbon copy of Relish, but that's because Osborne, who's always demonstrated open ears, has continued to develop as an artist and take on additional influences.

Purists may find Jones' stuffy-nosed tone and tics of phrasing objectionable, yet she reaches directly into the heart of each classic in intimate readings.

The songs don't vary a great deal dynamically. Harris' lyrics set Red Dirt Girl apart.

Despite its obvious classic-rock feel, what could have felt like a novelty album -- a tired K-Tel collection of long-forgotten hits -- feels like a revelation in places.

The album is haunted by echoes from both Marr and Sumner's past lives, which dates it a bit. But the duo shows a rare aggressive side on the album, which crackles with attitude even while indulging Sumner's moony, depressive lyrics.

Although most tracks don't stray far from the studio versions (aside from a few typical chants and rants from Hyde and a nice transition or two), Everything Everything is a must-have as a milestone in the life of the band.

When a band amasses most of its fan base from constant touring, as ATDI has, creating an album that captures the rawness of live shows is paramount. This natural ingredient in its sound is captured beautifully on Relationship of Command.

Secret South may be an even stronger work than its predecessor, 1998's exceptional Low Estate

The Good the Bad and the Funky is the first new album from the Tom Tom Club in eight years, and it's absolutely remarkable. Not only does it stand up to any of their previous releases, it may just be their best, most focused work ever -- and that's a lot to live up to, given the band's history.

While the band's trademarked, reverb-drenched riffs remain, they're now intermingled with lots of skronks, bleeps, and clicks... After a sluggish start, most of what's here works as well as anything in the vast Man or Astro-Man? catalogue.

Hyacinths and Thistles takes a grab-bag approach to whisper-soft pop, though, at times, the lullaby vibe dangerously teeters between being appealingly fey and overly precious.

The country-tinged melodies and beautifully simple arrangements combine with the downcast romanticism of singer Neil Halstead's lyrics in a way that is simultaneously inspired and confident.

Occasionally, Yang's sugary, torchy vocals are too heavy-handed for this ethereal drone pop.

Most of Girl is sprightly and entertaining, despite Josie's fondness for thunderingly obvious, high-school-yearbook-type sentiments...

This isn't just pop-inflected electronica: Gerald's compositions evince a depth and artistic integrity rare in albums of this ilk.

You'd be hard-pressed to find a prettier set of songs about love and disappointment than the ones that grace Teddy Thompson's self-titled debut.

Williams weaves beguiling, thought-provoking melodies, and turns each track into an artfully produced scenario.

Thievery Corporation sets a new standard in the downbeat discography.

He's still slicing and dicing styles like this week's challenger on Iron Chef, but this time he's got some serious guest firepower to back up these cross-cultural forays.

The prickly edged new wave of the band's debut has morphed into keyboard-addled post-punk on The Menace.

The overall package is a slick, Rockwilder-produced old-school styled joint that's still got a foot in the year 2000 -- classic and timely all at once.

The album as a whole leans a little too far toward dissonance and gratuitous noisemaking.

Sadly, [lead vocalist Chris] Shinn's love of drama often overshadows the band's taut and atypical rhythm section, and the somewhat left-of-center construction of Thorn's guitar parts.

A largely useless excuse for a bored millionaire to air out his late-night bedroom recordings at the expense of the kids.

His music remains lively and contemporary even when he reworks traditional songs old enough to have their copyrights lapse into the public domain.

A clever party record, complete with oodles of guest appearances and multiple R&B hooks.

His rhymes often approach the immediacy of raw, street-level reportage, like CNN with a better soundtrack.

Like many a club anthem, Chicane's massive tracks have a formulaic feel.

Unfortunately, a couple of the early tunes are so slick as to lose all feeling, while some of the lyrics are dumber than a doormat, but as party albums go, this will keep you up for a while.

On one hand, Vavoom! has the same can't-sit-still energy and brilliant musicianship of the 17-piece orchestra's previous efforts... But it sometimes seems as if Vavoom! goes a little too far in its attempt to sound experimental and break new ground in updated big band music.

Horrorscope is just like its predecessor, only more so: Better, smarter, faster, and angstier than Eve 6, it's an utterly delightful pop-punk kerfluffle.

Armed with an arsenal of keyboard riffs and Merritt's impassive baritone, the resulting sound is a velvety mix of '80s-era new wave, bossa nova beats, and melancholy pop.

Any hopes of redemption are dashed by the same bland production that plagued his first release.

While convincingly earnest and certainly ambitious, the result is formulaic, and lacks the free-wheelin', soulful magic of the original

On Art and Life, Beenie's lyrical flow is unstoppable. He unleashes some of his sharpest and funniest rhymes over slickly-produced tracks aimed squarely for hip-hop radio airplay.

At the core of these lush power ballads is a lot of empty posturing -- especially when it comes to lyrics.

Innovative and gorgeous, equally recalling Dionne Warwick-era Bacharach and contemporary ambient pop.

The album, as a whole, is not a washout; it just doesn't live up to the hype and expectations.

It's surprising how well the songs on White Pony absorb the band's disparate influences (Slayer, the Cure, Bad Brains) without compromising any of its destructive effect.

On Faith and Courage, she returns with the blend of Celtic mysticism, commercial pop, and mature themes that moved so many listeners (and units) on 1990's I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got, while pulling out a few trip-hop stops to keep things current.

The pleasant surprise is that, after all the personnel changes, Duran Duran still has its characteristic sound and charisma...

But, due to poor track titling and a rather wishy-washy sound (first it's Rusted Root, and then the Pixies, then Frank Black and the Catholics), the album ultimately doesn't have much of a solid impact.

There are few big drum samples or disco beats on Sound of Water; as its title suggests, it's far more fluid and sensuous than any music the group has made before.

It is truly exciting stuff from a group that represents a sagging genre's vitally bright future.

Elephant Shoe recalls the somber tranquility of Velvet Underground at its most remote.

Many artists try their hand at varying stylistically within the same album, but often fail miserably. With Movement in Still Life, BT has turned out one of those rare albums that actually pulls it off.

Transcendental Blues measures up to the tough artistic standards Earle has set for himself since 1986's Guitar Town.

Still, the faithful wonder if it's the same Belle and Sebastian that gave them such fey, storied gems as Tigermilk and If You're Feeling Sinister. They can breathe easy now.

Getting through this album is a challenge. While Van Helden hits the mark on a few occasions, the bulk of Puritans irritates and frustrates as annoying samples create agonizingly long intros to otherwise solid tracks.

The album provides hard evidence that the dynamite punch of 1998's Devil Without a Cause album was no fluke.

As a result of Bragg and Wilco's increasing ease with Guthrie's enormous legacy, this album sees both more experimentation and a stronger contemporary feeling than its predecessor.

With Trickle, the group continues to carve out a private niche in the rather segregated world of electronica with another set of excellent tracks full of pop sensibility and a heaping dose of sensuality.

The most alluring aspect of The Platform is the array of finely-crafted beats assembled by Evidence and DJ Premier protégé The Alchemist, which are in turn juggled and sliced at will by the hands of DJ Babu, the oft-forgotten man in the hip-hop equation.

There's nothing lasting or substantive about the 12 tracks (plus one hidden one) that make up Mad Season.

The words are now injected with a new industrial strength venom that make the last album seem like Hanson's Christmas disc.

Dense with upbeat, guitar-based songs, Wasp Star brings to mind the best of mid-'60s pop (think the Beatles, the Beach Boys, and the Kinks).

Oddly, it's the faster songs -- once Pearl Jam's forte -- that detract from Binaural as a whole.

While a little too dense in spots, NYC Ghosts & Flowers is 42 minutes of the most neatly executed pop noir you'll hear.

A sweet-sounding album that's both melodious and multilayered.

Just because the Britney Spears Empire was not built on actual artistic merit doesn't mean the singer can't craft -- or have crafted for her -- a snappy and utterly enjoyable pop record.

This Time Around scores with more sophisticated harmonies and storytelling.

On the group's second release, the Geometrid, it experiments with various electronic sounds and alienated vocals that seem to float over the compositions, creating a sense of space, but not emotional disassociation.

All Hands on the Bad One may not be as spiritually cohesive or accomplished as the band's classic 1997 outing, Dig Me Out, but none of that matters when you turn it up and play it loud.

What dignifies her from the pack is her ability to blend accessible and likeable arrangements with messages that are simultaneously straightforward and enigmatic, jovial and pained.

This one finds him getting almost downright sappy. But it suits him well.

Their playing is loaded with the confidence of established veterans.

The debut offering from England's Broadcast cascades over the listener like a lush film score.

There are no real surprises on Figure 8, just the same gorgeous, soft vocals and acoustic guitar heard on his previous releases...

No Doubt does play its own instruments, placing the group a cut above the current glut of acts that concentrate more on choreography than musicianship. But try as it might to mask itself in pink hair and fast-paced arrangements, No Doubt is as close to being alternative as the members of 'NSync are to being musicians.

Callahan has a gift for expressing complex human issues -- death, depression, retribution, separation -- through uncomplicated language.

Vintage Reed?

Though the first two songs, "Now" and "Rabble Rouser," sound like vintage KMFDM, the rest of the album finds the group being more of a rock band with industrial leanings than an industrial band with rock leanings.

Of her three post-"comeback" albums, it is the closest in spirit to her '70s work. And not coincidentally, it may be her best.

The Covers Record is for the daring music fan; Marshall's quiet journey and its rich, emotional rewards are not for the faint of heart.

Beautifully constructed pop songs, reminiscent at times of the Go Betweens, the Red House Painters, and even Brian Wilson in his more ambient mode. Broken by Whispers is a quiet album, then, but its intelligence, taste, and daring vulnerability hit hard -- whispers with all the impact of screams.

Air's score darkens their brand of soft, introspective melodies with wavering pianos, funereal organs, and disembodied synth loops, and the resulting soundscapes often have a spacey, Pink Floyd-ish quality.