Overall, a nice trip back to Plant's British folk rock and American blues roots.

43 minutes of thrills.

Simply the Flaming Lips doing what they do best, which is being beautifully weird and loving every minute of it.

Just when the bombast teases with sounding like nails on a chalkboard, the band turns things around to remain more cool than annoying.

It'll charm the chaps off both diehards and the folks who've discovered these backwoods sounds because of the O Brother, Where Art Thou? soundtrack.

Too much of this mopey stuff can be Hard to take.

A majority of By the Way features astoundingly wise steps in new, mature directions.

Pretty much the same Beatles-esque pub-rock with Middle Eastern punches you'd expect--though with more shared singing and songwriting duties than past outings have had.

Some of the livelier tunes don't suit her as well, and neither does overproduction. Luckily, Rosey's vocals shine through where it counts.

A winning combo of thick club cuts, hands-in-the-air call-outs, pop ingenuity and a perfect balance of entertainment and realism in his rhymes.

Walk's mellow mood sidesteps the usual overly melodramatic soundtrack hoo-ha for a journey that works as well on the stereo as it does on the screen.

Diverse and constantly engaging.

A mixed bag at best.

Precise? Yes. But does it work your frustrations out? Only a little.

Stanley's eloquent, understated and unpretentious folk music is more than up to the challenge of finding its place in a world devoted to teen pop and nü-metal.

The song, sentiment and anger remain the same.

The best he has sounded in years.

Cookie drips with R&B, hip-hop, Latin grooves, experimental jazz, blues and techno tidbits for yummy multilayered goodness.

The Canadian rocker looks like a (prettier) member of Sum 41, sounds like a slightly less-pissed Alanis Morissette and has the streetwise 'tude of Pink.

At worst, a couple of the songs sound like bad Oasis remixes--"All or Nothing" comes to mind--but the good stuff can get any club (or car) hopping.

Rich with melody and drama, even the band's experiments--like adapting King Crimson's "Moonchild" into the lush "M62 Song"--work.

In essence, it's a younger, fitter and infinitely hipper version of what Moby is doing.

One listen, and you'll be hooked on the happiness.

He often riffs for too long, so by the time he's singing to his daughter on "Hailie's Song," you feel the album's nearly 80-minute length.

A just-okay collection of mellow ruminations that, at its best, recalls Tom Waits' Bone Machine, and, at its worst, sounds like indie rock's answer to James Taylor.

Her lilting angelic voice and ethereal alternating waves of electronic and acoustic musical accompaniment make Nova's contemporary folk-pop tunes perfect for TV-styled teen angst and lessons in love.

Another cool chill-out album.

What the Kids lack in pep this time they make up for with honest, homey performances.

A welcome return.

Deadsy crosses cheesy new wave keyboards, metal guitars and overwrought gothic drama in a way that just never jells.

Perfect pop fun for short attention spans.

Some tracks are as disconnected as a David Lynch film, but no one does misery like this neo-blues hollerer.

Veni Vidi Vicious literally explodes with frenetic guitar jangle and audacious hooks.

This solo disc by Phish phrontman Trey Anastasio offers some delicious bait.

The end result is creative, inspired and, most important, individual.

The songs lack the emotional depth of Bewilderbeast, but the jaunty folk-pop is just so much fun.

Elvis Costello is back, bashing and clanging away at what he does best: delivering out vitriolic songs of curdled romance and sodden, soiled dreams.

The sonic pleasure of the band's languid guitar balladry still pulses, and bassist Britta Phillips adds pleasant Stereolab-y vocals to some tracks, but there isn't much here you haven't heard before from Luna.

[Stereo] is brimming with expressive, beautifully articulated songs that speak to both sides of his personality.

This disc's rich, exotic flavor gets more intense the longer you chew on it.

The disc's bountiful electric piano, plaintive acoustic guitars and gentle vocals recall old AM radio fare like Cat Stevens or, more currently, an American version of Travis.

It sounds like the band is trying too hard to recapture the quirk factor, and the overdose borders on annoying.

There are more than enough moments when Sheryl really shines in that Sheryl way.

A weird ride, but a good one.

A quietly retro mix of guitars and organ-fueled songs, the music simmers rather than boils over.

Another collection of wise, witty tracks marked by her usual spunky vocal style and slashing slide-guitar work.

Headed for a prom near you... it's the Goo Goo Dolls.

Fang packs all the punk-rock wallop, menacing guitars and dirty, funky blues Spencer fans crave.

Hummingbird does not disappoint fans who like their R&B buzzing with a side of multitempo hip-hop.

Call us out of sync, but we never got the memo proclaiming that wafer-thin cheese metal sung by deranged lunatics is back in fashion.

A glorious noise in which wailing guitars, teeth-rattling drums and Ralph Cuseglio's bug-eyed hollering leave no place for pretense.

Taken as a whole, Souljacker comes off so bleak it overwhelms the album's strengths, like its memorably catchy melodies and sonically brilliant tracks.

Become You serves up sparse coffeehouse acoustic arrangements with a side of gorgeously hoarse and shimmering vocal harmonies.

Evokes Jamiroquai, Steely Dan and Curtis Mayfield--all at the same time.

The album bubbles with climatic ambiance and sophisticated grooves.

A surprisingly agreeable, if lightweight, disc.

Just like the architects behind Kid A, they take all these creepy elements and make something totally excellent.

His pontification gets in the way of his songwriting.

The slow-motion funk of the previously unreleased "Ghost Train" alone makes it worth the sticker price.

Like the soundtrack of a very bad Jazzercise class.

Sing-along melodies and breezy hooks are strewn throughout.

Her stream-of-conscious lyrics about self-esteem and troubled relationships are just more of the same medicine that went down better with 1995's Jagged Little Pill.

There are times when Conrad Keely's scabrous vocals are more grating than ingratiating, but this is mainly stunning stuff.

She fails to bake any new ideas, leaving us with the same old sad love songs and confused-girl anthems that the Texas torchbearer has always churned out.

Gorgeous and intimate, the 14 songs on her debut disc ache with romantic maturity and a smart, slow-jam sexiness that belies the fact that, at 22, Jones is hardly older than Britney.

At 16 tracks, the melancholy mood lingers a bit long, but hey, if you can handle some meandering in your Britpop, then Here's something for you.

Simply striking.

Yeah, Issak's tunes are the equivalent of rock comfort food, but they always go down so easy.

Each cameo adds style, pizzazz (and most importantly, cool vocals) to the four-man crew's turntable acrobatics.

Confirming everything that is great about Tom Rowlands and Ed Simons, Come with Us is equal measures driving rhythms and euphoric, widescreen melodies.

A few more tangible melodies would have gone down well, but the overall mood is magnificent.

But for all their influences, the Anniversary retains its own personality, with a laid-back style and pizzazz that keeps this party a pleasant one.

A far more streamlined affair, songs stretch out into dreamy extended jams that make bossa nova rhythms, sizzling electronics and screeching metal guitars seem like perfectly acceptable bedfellows.

The perfect guest at your next guilty-pleasure dance party.

Their debut drips of melancholy and swims in gorgeous sheets of incidental noise.

The band has energy and urgency anew.

The band's playing is mellow and freer than their tenser past outings, and frontwoman Johnette Napolitano's voice remains pleasantly husky. But some of the band's beautifully gritty venom is missing.

Frontman James Walsh channels Jeff Buckley's soaring vocals so perfectly over those lovely acoustic guitars and pianos that you won't be surprised when you hear the band's named after a Tim Buckley album.

The disc is bubbling with techno effects, a loose interpretation of Jamaican production and a (welcome) severe case of ADD.

With so much soundtrack and jingle work to be done, who can really blame these marketing all-stars for playing to their past successes?

It's not exactly the most sophisticated rap album of the year... but with production by Swizz Beatz on "Cry Babies (Oh No)," the head-bobbing chorus for "Rollout (My Business)" and the smooth joint effort with Nate Dogg ("Area Codes"), the crass clown can be entertaining.

A mixed bag, with its fair share of unsatisfactory pop throwaway moments but also a healthy dose of midtempo ballads and stratospheric numbers.

Recalls other feisty femmes like Alanis Morissette and Cyndi Lauper, and it all comes out lookin' rosy.

The Detroit rapper brags about life after success--money, women, drinkin'--and uses his mediocre rhyming skills on anthemic, fist-pumping Rock staples like "Forever" and "Cocky."

Who is Jill Scott? This is--in all her eloquent, inspirational, beautiful and melodic glory.

The experiments sometimes work, but the album is mainly weighted down by cryptic religious ramblings that sap the pop life right out of it.

It's not exactly a convincing change of gears, nor is it particularly groundbreaking--unless you consider jamming as many four-letter words as possible into three minutes (on "As I Come Back") novel.

Merchant has achieved a lovely balance of art and craft.

This album contains just eight tracks--but each one of them is a testament to the unshakable power of the group.

Short on the kind of sweet 'n' simple coffeehouse ditties that made the Alaskan-born folksinger a fan favorite.

Country's biggest commodity takes the easy way out with a meticulously picked and produced batch of tunes (see: safe) that would be impossible to screw up.

While [Linda's] death hangs over much of Driving Rain, Macca's knack for taking a sad song and making it better means tracks like "Lonely Road," "It Must Have Been Magic," "Your Way" and "Back in the Sunshine" are redemption songs, not exercises in self-pity.

Finds the sexy singer too often wading in the oversimplified pop influence of heavyweight producer Glen Ballard, her country sass and personality replaced by hackneyed and bland musical doodles.

Nothing here is gonna rock your world.

Most of the good parts of the Britney that originally hit us, baby, one more time (then oops!...did it again) drown in breathy vocals and multiproduced, tweaked-to-perfection studio gimmickry.

Good luck trying to keep your head from spinning around like Linda Blair.

Most of Future/Present dabbles in drab mainstream pop, with songs ranging from fairy-tale cute to charmless good tunes that are weighed down by overwrought production.

Taking a cue from the success of his last major hit, "Again," Lenny, the sensitive, midtempo balladeer, cavorts all over this largely reflective, romantic effort.