Amazing collaborations that emphasize the veteran band's rich Latin and blues roots.

While the trippy Scottish foursome's third disc may make a few nods to reality when it incorporates boring things like, you know, choruses and verses, songs like "Assessment" and "Liquid Bird"--all electronic gurgles and off-the-wall vocals--still wave the freak flag.

Holland gracefully achieves the spookiness and timelessness artists like Tori Amos and Cat Power have been chasing for years.

This is mainly just D12's other five anonymous members moaning on about the lack of credit they get by dropping the most underwhelming rhymes this side of the last Dogg Pound album.

The pretty ballads meditating on the vast wilderness and lonely highways of the great white north provide the perfect showcase for Krall's sultry voice and Costello's classic melodies.

The duo's collaboration on Van Lear Rose is unexpectedly gripping, a raucous slice of vintage Nashville fuelled by Lynn's down-home wisdom, twangy gee-tars and White's inspired hand at production.

With Musicology, the doctor of sexual funk puts the self-indulgence on hold and digs back into the enticing grooves and towering melodies of his glory years.

There's little to dig here as the guys sound like a three-headed John Mayer or a trio of little Joe Jacksons.

This is pleasant, bouncy pop, perfect for the carefree days of summer.

If there's a touchstone band for this album, it's Little Creatures-era Talking Heads cranking out songs that are joyously eccentric, celebratory and catchy.

Sexsmith's best album yet.

They've updated fuzzy '90s-era alternative rock while tinkering with becoming Northern Ireland's answer to Coldplay.

This isn't necessarily the best place to hear the definitive versions of Bo Diddley's "Road Runner" or Big Joe Williams' "Baby, Please Don't Go," but it's definitely the place to hear Aerosmith having the time of its life.

The originals are still the best, but this is pretty fly for a white guy.

Strong and sensual.

His pipes are in tip-top shape, sure, but hearing this stuff is sometimes more embarrassing than reading your little sister's diary.

It sounds like he wrote his lyrics by taking random words out of a thesaurus.

More realized than 2002's In Search Of..., they hit all of their marks, rubbing guitar licks against '70s funk and sexy R&B that's bound to get any club flying high.

Has a few more production touches than his past crackling work.

The audio equivalent of a warm bubble bath.

This album tends to lean more toward the psychedelic ballads, which slows down the action a little too much.

If it's not his best, it's easier to warm up to than most of his solo releases.

A quiet, meditative effort. [5 Mar 2004, p.68]

Pawn Shoppe Heart is all sensational glam riffs and massive shout-along choruses.

It's the album you wish the Strokes would've made.

Surprisingly bright and confident.

All the spiky edges have been worn away.

This is smart, literate stuff painted on a rich canvas of pedal steel, ukulele, upright bass, strings and soft drums.