What's most striking is simply that they are able to take such a drastically different tack with this album and still end up sounding like the same band.

Emotionally generous to the point of near biography, the Red House Painters win over listeners with their ability to dress even the most depressing song in lyrical warmth...

If a weak link exists it's only that the surprises are few, but in reality it's for that very reason that Cole's music is so comfortable.

A flawless blend of acoustic-turns-into-fuzz guitar work and backbeat rhythms that create the aural equivalent of fog.

This album is nothing but a parade of their '70s and '80s hard rock influences worn proudly on their sleeves. And for that, rock 'n' roll fans should be grateful. Time Bomb is one romping anthem after another almost clear through to the end, a "hidden" piano ballad that serves only further cement the band's status as a throwback to the days of overwrought arena rock.

On God Says No, Monster Magnet sounds more simply like a cross between Soundgarden and any of a dozen longhaired stoner rock bands.

The material is perfectly suited to Hammond's subtle syncopation and sauntering vocals. The warmth of the recording makes it seem all the more like listening to a master storyteller sharing tales that have been passed down through generations.

Shortcomings like the aimless ambience of "Nightvision" don't seem like total failures simply because the duo's attitude remains intact even when their songs fall short.

What it all boils down to is songs. Just as overproduction provides the perfect mask for some bands' mediocrity, the utter simplicity of this recording is the ideal way to reveal Semisonic's renewed inspiration.

Testing the limits of what people might want to hear at first, Fisk arguably re-educates us on what music is, and where it comes from, finding rhythm and melody in what many now call Intelligent Dance Music.

God Bless The Blake Babies is more refined, more textured, and more produced than anything from the band's heyday.

But, while they might benefit at times from more distinctive guitar riffs, AAF's ability to dot the map without losing focus makes ANThology the kind of debut that gives cause to look ahead in anticipation of where they might take things for album number two.

This is more of simply Hersh and an acoustic guitar than her last effort (1999's Sky Motel), but that just gives the appearance of other instruments greater effect. The emotional weight of her often unorthodox sentiments comes from subtle mastery of dynamics.

Duke Lion Fights The Terror!! is 50+ minutes of the most grating, unredeemable, and unmitigated garbage you will ever hear, complete with nearly twenty minutes of screaming and gastrointestinal noises at the end.

Plays like a perfect meld of old school soul, modern day hip-hop and trance like hypnosis, with guest vocalists from all ends of the spectrum binding the event into a surprisingly cohesive whole.

The result of all this glorious epiphany is a record that remains on par with the last few DMB albums, filled with laid back grooves that beg for volume.

A collection of near perfect (and brief, yes!) lo-fi pop tracks that openly mine the sonic groundwork laid by The Cars, Squeeze and even Led Zeppelin.

A Rollins in the Wry stands on its own two feet not so much as a spoken word album chock full of hyphenated poems about how "No one knows me; I am the enigma," but more as punk rock comedy, or hit-and-miss Bill Hicks with tattoos.

Frank Black has dug in deep for this one, and come up with an album that captures the essence of his roots while expanding the realm he's been entrenched in over the last few years.

Rainer Maria still sit solidly in the emo-core genre, yet avoid producing music that is maudlin or obvious. In fact their graceful approach to music is exactly what disguises their insightful and detailed lyrics.

This of course is the power of mountain music, the weight it gives to simple instruments and simple folk, and for all of Parton's talents, singing in this medium may very well be her best.

PRG has obviously matured to a point that allows them to avoid formula and the pressures of writing another hit song. This is both for the better and for the worse as PRG deliver an album that at times is both graceful pop art and long-winded pontification.

For all its merits, though, Matriarch is enjoyable but not quite the transcendent experience its title would suggest.

Restless isn't about explicitly depicting the good, bad, and ugly of street life. It's more like a hip-hop carnival, with Xzibit acting as both ringmaster and main attraction.

Even the ample cast of guests on The W seems less like a blatant attempt to boost its first week sales than simply a welcome attempt to add to its stylistic diversity. The result is something almost as rare as getting the entire Wu-Tang Clan together: a mainstream rap album that actually sounds like an album instead of a long-playing single.

Rockers and ballads are both delivered with pure '80s polish and shine. It doesn't make for as interesting a listen as the folk and funk of this year's Vol. 1, but that's not the point. If that was the thinking man's Everclear, this is the purely visceral edition. At the very least an exhilarating, fist-pumping ride, Vol. 2 is proof that a little energy can go a long way.

Holy Wood is strictly derivative, but done with enough skill to stay entertaining. Even when the borrowing is more blatant (the guitars of "The Fight Song," for example, sound like a cross between Hole's "Plump" and Blur's "Song 2"), the album doesn't suffer noticeably.... As hard rock albums go, this one's a keeper. The problem is, Marilyn Manson aspires to something greater than that. He's plenty articulate next to the competition, and plenty adept at selling his message with powerful imagery and catch phrases. But strip away those ornaments, and what he's saying seems a bit too obvious.

Refreshing and ultimately brilliant premiere.