Listen beyond the surface and you'll hear an old school folkie who could just as easily curl up with her acoustic guitar and sing you to heavenly sleep.

The remixes are extremely liberal, cutting and pasting with little regard for the originals in question.

Anyone hoping that this reunion with his old band would mean Springsteen's found his focus and was ready to rededicate himself to the freewheelin' spunk of his "classic" period will surely be disappointed with The Rising.

It's a shame that an album so impossible to dislike is equally impossible to remember later.

The grooves here prove Chuck D and Flavor Flav can bring the noise of old.

Even when the songs aren't particularly gripping, the breezy hopelessness of the music makes you feel gloriously bad, self-pitying, and just plain worthless.

Duritz isn't the soul singer he'd like to be.

Daring and inventive, it takes the kind of stylistic chances and creative leaps that were once the property of the heavies of '60s rock and pop.

Oasis is back, and in top form.

It strikes a balance between the buzzy pop of their first album and the heavier thud of their second.

Like P. Diddy in his prime or even Jay-Z, Nelly simply knows what the people want, and delivers--which is never as easy as the haters suggest.

You remember Bee Thousand, Alien Lanes, Mag Earwhig! ? Well, those days are here again.

Even in a blindfold test, you'd probably guess it was his creation. That's both how distinctive and predictable he's become.

Throughout there is a warm, unguarded, generous spirit.

Meshell's best when making the political personal--as she does on the blistering, explicit ballad "Trust"--instead of the other way around.

Accomplished and occasionally great as this album is, Endtroducing still casts the biggest shadow on it of all.

A beautiful excursion of weird cross-genres slices.

Unlike artists who "discover" the idea during songwriting droughts, Ferry is one of the few "rock" singers to embrace (and master) the underrated art of "song stylist."

The sheer melodic gorgeousness of the finest songs here make Alice the pick of Waits's new matched set.

The bleakness at the core of Blood Money won't make it a first choice for a late-night spin, but it's manna for the artist's fans.

A shoo-in as one of this year's "best of's."

The band's strong suit--which, when it gets down to business, has gotten noticeably stronger (and tighter and more focused) over the course of four releases--are earthy dance tracks like "Music Plus 1" and "Wog.com" which take hypnotic bass and drum tracks and embellish them with a variety of samples, noises, etc., and Tjinder Singh's simple, effective vocals.

It's that rare record that both thinks and rocks.

One of the best commercial rock albums of the year so far, and the sort of quality work that should dispel any skepticism about Crow's current hyper exposure.

While some of the complexities of their precursors have been beveled off by MM&W, dancefloor maniacs and couch boppers alike will find something to admire in rhythmically compulsive entries like the title track.

Throughout, Young's guitarwork--in tone and style--is noticeably on the money, playing his fuzzy, single-note melodic lines with the deliberateness of a horn player.

While her voice has never sounded better, the lion share of songs she selected for the album are mediocre at best.

It's the addition of producer Steve Jordan's bass guitar (an instrument JSBE has wrongly assumed unnecessary) that makes this a complete listening experience.

While there is much to recommend this disc, Moth would be wise to develop a more distinctive voice.

Brilliantly combining Spanish dialogue and hauntingly serene vocals with conga, timbales, accordion, cheesy organ, and funky guitar, Kinky intertwines it all with coiling bass, mad samples, and sexy synthetic grooves.

Failed experiments ("Techno Pimp") and a glut of odd skits and snippets not only seem forced, but make a mainstream move such as the friendly disco of "Missing You" sound equally bizarre.

Yes, it's an earful of music, but it's a good earful, with more smarts, twists, turns and ear-pleasing trickery than one band should be allowed.

While Souljacker is not exactly a great leap forward for the band, it is a satisfying continuum from the superb Daisies Of The Galaxy.

While their hitmaking formula is responsible for countless success stories, the talent, smarts, and overall quality of this album prove the Neptunes are infinitely more interesting than most of their clients.

Rinocerose's specialty is dropping an army of scratchy, shrieking guitars into the dumbed-down world of modern disco.

While there's no question that this is rooted in the '80s (not always a good thing), when the two concentrate on songs, it sounds mighty good.

An astoundingly bland helping of hollow dance pop grooves and nauseating pleas for sex.

Donelly focuses on tunes that enter your head with a determination to stay for the long term.

Geogaddi is even more stripped-down and beautiful than Music Has..., BOC using simple circular rhythms and eerie samples to create an airless, ethereal ultraworld.

Save for a few heavy-handed tracks, such as the lame religion-as-porn clunker "Blue Movie" and the drag of "Loreta Young Silks," the disc offers a satisfyingly rich aural texture.

It really isn't any different from any of the higher-charged rock albums in his repertoire.

Their strongest effort since their strong run in the mid/late-'80s.

But for all the high-level assistance the group receives, what keeps Built From Scratch consistently interesting remains the fantastic four’s work on the wheels of steel.

Time to pull out Dig Your Own Hole while the Bros. claw through this current slump, er, evolutional period.

Point is in another zone altogether, establishing Cornelius as one of the most creative pop musicians around.

A MY-T-FINE punk rock album, chock full of swirling harmonies that came into fashion sometime around the Descendents rise in the mid-1980s.

While the group attacks things with great velocity and singer Chud shreds his larynx at regular intervals, the always difficult follow-up album features actual melodies and mature textures that make the band's eventual transformation into a progressive rock band nearly inevitable.

Spinning a zoo of samples redundantly, song after song, can only amuse the most blissed-out of stoners...

Sounds like one long song of wheezing harmonium and heavily echoed, slightly out-of-tune vocals.

Whatever angst might have settled under the surface has been swept clean and in its place a jubilant spiritual quest in is place.

The best work of his inventively mad career.

The only problem is that Ja's ear for a hit has begun to make his straight street-level efforts less enticing.

[Her songs are] articulate and bright, enlivened by pithy metaphors and images that suggest a well-rounded English major with a sensitive side.

Gold has its good points and its filler.

This is one striking album from start to finish.

Mark's best work yet.

No one--and I mean, no one, not even people paid to say such things--is going to confuse this with Highway 61 Revisited or even Nashville Skyline, but when the official Bob Dylan bubblegum card is issued, Love And Theft will certainly rank ahead of Knocked Out Loaded and Saved.

It rocks less but parties harder than 1997's Tellin' Stories.

It all sounds nice, but little sticks.

Other than "PMS," a misguided Lauryn Hill cop, the album also gets stronger as it plays, concluding with an impressive trio of songs that show off Blige's gospel roots.

Whether you're an experienced fan or a newbie, the easy and honest appeal of their high melodicism should be readily apparent.

Just when you figure he's down for the count, he comes back with an album as majestic and epic as this one.

These days they sound like Hootie & the Blowfish shot through with Viagra.

Arling & Cameron continue to cook up a unique and effervescent blend of European electro pop and future/retro lounge exotica all sprinkled with a computer-calculated dose of kitsch.

Along with her partner David Rawlings, Welch pulls together quiet unassuming tunes that straddle the line between country and folk and have finally found a home in the public consciousness via the Coen Bros.' O Brother Where Art Thou soundtrack.

Even at his least inspired he's got these funk-rap-metal boys beat.

A few dopey passes at world music are forgiven, as he still can't sing.

If it isn't quite the debut that new soul touchstones like D'Angelo's Brown Sugar and Erykah Badu's Baduizm were, it's certainly far more ambitious...

At times the reliance on heavy-breathing, laid-back grooves is a little annoying--Aaliyah doesn't quite have the pipes to carry off melodramatic fare like "Never No More," and a few more club bangers on the order of the springy, sassy "U Got Nerve" certainly wouldn't have hurt.

Celebrating nonsense and good sense, Beta Band make music from junk and found sounds, their quirky combo of serendipity and sample skills paying off in spades.

With the exception of "Undertow," Long Distance falls short of perfection. But as no one else stateside is currently making pop quite this lush and lovely, Ivy continues to raise hopes.

Built To Spill relies on old-school verses/ choruses that demand humming just like that old-time rock 'n' roll...

Yet while the familiar spirits-soaked verses of J-Ro and Tash will reassure old fans, it's the music here that should encourage them to set down their cans and bottles and listen.

Can Our Love... finds the band still mining a quirky romantic sensibility, but with more honest soul than ever.

Tricky's most upbeat and accessible album ever, occasionally hinting at his noirish trip hop masterpiece, Maxinquaye.

Basement Jaxx do this so much better than anyone else, including Daft Punk, that you root for their mad programed sounds and unknown cast of determined singers. It's totally daft disco, sexy and sweaty, stupid and stupendous. This is pop.

Yet another bombshell of an album, blowing the lid off with majestic melodies, muscular pop-metal, and lyrics that detail singer Scott Weiland's battle with life and inner demons.

Unfortunately, Return Of Dragon, the follow-up to his debut Unleash The Dragon, comes in way under that bar, with a collection of half-realized lyrics and disappointing hooks.

When they go for the chill of classic Eminem cuts like "Kim," they come up short.

Albarn is the melodious voice of western pop tradition throughout; at first you might think his are the barmy brains behind this band, but it's just not so. His loose-kneed vocals are like pop tarts in this bumbling hip-hop parade, but it's the bumble that makes the rumble.

Surreal and disquieting, yet comforting, Drawn From Life chills your bones while it lulls you to sleep.

In listening to Sugar Ray, it's easy to forget this band began as heavy guitar funketeers--its sound today is tame by comparison.

Songs like the stirring "Side," the delicate "Dear Diary," and the glistening "Follow The Light" are among the best and most fully crafted of [Fran Healy's]short but accomplished writing career.

Deep Down And Dirty marks the MC's' glorious return to style. Old-school to the core, Deep Down And Dirty is like a blast from the past, a rumbling collage of hip-hop attitude and riotous sonic delirium.

With an elastic talent--lyrically witty, vocally gifted, compositionally unusual--and a vague hyperactivity that keeps all the beach balls in the air simultaneously, Wainwright likes nothing more than trying on playful exteriors to match his churning insides.

The mournful, blues-and-gospel-based "Fallin'"--a great song that was certainly no obvious choice as the first single--is the most notable declaration of independence, but Songs In A Minor is full of them.

A very clear sounding Sexsmith singing in his Tim Hardin-quaver about the art of song, the loss of love and other intense philosophical insights that only a softspoken guy would concern himself with.

Costa is a potent force with all the ballsy punch of a power rocker and the brazen belt of a sharp-tongued R&B survivor.

Keeping their collective heads above water here is a solid adherence to strong uncomplicated melodies and the kind of sugary harmonies you don't much hear these days.

Where the Robinson boys once seemed perpetually stuck in the butt-skankin', Faces-meets-Sticky Fingers pit, Lions draws more on communal southern boogie rock--slightly less on doofus monster guitar riffs. Not that Lions signals any reinvention, the Black Crowes are just masters at resaddling their one-trick pony.

Survivor is cute at best... The few good songs--the jittering, sing-along "Survivor," hypocritical "Nasty Girl," and a cappella "Gospel Medley"--leave 1997 Destiny's Child fans feeling cheated.

At times, it's clever and/or charming ("Penelope," "Mimi Merlot"), but almost always tedious.

The album, produced by her longtime collaborators Jimmy Jam & Terry Lewis, doesn't drift from their if-ain't-broke-don't-fix-it formula that supplies Janet with dreamy, radio friendly R&B/pop to balance the record's angst and lust.

While the group's last two records have been majestic, pretentious, and overly polished, this one is more urgent and inviting, running the gamut from Beach Boys whimsy to Jesus And Mary Chain bluster.

With the exception of the swaggering "Vegas Two Times," Just Enough may not pack the same wallop as Cocktails, but tunes like "Lying In The Sun" and the soaring "Watch Them Fly Sundays" instantly stand out as some of the band's best to date.

Cole is a slick producer, dropping just the right sounds to impress fellow DJs and keep club kids doing the boogie fever.

Wade through a couple of outtake-sounding openers that consist mainly of mechanical strumming on an acoustic 12-string and Kozelek's duo-toned vocals and you'll be rewarded with some of the his most fully realized songs to date.

While he's an adept moodist (but not a great singer), most often, the tunes are more artifice than art and he fails to make his misery convincing.