The album carries a compelling intensity among the varied and evocative songs.

The good humor and easier tempos also make Twista’s forays into Guinness World Record speed more effective, even if manic window-rattlers like “Kill Us All” seem a bit predictable once you’ve heard his latest, slowed-down twist.

A shimmering example of wistful chamber folk-pop.

He hasn’t made a great album, but even Tupac never managed that; the bombed-out landscape of Boy In Da Corner burns instead with all the anger, confusion and messed-up desperation of youth.

The band attempts to continue to deliver the hits on its seventh album, Splinter, while retaining its punk roots, and the Offspring succeeds on both counts.

Tito Puente meets Daft Punk!

This Is Not A Test isn't perfect.... But it's plenty close enough.

While the kiddie trance and dirrty hip-hop are as blatant a bid for credibility as young Brit's moans upon discovering the joys of all-night raving and her own hand, the pop princess of old keeps peeking through the steamed-up windows, and ultimately saves the disc from disaster.

There are better storytellers, there are better battle rappers, there are undoubtedly rhymers with more on their minds. But there isn't a better MC around, if you're talking about the art of sheer mic domination.

Over-sentimental country-rock posing, limp rapping, and turgid AOR classic rock are only where this young man gets started.

Armstrong... gives it a welcome sense of cohesion.

Jean's most satisfying post-Fugees music yet.

Eventually the piano-based songs grow repetitive, while retaining their lush romanticism.

This reviewer wishes he could tell you that Skull Ring is as good as his best past highlights--but it just ain't.

While, lyrically, Keith's material aims for the lowest common denominator, even songs like the shameless arena-rock ballad "American Soldier," are a pleasant change from Nashville's typical assembly line product.

Both accessible and fun.

Dead Man Shake is a kick in the pants that shouldn't be missed.

A funky good time from two house music smarty pants with a future.

Their rhythms jump all over the place and their vocals are so determined to land that punchline that it all ends up sounding like one smarmy mess.

At the very least, it's the best album of Paul Westerberg's spotty solo career.

His singing is a bit improved and the playing throughout is heartfelt and strong.

Luke Jenner's vocals may drive you insane, but he is to be ignored anyway. Echoes is all about perp-walking bass, funky white-boy cowbell, and enough brain-goring good guitar riffs to make Keith Richards collapse in amazement.

Weighted with tunes that approach middle age with tension and caution.

In austere style and apolitical theme, it's similar to Ndegocello's 1996 outing Bitter, but this is the work of an older, wiser woman who can view that album's romantic failures within a bigger picture.

The album never shifts into angular or faster textures but maintains its overall coasting level with clarity, precision and charm.

The songs are extremely accessible and instantly compelling.

While political manifestos are never something attractively wedded to song, Jones keeps humanity on the record, mostly with supportive grooves and her tantalizing way with twisting a note.

Gibbons is a charismatic presence, her golden howl and misery-inflected tone recalling a cross between Billie Holiday and a demented Edith Piaf.