A smartly schizophrenic solo debut filled with the anything-goes dancefloor abandon of the ‘80s.

Perhaps the formula is wearing just a tad thin. Nevertheless, it's always foolish not to celebrate melody.

Features a more worldly sound and outlook.

The production can be a little too clinical and antiseptic in spots.

An album meant to enrage, amuse and enliven.

Liars got the punk wave thing down, but what makes them more interesting than their peers is their willingness to explore beyond the edges of the new-wave box.

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.

Rockist textures and lush dreamscapes that could very well be the Cocteau Twins take on heavy metal.

Channeling greats from Gaye to Wonder, his stripped-down bangers bang harder, his ballads have more gospel bluster, and he sings with the desperation of a loveman who knows the cops are waiting at his bedroom door.

The B.Coming is no metamorphosis; Beans remains the same powerful but limited rhymer, a blunt object hammering the mic and stumbling after the ghost of Jay-Z.

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.

Don't discount the reggae portion of the program; with island impresario Tony Kelly involved in much of the album, songs like "Party Hard" and "Pure Pretty Gal" strongly affirm the tropical origins of this storm.

Certainly a tougher and more traditional album than its two predecessors.

Most of these rhymes are too shallow to warrant the hopeful comparisons to Biggie and Tupac. But if you want the best disposable gangsta tunes on the market, 50 Cent offers a definite bargain.

[Tweet] offers more mature and demure R&B this time out.

Some of it sounds remarkably sedate and conventional ("Televised Executions," "American Mean") while other tracks ("Beggin' For Miracles") ramble psychotically into the good night of avant-garde minimalism.

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

Overall, the album is a little more rock, a little more sophisticated and includes actual artistic input from the artist herself. A wonder in these modern times.

His big voice and big, good-vs-evil themes now need the gold lame beats of Grand Champ to deliver one last howling high.

If you can forget that Mitchell once used to swing, the settings offer warmth and bring out melodies that weren't apparent her first time around.

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

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.

Most of Eve's third album won't come as much surprise to those who bought the first two--and that's nothing to complain about.

There's absolutely nothing revolutionary about what these guys are pulling, but they synthesize a gritty staccato new wave attack with the arrogant, swaying machismo of old school boogie with an authority far beyond their few years.

There's also a heady melodicism that suggests the theatrical firepower of Roxy Music, a droning tonality where big ambiance sets up.

Is this Mezzanine lite? In a way, yes. There is nothing here as gripping as "Angel," "Risingson," or "Inertia Creeps." Womblike and seductive, this is make-out music for hibernating astronauts.

After years of puzzling releases, Nas has finally delivered a collection worthy of his landmark 1994 debut.

The older, wiser BLACKstreet rides a sweet suite of slow jams to a level no teen quartet has seen yet.