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.

Combining the two discs might have insured an unbeatable follow-up; however, the flawed, fascinating separation reveals what makes this partnership so special.

Skinner has often been declared the Eminem of British rap. But on A Grand..., he proves that if anything, he's British hip-hop's answer to master storyteller Ray Davies, or maybe idiot savant Brian Wilson.

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

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

This is an astounding body of work--and definitely one of the year’s best.

This is one of the most accomplished, powerful, and entertaining hard rock albums ever made.

Hammond's vocal, minus Waits's affected (and annoying) growl, puts the emphasis where it belongs--on the songs. The effect is to make peculiar vistas like "Jockey Full Of Bourbon" and "Murder In The Red Barn" even more vivid and the tunes truly sound like artifacts from another era.

One of his best.

This is simple music, driving music, perfect music for getting a good bath from the asinine perils of nu-metal and modern rock.

Felix Buxton and Simon Ratcliffe, like the Chemical Bros. before them, have the brains to upend house with music as disparate as Spanish flamenco, bebop, Motown funk, and Philly soul.

West is at his best the higher the lyrical stakes get, and the more they contradict hip-hop orthodoxy.

A pleasure to examine at close range.

World Without Tears... is the singer-songwriter's rawest album to date -- it's often closer to all-out rock than it is to either alt-country or the singer-songwriter tradition -- and it's also her best release so far.

Grace includes lots of atmospheric touches that are two steps beyond country and miles too ethereal to call pop.

All the experimenting produces inevitable indulgences (take Amiri Baraka--please!), but even throughout them, each backbeat from drummer ?uestlove hammers an exciting new sound into place.

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.

The music gets gorgeously bizarre, but there is always a sleepy dog and a piece of apple pie waiting at night's end.

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.

Highly recommended.

This may be the Steve Earle album for people who've never been Steve Earle fans before.

Her taste in cover material is slightly idiosyncratic, but that does nothing but add luster to the program...

Genre-wise, it's a schizophrenic shambles, yet somehow it all hangs together wonderfully as a solid, satisfying album.

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

The Soft Bulletin is sparse and enchanted, like the band has awoken from a long dream spent spinning in outer space.

An album meant to enrage, amuse and enliven.

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

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.

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

One of the most extraordinary indie sets since the Olivia Tremor Control's Dusk At Cubist Castle.

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.

At the risk of once again alienating fans--as well as purists who may consider this treading on sacred ground--Moby has taken another set of disparate influences and "translated" them into a futuristic language that's all his own.

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.

Sonic Youth sound like their cover band in comparison.

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.

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.

The perfect combination of restrained production and sparkling tunes.

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

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.

He's got the beat rate up and lots of faux funk happening.

An artist this gifted uses his skills to make music, not cling to style. While the familiar 808s and 909s of techno are rife on Unreasonable Behaviour, the music covers breakbeat, jazz, techno, beat noir, and even hints at Brazilian rhythms.

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...

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.

Offering musical redemption for the New South's old hang-ups, Deliverance delivers.

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

She's probably an EP artist at heart. Or someone for whom the 20-minute sides of vinyl would discipline everything perfectly. So slice the CD in half and enjoy.

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.

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.

Beautiful, sparkling folk-pop reminiscent of Velvet Underground's Loaded era, but with distinctive swooning melodies.

Recall[s] both Fugazi's punk slam and early Santana's psychedelic sheen.

Using sparse arrangements, usually just a few programmed instruments and her feathery voice, Minekawa succeeds in creating lush songs rife with detail, melody, and mystery.

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

Another batch of tunes that entwine gorgeous, intricate arrangements with the dark, intoxicating side of our libidos.

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

As good overall as the tracks here are, that bit about familiarity breeding contempt rings true.

Weightlifting is stellar TCS, expressing everything great about the band.

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

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

Though the steaming electro missives of 604 can sound a bit uniform at times, Ladytron's buzzing bin of automaton female vocals and retro machine accompaniment intoxicates with illicit ease.

Nu electro, crunchy big beat, oddball Irish jigs, Royksopp covers a lot of territory but always with its signature, blissful blend.

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

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

Newcomers will be shocked by his natural ability and old-time fans will just nod the same knowing appreciation and file the album next to the ever-growing mass of excellent if unspectacular releases.

His latest rocks, boogies, swings and croons with a comfortable feel that's low on BS and high on integrity.

You'd be hard-pressed to ask much more from a record.

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.

Occasionally, things are dumbed down by the naive politics you’d expect from any teenager.

Though its methods reek of gimmickry, and are not as interesting as similar but more musical travelers like Plaid, Autechre, or Mouse On Mars, Matmos does construct a daring two-cans-and-a-string party album.

PJ Harvey's frequent collaborator John Parish produces, and he brings a dark, melodramatic, and very theatrical sensibility to the songs that is much more interesting--and a much more flattering setting for Carol Van Dyk's expressive but limited vocals--than the straightforward guitar churn that dominated the last couple of albums.

The production, lyrics, and hooks make this an impressive sophomore effort from Ms. Badu.

Gorgeous melancholy is what these folks do best, and on tunes such as "The Mirror Phase," "Judah And The Maccabees," and a lullaby-like cover of "Blue Moon" from Big Star III, they outdo themselves, producing produce their finest collection since More Sad Hits in 1997.

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

A very tastefully crafted, tuneful, and affecting piece of work with a band that is still just beginning to tap its enormous potential.

If Prince had ever successfully come to grips with hip hop, this is what the result might have sounded like.

It's always great to find a new zone-out-leaving-the-planet disc, even better when it retains some edginess. This is probably the best modern psychedelia since Spiritualized let Ladies & Gentlemen We Are Floating In Space slip out.

Built To Spill have made a concise, pop-smart record.

This is beautiful music set in minor keys.

In the end, the disc is less odd than it is charming with more than enough twists and turns to keep it interesting.

This is one striking album from start to finish.

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.

An album that sounds vital and immediate.

It's unquestionably one of the best rock albums of 2002.

Zwan is Billy Corgan's triumph, an unrepentant glam-rock/prog-pop bacchanalia, an album of stadium happy singles and up-with-people wonder anthems.

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.

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

If there's a downside, it's that 13 may sound more like a sampler of ideas than a single-minded effort.

Few other contemporary electronic acts are quite so savvy in their subtle manipulation of traditional song elements within a cybernetic context.

Features a more worldly sound and outlook.

He manages a harder edge without completely sacrificing credibility.

The songs are extremely accessible and instantly compelling.

Illumination is heartfelt, lost-in-the-'60s songcraft, so perfect in style and sound you might think you’re in the cavernous halls of London’s BBC studios, home to a zillion performances of the Beatles, the Stones, the Faces, and yes, the Jam. When the past sounds this good, why not revel in it?

Forget the brattiness and occasional lunacy that succeeded Tidal's ascent to hit status. This is the work of an adult artist, and onethat's going to be sticking around.

Permission To Land is actually good enough to motivate more than a few curious, intrepid listeners to give their dusty old Dokken albums another spin.

Night Works proclaims the victory of brains over booty-call, mind over matter, craft over cash.

The group's innate intelligence and almost shocking ability to forge something new and thrilling out of typical garage-rock influences always shines brightly through the thick Guinness fog.

Another sterling and fearless entry in the Earle discography.

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.

The album may not improve on 2001's Sophtware Slump, but its pleasures lie in accepting reasonable underachievement, and knowing that speed kills.