Happy People [is] a featherweight collection of midtempo, Marvin Gaye-influenced tunes... The sacred material on U Saved Me, by contrast, is more exciting--and troubling.

Roughly half these 19 songs burn themselves out on first listen, but the rest are sublime.

What gives Afrodisiac its allure are the confident club jams that mask B-Rocka’s vocal limitations without overpowering her.

Kiss Of Death is certainly an improvement on its predecessor... However, what continues to bar Jada from the inner MC circle populated by Jay-Z, Eminem and even Kanye West is his lack of a broader vision.

Unfortunately, the spell breaks down and the songs grow tedious as the album nears its end, practically running out of a steam like an emotional rollercoaster stranded at the bottom of the tracks.

No matter the song, from the stumbling “Me And The Devil Blues” to the murmuring “Come On In My Kitchen,” Me And Mr. Johnson sounds rehearsed and controlled.

An album that’s simultaneously stimulating and crappy.

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.

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.

Track after track of colorless bounce sabotages the memorable verses.

Life For Rent breaks no new ground, and while the publicity machine proffers a failed Dido romance as its inspiration, the album retains her debut's style yet without its wonderfully miserable substance.

While Elvis is quite the crooner, an entire album of achy-breaky heartache is too much for the casual Costello listener to bear.

Slogging through this stuff is so soul consuming that by the time you get to "Too High," with its pompous rock opera orchestral arrangement and portentous drums, you'll just surrender and let Dave have his way with you.

Hard rock that is neither hard nor rock.

Horn's work is so effective that it takes several listens before you notice how often Seal's songwriting depends on it.

The elements of free-jazz, mopey techno, and hypnotic riff rock find familiar combinations as Pierce's peace, love, and drugs philosophy takes on a perfunctory turn.

Lose the skits and a couple of ballads Ashanti may never be ready for, and her summery second outing delivers on the limited promise of her first.

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

There just is a real feel of lightweights here--be it in the band's often balls-less bottom end (a real problem with so many rock bands these days) or just in the overall music itself.

Thankful is everything an American Idol viewer would expect from a debut album: the musical drama of Meat Loaf, Celine Dion, and the crew from Titanic, the R&B pyrotechnics of Whitney Houston, the (sub)urban melodrama of Mariah Carey and lots and lots of vocal gymnastics. That it all sounds like it came from a can is beside the point.

Street Dreams reveals itself as a hollow gem when Fabolous tries to have it all, unveiling a gangsta sneer so unconvincing it makes Nelly seem dangerous.

Nothing terribly original here, but they do manage to kick out the jams with fervor and the kind of enthusiasm that only wavers when carpel-tunnel or rheumatism sets in.

A step ahead of the J-Los of the world; a step behind what may prove to be a career pinnacle.

Slicker Than Your Average too often slides that slippery slope to mainstream blandness.

A relatively brief and resolutely pop-oriented affair, with more gruff singing than rhymes and less violent, existential dilemmas.

He manages a harder edge without completely sacrificing credibility.

As a vocalist, she remains somewhat faceless.

Testify is a perfect album for anyone who still treasures Face Value, Hello, I Must Be Going and No Jacket Required.

Releasing two strong outings in the past year drained him of the juice necessary to make a compelling two-fer.

In reality Bounce is the next chapter in an incredibly successful non-descript novel about love won and lost in times of turmoil, with plenty of songs that even a championship soccer team could sing.

Musically speaking, "Damn" is the only real memorable tune in the bunch. Which is exactly the expletive many of her old fans may express when hearing this often over-bombastic effort.

Xzibit's rhymes lack bite.

Her acoustic soul is even smoother than before, making its use as a vehicle for Oprahspeak the more deadly.

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

Buckcherry's overblown rock 'n' roll is exactly the kind of music that can be dressed up by production, almost (but not quite) giving the illusion that something exciting is happening when, in fact, its merely recycling the already recycled.

"She's On Fire," the opener from San Francisco-based Train's second release, promises a solid if not memorable rock 'n' roll effort. Unfortunately, penning this catchy and muscular rocker seems to have sapped the boys' creative well.

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.

Mission Accomplished finds Tricky still musically intriguing, still lyrically fascinating; but the fix is too short, the message mostly unaccomplished.

Glossy, electronic, and at times quite infectious, the record extends Vitamin C's bubbly reign.

Her vocals are so mannered, self-conscious, and limited, there is no way to gloss over the facts, except when booming dance grooves rule the mix.

In making consistently mediocre music, the group appeals to the country fan with the lowest expectations out of life, one who never wants his moon-pie-and-RC-Cola values challenged, but likes his emotions jostled once in a while.

The Offspring are interested in distilled punk-by-numbers, and are hardly interested in--or perhaps incapable of--finding something new to say.

The disc lacks the coherent vision that would have made the best argument for Clef's claims.

Disappeared hints at the cathartic spillage of drum 'n' bass, while also dropping beats from Motown, rock, and beyond. But unfortunately the melodies that were once so incisive and pliant soon grow monotonous and alien.

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

"Implosion" is a bit of an overstatement. These guys go soft and introspective in the face of crisis and it never reaches the point of any actual combustion.

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.