These songs don't require repeated listening to foster appreciation; they affect immediately -- and relentlessly.

Another surprisingly coherent and substantial power pop record with solid hooks and memorable songs, another dazzling combination of Anglo-pop melody, arena rock chord changes, and DIY aesthetic.

Unlike the then-career-spanning three-CD set Live 1975-1985, which was notorious for its sanitizing overdubs, Live in New York City for the most part captures the feel of a live Springsteen show.

Time Bomb packs an incendiary wallop that's as noisy as nighttime on the Fourth of July.

Not only do many of the tunes have a similar feel, but Monahan, whose dusty vocals put the band on the map with the hit single "Meet Virginia" in 1999, is regularly drowned out by the soaring guitars and effects.

It comes off softer than its predecessor, and not nearly as affecting.

Multitracked to death, Until the End of Time lacks the intensity that made the original Makaveli's Don Killuminati: The Seven Day Theory so brash and exciting.

God Says No maintains the attributes of its predecessor but also delves deeper into the groove-y psychedelia that's also part of the band's makeup.

As a full album, Interlude falls just short of cohesion. But in the place of unity is a confectioner's pastiche of underground pop from a band that still has plenty of music to make.

Renaissance is about as substantive, lyric-wise, as a Hallmark card.

Overall, this is a compelling mix of underground and moderately mainstream fare, and a top-notch -- if long overdue -- American introduction to this seasoned U.K. vet.

Haines' secret weapon lies in the hands of vocalist Sarah Nixey -- a cross between Olivia Newton-John and St. Etienne's Sarah Cracknell. Her singing style supports Haines' music with a deceptive beauty, as she wraps her voice around lyrics that belie that sweetness.

As expressive as Hammond's guitar work is on signature songs like "Heartattack and Vine," it still has a sweet sound, and that, too, is mostly a new context for Waits' songs. The horror and the hardness is less immediate, slightly more mannered.

A smooth and engaging affair, with consistently strong singing and playing from Clapton.

Too much of Discovery is relatively run-of-the-mill, lacking the pinpoint punchiness of the pair's debut.

The results are not bad -- nor are they dynamic. It's shiny and it shimmers, but there's no fizz, no explosion.

Ultimately, 999 Levels of Undo is a fascinating study of a visionary musician -- unfortunately, it's not an especially compelling listen.

Ray offers up a wonderfully realized survey of underground rock.... Stag is the strongest solo debut in recent memory.

Scorpion, her second solo album in three years, stands a good chance of blowing up the airwaves and charts, though it still battles with the hardcore elements that made her first album such a disappointment.

Lyrically, they've got a ways to go.... That said, Alien Ant Farm shows some real potential.

One of the group's most adventurous outings...

As with all her solo work, Sunny Border Blue practically bleeds with catharsis and introspection, but foraging through its dark interiors yields moments of strange, exquisite beauty.

Neither a chip off the ol' Bizkit nor the kind of indulgent instrumental workout many ax aces opt for on their solo turns, Big Dumb Face is a work of clever humor, spirited silliness, and, in more than a few places, some pretty good songwriting.

Yet for all its adrenaline-rush thrills, the RFTC sound is also surprisingly complex. Like Phil Spector's '60s pop masterpieces for The Ronettes and Righteous Brothers, the sonic density of Group Sounds is actually composed of virtuoso performances and subtle nuances...

The disc evokes both the heartbreak and the buoyancy of bands like Big Star and Teenage Fanclub.

Saratoga, however, reaches a whole other level. A truly excellent show, it features a wonderful extended version of "Daughter," an absolutely kick-ass rendition of "Even Flow," and Vedder's most consistently strong singing throughout.

When all the elements of Phantom Moon align -- as they do on a handful of songs ("Mr. Chess," "Requiescat") -- the results are mesmerizing.

Like a rainy day, the music is cinematic and pulses with understated energy. The prominent drums, like dance beats on codeine, tick by metronomically -- and their interplay with Moffat's mumbled, half-spoken, too-human voice is already remarkable.