Accelerate puts the 2007 Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame group once again firmly behind the wheel of alternative rock, a genre R.E.M. helped invent.

Out of the blue and virtually as fun as a party out of bounds, Funplex is a dee-lightful reunion record.

Many, many gosh-darn dudes go in for the "vaguely weird indie-rock music with oblique lyrics" schtick, and yet it's still an utter joy to hear Dan Bejar do it.

Eleventh Hour, his largely self-produced fifth solo album--and first in eight years--lacks much of both the lyrical and instrumental verve of his best records.

Trash's capriciousness and experimental willingness are what gave Malkmus an audience in the first place--and what promise to keep it coming back for more.

Her third album continues her clear-minded, open-hearted lyricism, though with a ripeness that comes from years on the road and years more to reflect.

Elements of rock, folk, and blues pervade, and producer George Drakoulias (Black Crowes, the Jayhawks) stays out of the way, allowing Merritt’s voice to embody the songs, all 11 of which flow from start to finish, uninterrupted and primed for full-on stardom.

AMC’s second second-life album (recorded with L.A. musicians on bass and drums) is as gorgeous and disorderly as any in its nine-album catalog.

For a group with one of the most unmemorable band names ever, it's funny that it's their way with words that elevates them from wannabe status.

Working Man's Cafe feels like exactly the album a 60-something rocker would craft--assured and direct yet searching and restless, a glimpse into the head of a man who's comfortable in his skin but still wonders how he fits into a world that seems to be turning faster and stranger as the years pass by.

Simple Plan's plan--to get you bouncing, bobbing, and otherwise grooving--is still simple. And like all uncomplicated strategies, it's still remarkably effective.

There's not a groan-worthy song on this standout rock/pop/folk/blues album.

Watershed has an intimate feel and a sophisticated sound that highlights the warmth in Lang’s voice, the maturity of her songwriting and the simple beauty of her arrangements.

The best evidence arrives two tracks in: though 'Bring It On' features the soothing sitar of Anishka Shankar, it bashes its way through the speakers as though fueled by kryptonite. It is bad-ass, in a word. And so is this album.

District Line, Mould's seventh solo album, is a swell follow-up to his bracing 2005 return-to-rockishness record "Body of Song."

Just a Little Lovin' achieves the unlikely: a tribute to an immortal artist which both glorifies its subject and elevates the worshipper kneeling at her altar.

The songs on his debut album, Charmed and Strange are quirky and inventive.

Bejar's warm, odd voice does not jibe well with the voice of the former Toronto Children's Choir singer.

DeVaughan simultaneously sounds like every soul singer who has raised bumps on your arms and none of them at all, which is to say he's an artist no matter what banner he flies.

Smith adds subtle layers of piano to the formidable 'Wild West Love Song' and the bluesy, Zeppelin-like 'Jesus in the Temple.' But even more newsworthy, her jazzy stylings have rubbed off on the Bielankos.

Overall, ADD demonstrates why Lewis blazed his way into AI's final round: He's out there, sure, but he's willing to reel it in enough to keep it real for the masses.

The contributions of that tag-team of hitmakers take nothing away from the tightness and characteristic chic of the band--that they enhance the hypnotic sheen of Duran Duran, rather than subjugate it--makes a certain sense.

As far as standard Celine fare goes, in fact, Chances is likely her strongest non-French outing since 2002's "A New Day Has Come;" nobody unfolds a lyric with more care or nuance.

For all its cathartic lyrics, I-Empire is actually packed with dazzling, fast-moving songs, like 'Everything's Magic' and 'Sirens,' that bring together U2's widescreen guitar flights with tuneful, straightforward punk melodies.

Like every Backstreet record before it, Unbreakable boasts Super Glue-strength harmonies and an overall tightness of sound--the boys may be practitioners of the kind of pop that music snobs love to skewer, but that doesn't mean they're not exceptionally good at it, or that there's not a lot here worth whistling to.

Helm takes material from a variety of sources and makes it all his own.

Shotter's Nation, is surprisingly good and sonically upbeat (if not so much lyrically).

What we have here is easily Mr. Young's finest work in years, one that erases the memory of his well-intentioned but anemic 2006 protest album, "Living with War."

Coheed and Cambria's first three outings were smart, adventurous affairs that didn't eschew accessibility and No World for Tomorrow proves no exception.

Perhaps only the fantasy duo of King Kong and Bambi could be a more bizarre pairing than Robert Plant and Alison Krauss. Yet on Raising Sand, their haunting and brilliant collaboration, the Led Zeppelin screamer and Nashville's most hypnotic song whisperer seem made for each other

Chase This Light is packed with huge pop moments, galloping off with the exhilarating 'Big Casino' and swiftly following it with the towering 'Carry You,' songs seemingly custom made for action-packed pick-up truck commercials.

The best tracks on Oblivion with Bells are also the most ambitious....But after that pair of opening tracks, you have to wait until the very last piece, a long, trancey bit of psychedelic drift called 'The Best Mamgu Ever,' to hear something more than unformed melodies and unstrung ideas.

The Art of Love and War, on the re-launched Stax label, is as full-bodied an affair as this old-school-leaning, incessantly self-exploring diva has delivered.

Viscerally contemporary, Necessary Evil harnesses youthful exuberance from across the charts, and Harry and her team of producers and songwriting partners do radio-ready rock, pop, and soul-lite with à la mode savvy to spare.

It's a more pensive presentation--dare I say it: more mature.

Brave may not be the most groundbreaking record ever to climb the pop charts, but it's enough to convince you JLo's discs don't stint on substance.

This record's delightful and wholly original; no one else could possibly have made it.

Cease punctuates its magnitude among Sub Pop's top-drawer power elite (The Shins and Iron & Wine), asserting this Band of Horses' fast-rising run for the roses.

Nearly thirty years after her debut with the Banshees, Siouxsie can still sneer and storm as fiercely as ever.

Credit producer Brendan O'Brien for the wall of sound that backs 'Girls in Their Summer Clothes,' which sets the atmosphere for one of the great vocal performances by Springsteen.

Songs of Mass Destruction is a sterling, rock-solid, expert example.

Complete with its complicated lead and sprinkles of string instruments, it lies in contrast to the simplicity and blithe spirit of the record's remaining half-hour--but joins the other 11 songs directly in the wheelhouse of the Dashboard Confessional fervent.

Fogerty's voice sounds great throughout; passionate, more committed and comfortable with these songs than he has seemed in years.

The first studio release by the Sadies in three years represents a big sonic advance.

100 Days, 100 Nights makes for a very welcome addition to any avid listener's contemporary soul music library.

If you're over 21, file souljaboytellem.com under guilty pleasures. If you're younger, let it rip without reservation.

Ten years later, they've regrouped with Norton for a disc that's more sophisticated and diverse, if a tad less rockin'.

More definitive than ever, the rhythm and percussion complement Beam's voice, a lulling, almost eerie tone that occasionally recalls John Lennon's early solo work

While the raw, raging blues of 'Red Is the Color' ranks with Earle's most powerful music, 'Satellite Radio' could well be the slightest (as well as perhaps a plug for Earle's own radio show), but the artist's willingness to take chances attests to a restless creativity that refuses to be corralled.

Songs About Girls is, for sure, a big, noisy record. But in addition to the kind of hugeness, it's sometimes hard to get your head around.

The singer's gentle vocals and Spanish-meets-classical guitar style make a quietly compelling match, especially so on his sophomore CD In Our Nature, easily the best work--either as a solo or contributing vocalist--that he has released to date.

Keyshia Cole proves for a second time--for sure and way beyond the shadow of a doubt--that she's headed for Mary J. Blige-style hugeness.

Even in its duller moments--the flaccid ballad 'Shirk,' the truncated sax solo that closes 'Virgo,' rainbow messages from God ('Elliptical')--this record fails to depart from the serious verve that has kept this artist relevant and refreshing for years.

Mitchell's songwriting shines brightest at such singularly poignant moments where specificity of images meets the vagaries of the instrumental arrangements, and, in the end, these and other highlights ('Bad Dreams,' 'Night of the Iguana') definitively carry the torch.

The curiously titled Reunion Tour (four years between albums but they never disbanded) ups the lyrical ante ever more with contagious tunes like 'The Last Last One,' 'Hymn of the Medical Oddity,' and 'Relative Surplus Value.'

The singer's whiskey-stained voice infuses those words with a fierce mix of pride, hurt, resignation, sadness, strength, and humility--traits that make her one of the finest R&B singers of her generation. There are other riveting moments rivaling that from this deeply moving set.

Scott weaves through the music like a woman who's taken her time contemplating what feelings ought to sound like.

Here's a set that suggests rock has got its head screwed on straight again, that the path to real feelings need not necessarily be led by Norah Jones.

His limber voice and way with a lyric serve him well.

The Sonic Youth ringleader goes at it acoustically, far from his customary cacophonic experimentation, forming a venturesome trio with the Fleeting Skies' Samara Lubelski (violin) and SY's Steve Shelly (drums) and giving his lyrical verve the latitude it deserves.

Ripe rides a similar vibe to 2005's "Awake Is the New Sleep": quick-and-dirty pop melodies polished with chiming guitars, piano fills, and Lee's exuberant, boyish vocals.

His performance throughout is solidly heartfelt.

The disco-rock jitters come back soon enough with the next selection, 'Let Me In,' but there's no denying that the group's horizons have broadened. For every throwback Cure sound-alike, such as 'Give Up?,' there's a lush retort featuring the Abbey Road Orchestra-like 'Outta Heart.'

The Pixies' alter ego alludes to Brood either candidly or implicitly in all 11 songs, veering far from the Nashville-and-Memphis tones of the last two Black albums for a return trip to his raucous roots.

Say what you will about influences on sleeves, this is pop music at its best: nostalgic and angst-ridden, but ultimately life-affirming. Shout Out Louds have found a winning formula.

His first recording of his own material in four years reminds that he has few peers among contemporary singer-songwriters.

Lead single 'Rainin in Paradize' alone should propel Chao (née Oscar Tramor) into the kind of stateside fame he's long enjoyed in Europe and South America.

The results range wider musically than Heavy Trash have previously, without compromising the sonic squawl and psychobilly vocals that have long provided the duo's signature sound.

The sharpest, most assured, and best record of her solo career.

It's pretty dour stuff on the whole, but delivered with playfully melodic wit and a certain poetic resignation usually found only in the hearts of forgotten souls and madmen (and maybe Tom Waits).

You're presently reading about what may be the best album of 2007, hands down, by the most under-accorded American musical genius.

Most songs keep well away from a standard verse-chorus structure, with lyric and instrumental passages stitched together like some indie rock Frankenstein, but Minus the Bear keeps the melodies potent and the emotion high enough to prevent Planet of Ice from drifting into impenetrable shoe-gazer territory.

Unglamorous clearly shows that the 36-year-old has graduated.

Another Public Enemy album is always good news for hip-hop fans, and How You Sell... carries the torch.

Whether Finding Forever surpasses "Be" is a matter of individual, song-for-song taste: At worst, it's on par--a laudable accomplishment for a veteran now 15 years into his career.

There's an elegance to it that Prince fans, no strangers to pop music that's truly sublime, won't fail to appreciate.

The Con skillfully packs its instant hooks in so tight, virtually every line becomes the one you want to sing along to--and the twins' lyrics aren't your typical pop pabulum.

The group has balanced its studio ambition with just the right amount of real world restraint, coming up with a disc that actually improves on the first while maintaining the trio's wry quirks.

The entire album is seamless and offers new facets with each listen.

For every catchy electro-dance, there's a tune that leaves you scratching your head.

Unsurprisingly, the lyrics are direct and honest, while they've broadened their sonic palette to allow a tad more dissonance in with their urgent and propulsive pop-punk.

On their third album, a major-label debut with one of rock's great titles, the trio wears a newly polished sound proudly, while not coming close to straddling the sell-out ledge.

The results are richly satisfying throughout.

In time-warp fashion, the band plays as distinctively and playfully as ever.

Overall, Corgan's captivating effort to mine both the spirit of these turbulent times and the soul of his defining band is a smashing success.

The black-clad New York quartet still sounds inflexibly menacing, grasping tighter than ever to its doomy post-punk influences and delving further into frontman Paul Banks's emotional unrest.

Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga is the mark of men confident enough to give their album one of the world's goofiest titles.

Justice does appear to be that rare breed of dance artist equally capable of stimulating the body and the mind, though neither Richard James nor the Basement Jaxx need fear this act.

Finn's knack for a melodic ballad remains firmly in place as Time on Earth coasts on his dreamy voice and introspective, hook-laden pop choruses.

The Else, another collection that ranks with any in their memorable discography.

In fact, "delayed," "drenched," and "dervish" pretty much sum up Goodbye. Schnauss piles on effects and layers in a psychedelic melee that would leave Ozric Tentacles and Pink Floyd standing transfixed by his stroboscopic strategies.

The melodies still rumble with elegance. The choruses are instantly unforgettable. And the band's original members--Maginnis, Bill Janovitz (guitar/vocals), and Chris Colbourn (bass/vocals) - remain intact and chillingly in synch.

Isbell's best songs will remind you of Richard Buckner, Raymond Carver, and Neil Young.

On this album, GB make the Dead Kennedys seem subtle. And it would be nice if there were more variety to their sound.

New Maps is a terrific sounding record; at least two-thirds of it begs many repeated listens.

This album blows the doors off its predecessor. Save a pair of disinfected ballads ("The Last Fight," "Gravedancer"), Libertad is all about hand-grenade chords, drag-racing riffs, and circus-tent choruses.

Ms. Kelly, though, has some points to prove, foremost among them that this songbird can rock.

T.I. is at the top of his game, though, and he makes it heard.