Beneath this band's graceful posturing lies a deep discontent and anger, but band lyricist Michael Timmins manages to once again turn that gentle simmering fury into poetic grandeur.

He sounds rushed, like he doesn't have time for too much tinkering. This is a good thing.

Hope of the States pull off the commendable trick of twisting avant-garde apocalyptica into bona fide pop songs. [Amazon UK]

As before, he continues to flawlessly integrate straight-ahead, unforced vocals into a riproaring sound.

As with the band's other releases, the music inspires clear feelings of love and hate.

The result is an energetic paean to the Cars' power-pop heritage, capturing the band's classic feel-good vibe with all cynical subtexts intact.

As an album, it probably won't spawn any MTV-hogging video classics--certainly, that was never the intention--but Finn fans in search of a mellow listen should find Everyone Is Here hits all the right buttons.

Songs like "Baby Come On" and the spooky "Little Death" show the musicians finally delivering the substance that was promised on Blink 182's self-titled 2003 release.

Like its predecessor, Genesis, this album is sonically superior to most in the marketplace.

Garcia and company wear their '80s influences proudly throughout, yet bring enough fresh ideas to the mix to avoid being mere slaves to precious retro-fashion.

Ozomatli serve up a rhythmically seething musical mélange that serves as virtual mirror to the dizzying cultural contradictions at the heart of their Los Angeles hometown.

Lost Highway isn't "Bon Jovi goes country" so much as a meaningful tribute to the Nashville ethos done on their own terms.

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.

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

Without a doubt the most challenging collection of music she has ever released.

As a player, his bold, midrange-heavy tone complements his most nuanced vocal performances.

The darkest, most mysterious album of his career.

Red Light District has its share of filler, but, track for track, Ludacris still delivers satisfaction.

More D12 than 50 Cent in terms of quality, Cheers should have been way more than simply the sum of its notable parts.

Unpredictable actually gets rather predictable over the course of 15 songs, too many of which begin to meld into one another.

Pocket Symphony won't yield any pop hits, but it could be the soundtrack to endless rainy afternoons.

Phair doesn't need her angry-girl persona to prove she has talent, but she may still need it to stand out from the crowd.

Even with its share of jangle-pop gems, the disc also offers a few bland strummers that never quite take off.

Their irritating habits remain as intractable as ever: must every romantic spat be framed against saving the whales (okay, the shrinking water supply) and the fight for clean air?

The F.A.B.O.’s smooth, deadpan flow cruises over benignly commercial beats, and the overall effect isn’t hard enough to stand up to "official" street-issue hip-hop.

All the Roadrunning--while beautiful--seems somehow underwhelming, and without a true centerpiece.

Wincing is neither the clever genre recombinant exercise of their second album nor is it the perfect little self-contained universe of their debut. This is not the Shins' best album; it's their growing pains third record.

It's not likely this music will age spectacularly well, but so what?

For a woman who once used lyrics to shock listeners, there's nothing terribly shocking about this new CD.

When Tool sounds as good as it does on ["Jambi" and "The Pot"] it's hard to get enough. Which makes it all the more baffling that a surprisingly large chunk of the disc is given over to mood-enhancing soundscapes like "Lost Keys" and "Vigniti Tres."

If play-it-to-the-back-rows, unabashed power-pop is what the Ataris were after here, they've delivered it with nigh perfection.

Fans and casual enthusiasts will no doubt be bewildered by the extra experimental outings of an already daunting band--but for completists, this is the last word.

The production seems a bit slick, as if the group was going for some Interpol-type success, while the songs would perhaps be better served at a studio like Easley in Memphis.

It's this lumpy consistency that ultimately lets them down, but this is a laudable effort from a band on a decade-long roll. [Amazon UK]

If her album is musically uneven at times, her artistry and strength continue to shine as undimmed beacons.

Its center becomes weighed down with bland mid-tempo numbers and the final song detracts from the powerhouse close the record might have had.

Fortunately, producer Steve Lillywhite is on hand to clean things up, giving even the most bumbling lyrical experiments, such as "Wordplay" and "Geek in the Pink," at least the illusion of a newfound maturity.

The problem lies in Gore's lack of emotional and musical range.

Has she grown up? Maybe not entirely yet, but Lohan is showing the promise of an honorable mainstream career.

It may still sound beautiful, but too often Amazing Grace comes off as mere formula.

The less successful interpretations simply fail to differentiate themselves from the spirit of the originals.

Over the course of the album, too much of the midtempo material sounds too much the same, more inspired lyrically than musically, failing to sustain the momentum of the opening tracks.

It’s just a shame that the lack of soul in his rotating rap deliveries tends to undermine his masterful storytelling capabilities.

Not quite as endearing as his raw and seductive 2002 debut.

A solid, if not wholly overwhelming album.

Despite Clarkson's sublime vocal talents, excessive gloss at times overwhelms the quirky charm and personality she displayed on Idol.

Little here finds McGraw in a feel-good mode.

Busta has never sounded so mature.

More a pop orchestral mishmash than a well-defined rock opus, Bat III is dark, seemingly hopeless at times, and über dramatic. Oddly enough, that's also its saving grace.

Not as promising as 1999’s Lipstick Gamemight have indicated, but an aggressive, hard-rock effort nonetheless.

These bawdy Peter Pans of rock are more appealing when they summon their innate raunchy power, instead of coming off like a 2003 version of the Beach Boys with the sand washed off.

Musically, it's simply awesome, sounding not completely unlike early PJ Harvey... It's a shame, then, that the lyrics frequently don't cut it. [Amazon UK]

Trouble is, Chesney, who wrote or cowrote all 13 tracks, ended up with enough material for only half a record, and then repeated many of his ideas.

Fans of albums such as 2001’s From Chaos and 2003’s promising Evolver will likely find Tread familiar and perhaps even comforting, but it’s unlikely to invite a new horde of fans as the album often sounds like an imitation of the bands 311 helped inspire in its decade-plus career.

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

Noise Floor presents a mixed bag that will enthrall hardcore Conorites but leave others frequently reaching for the skip button.

Amarantine sounds like it was born in cloistered solitude, self-referentially echoing Enya albums past.

The acoustic guitars have largely been set aside on Chapter V, leaving Staind to pummel away at its troubles and hoping that people still have time to listen to self-pitying grown men moan about their dysfunctional childhoods.

While such willingness to experiment is admirable, in this case the attempt comes off as slightly desperate and too diffuse.

Committed Ja Rule fans looking for those signature hip-pop collaborations he's taken to the bank before won’t find them here.

Keith occasionally appears to be stretching himself... but often seems to be coasting.

Most of Light at the End of the World works within the familiar confines of the vintage Erasure formula, drunk on everyman synthesizers, listing through painfully vague and obvious rhymes.

Some of this music is oddly affecting; much of it is merely odd.

It has been said that Nelson can sing just about anything--which doesn't necessarily mean that he should.

A severe line-up change has left the Stills devoid of much of its original edge.

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