By going back to that almost naive passion for spacious, drawn-out, instrumental dance tracks, the Chemical Brothers have discovered songs again, not just "tracks."

Co-produced by Sparklehorse's Mark Linkous, much of Forever captures that group's penchant for dense atmospherics.

Might already have an inside shot to be the best record of 2002 here in the states.

One listen to Asleep in the Back's "Newborn" invokes a feeling of unmistakable contemplation and a sense of beauty entirely absent from the repertoires of the Oasis and Verves of Brit rock's last generation.

There's little here that rises above the prosaic.

Similar to the Radiohead-lite maneuvers of fellow Brits Coldplay, the bright spots (of which there are a fair share) are dulled by the facsimile presentation.

What holds the whole thing together is still the wicked combination of Mystikal's shotgun bark and the Neptunes' bumpin' production.

RZA and company get back to basics with the kind of stripped-down ghetto menace that made the Wu Tang great in the first place.

There are moments on Stillmatic where the old fire is rekindled, the power of his emceeing reborn.

The scattershot recording technique seems erratic for a quartet of chums who've spent upwards of fifteen years gelling together, and most of the rock tracks like "Hella Good" and "Platinum Blonde Life" suffer from a mix of overproduction and lack of urgency; missing is the California garage band vibe that was the trademark of their earlier, more energetic material.

As savvy and sophisticated as the movie itself.

An album that's as complex and mature as De La Soul has ever done, but also smooth, polished, and downright soulful enough to capture a whole new audience for these enduring hip-hop legends.

More eclectic than its predecessors, this self-titled CD finds the group spiking its feel-good melodies and crunchy guitar pop with interesting stylistic detours, and even smatterings of emotional depth.

There's still lots of the nasty, freaky humor and grimy lyrics that make Ludacris so much fun.

All the star power in the world can't save sub-par material.

Pink continues to work her groove thang on much of Missundaztood, but equal time is given over to some genuine stylistic risk-taking.

Cocky's surprises remain few and far between.

Her sharpest offering yet, and one of the better live albums in recent memory.

Like her two previous solo records, Merchant's stately gloom is the stuff of pretension and precision, and her serviceably beautiful voice comes off as either darkly charming or annoyingly lilting (sometimes both at the same time).

A dozen WB-ready theme songs that slay in that charmingly plastic way.

Scarecrow is a fine album, one that can be placed favorably next to Brooks' career milestones No Fences and Ropin' the Wind.

As one would expect, it's the ballads on Driving Rain that wield the greatest power.

Things sometimes tip too far into conventional rock cliché -- "I Can't Wait" is too obvious a power ballad -- but for the most part, this is another display of Lynne's surprisingly agile range.

May be the Coup's tightest album yet.

Only time will tell whether it's a cheeky classic or a momentary novelty.

Too much of Britney is dictated by Max Martin's teen-pop formula.

Lenny benefits from being Kravitz's most consistent album in years, if ever.

Formula or not, with Invincible, Jackson reclaims his pop crown and wears it well.