Sharing with Marvin Gaye and D'Angelo the ability to sing in forceful anger while seducing you with sweet talk, this 22-year-old Philadelphia singer positions himself to become the next great soul man.

At times, Aaliyah's somewhat frail, underpowered vocals seem insufficient to meet the emotional heights she seeks to attain (particularly on the epic ballad "I Refuse"), but simultaneously that's a large part of her appeal.

The Beta Band evokes the lushness of '60s AM popsters the Association in its soft vocal ensembles while demonstrating an instrumental prowess ("Eclipse") that recollects the lo-fi sonic buzz of Flying Saucer Attack.

As someone previously known to wallow in her torment on occasion, Etheridge has found with her seventh studio release a newfound maturity that bodes well for both her emotional and musical future.

An early study of California hip-hop, Überzone mixes twisted, bubbling Roland bass, big beats, and vocoder effects to make futuristic electro-anthems that manage to pop and lock like robots, but recall the organic '80s breaker heyday and never sound sterile and stiff.

Though nothing new -- instrument-wise -- is added to the mix of drums, guitar, and piano, the White Stripes' recipe cooks up heavier overall on White Blood Cells, while still retaining some of the cheeky, barroom brashness that has become their stock in trade.

In anybody else's hands, a blending of techy aesthetics and near-tender melodies would be a musical oxymoron, but in Squarepusher's, it is delicious.

Shangri-La Dee Da sounds like two completely different bands -- DeLeo's hard rock and Weiland's soft balladry. Happily (for Atlantic Records), the album has something for both slumming Papa Roach fans and growing Jessica Simpson fans. STP has enough talent to hold both together.

All the glitter does not make gold: being Nelly Furtado ("Yo Yo") doesn't work, and a couple of Natalie Imbruglia-esque power ballads ("Saturate Me," "Crush") capture Moore in all her adolescent awkwardness, while the uptempo tracks rely on oddly placed Middle Eastern arrangements that don't fit the dance floor.

Keeping things light is both the band's strongest asset and its greatest weakness.

Blink-182 sticks to the winning formula of past efforts Dude Ranch and Enema of the State on Jacket, an extremely well-produced, hard-hitting exercise in pre-pubescent punk rock that will no doubt sell millions to throngs of misguided juveniles who relate to the band's piss takes on life's everyday miseries.

Travis' knack for making saccharine songs is both a blessing and a curse; one doesn't know whether to feel the love or scream bloody murder.

Dirty might not have been worth the nine-year wait, but it's one of the finest and most colorful dance-oriented discs of the year.

Indulging in various vices, imagining exotic locales, and pining after the bad boy, he is now more worldly and wise; it makes for a more textured -- if not as immediately winning -- album.

Sexsmith's most underrated asset is his most obvious: that voice. The way he slides into a line, pauses, and then delivers for maximum effect… No histrionics, just truth.

Double Figure further fuses the themes fans have come to expect, but feels even more warm and organic than past efforts.

Bizarre, surreal, and captivating, this record does nothing expected...

Underneath it all, they're not much different than the fans who buy their records, and it's that adoration of sound that makes Back to Mine shine.

The problem with Flowers is that McCulloch's voice never soars. He still has the timbre, but he's lost his range and forcefulness, resulting in a lost sense of urgency.

Packed with classic R&B and making clever use of electronic/dance, blues, and rock, Everybody shies far from the bloated vocalizing and obvious production that have marked the genre of late, helping put the soul back into a previously moldering art form.

The Doc's latest product, Malpractice, seems less focused and inspired than usual, and it lacks the kind of momentum that made albums such as Whut? Thee Album and Blackout, his 1999 collaboration with Method Man, instant classics.

A finely wrought chronicle of joy and heartbreak, partying and love, his tuneful, raspy voice the perfect balance of eloquence and muscle.

Most of the songs on God Bless the Go-Go's are lacking the huge hooks and punk spark that once made the group unforgettable...

A 72-minute haul into a cold, stirring, private space where the post-punk isolation of Joy Division is redefined and softened with mesmerizing doses of melody and romantic longing.

Without the dread, the songs can come across without drama.

Yup, the angst and fury of 1997's Pinkerton is a thing of the past, as the band indulges in the kind of buzzing hooks and euphonic harmonies that made songs such as "Buddy Holly" and "Undone (The Sweater Song)" such huge hits.

There's a welcome sunniness to much of the album, with "Beat a Drum" recalling The Beach Boys' "Feel Flows," and "Imitation of Life" displaying some of that classic Document-era jangle. The two songs are Reveal's only real highlights.

Tool has made an album that's undeniably its own, yet one which adds layers of subtlety, texture, and meaning that move its sound forward into complex new territory.