York Blvd., Acetone's fourth album, is its most fully realized effort yet, attaching guitarist Mark Lightcap's drowsily effervescent solos to a set of shaggy but economical tunes worthy of Neil Young's stamp of approval.

The disc is strangely uneven... t's puzzling right from the start, as what should be the climax -- a rambling, 18-minute version of "Cowgirl in the Sand" -- appears first.... The remaining tracks vary widely in quality.

A reminder of how great the band could be when its members put their minds to it.

O Brother, Where Art Thou?, features some of the finest bluegrass and old-school twang to be assembled in one place in recent memory. Put together by a team that includes production maestro T-Bone Burnett and singer Gillian Welch, O Brother is carefully -- almost encyclopedically -- compiled, with an emphasis on the sort of gospel-like, acoustic-and-harmony-reliant country once popularized by the Carter Family and other such groups.

De la Rocha's rabid diatribes occasionally go overboard, particularly on the tracks (Eric B & Rakim's "Microphone Fiend" and Minor Threat's "In My Eyes," for example) that feed into the band's sometimes one-dimensional rap-metal groove. But when the band steps out of character -- as it does during its rudimentary take on MC5's "Kick Out the Jams" or its pacific reading of "Beautiful World" -- the results can seem truly transcendent.

Ghetto Postage sticks to the classic No Limit formula -- lots of fat, dusted synth-beats, courtesy of C-Los; a ton of guest spots from the No Limit camp and its associates... Still, Ghetto Postage suffers from a lack of something. Big names maybe -- with the exception of Silkk, most of the collaborators here are scrubs.

A record that's certain to be name-checked by pop savants 20 years from now.

Less Casio-centric and nicely encompassing more of the Nottingham native's pop side, Volume 2 is decked out with piano, horns, and a plethora of guitars.

All the big Wu dogs are here -- Ghostface Killah, Method Man, Raekwon, Genius, etc. -- and it sounds like they've been sharpening their skills like knives. They toss rhymes back and forth with the precision of a machine -- they're so good it's almost scary.

Sharper, edgier, and more twisted than its predecessor, Vol. Two is like a throwback to Everclear's early days, before So Much for the Afterglow launched the Portland trio into the arena rock stratosphere.

As works of art go, it isn't exactly Blood on the Tracks, and it isn't as blissfully fine as Millennium, but Black & Blue is unquestionably the most seamless boy band release of the year.

Mama's Gun wisely doesn't stray too far from the free-flowing R&B of Baduizm: Almost every track here is slinky, scat-influenced soul with rich female backing voices, seeded with the occasional string section, trumpet, or sample (most notably Dr. Dre's "Xxplosive"). Lyrically, most of Mama's Gun rings true, with "Bag Lady," the somewhat draggy first single on which Badu dispenses soulful advice to a homeless woman, as the sole exception.

Besides knowing how to pick an evocative voice to work with, Delerium ably mutes big, often funky bass lines with easy flowing beats while adding mood-altering touches.

As with any classic live album worth its audio sweetening (Get Yer Ya-Yas Out, Kiss Alive), the imperfections are part of the deal. A raw-throated Liam sounds like he's clawing to hit each note, but he's still got enough in the tank to spout off between songs. Much of the charm lies in the dysfunctional Gallaghers' homage to rock's majesty, be it Noel's Lennon-worship in "Don't Look Back in Anger," or the nod to Led Zeppelin's "Whole Lotta Love" at the end of "Cigarettes & Alcohol."

While Moore has retained her attractively demure vocals, which have a Diana Ross classic pop-soul quality, Exposed subtly updates the sound she's honed since her 1992 debut, Precious.

Previously merely noisy screechers with no sense of how to play their instruments, Marilyn Manson is now an accomplished and complex industrial-strength hard rock band... It's a point driven home by the group's new album, Holy Wood (In the Shadow of the Valley of Death). Though not as strong or consistent as the glammy Mechanical Animals, Holy Wood instead bridges the gap between that album and its dirtier, raspier predecessor, Antichrist Superstar, with songs that are catchy on the inside, but noisy on the outside.

There are a few saccharine missteps, such as "I Surrender," with its smarmy smooth-jazz guitar harmonies. And certainly this isn't the most varied album, especially by compilation standards -- Sylvian's instrumentals are unfairly slighted, and some more energetic tracks were left untapped. But the flipside is that this is a remarkably coherent collection that largely sets a mood and sticks to it, with the lush productions and Sylvian's charmingly tremulous, attractively reedy singing soothing casual listeners, yet revealing greater depths should one choose to listen for them.

Parachutes is full of devotional songs that whisper their honorable intentions in our ears like a repentant sinner's promises, while moody sonics mostly call to mind Radiohead, though at times you can hear the grandiose bellow of U2 and the vocal poignancy of Jeff Buckley.

A frothy soufflé of an album, heavy on the groovy dance beats and go-girl goodwill, light on profundity.

Obviously trying to explore horizons beyond big beat (a genre now loathed by many in his native England), Cook diversifies his palette but, as the title unfortunately foreshadows, he only gets Halfway there.

It's the between-song banter that makes The Mark, Tom, and Travis Show worth its weight in gold.

The duo's music remains irresolutely unlistenable.... If Insane Clown Posse's initial idea was to parody pop culture's foibles, then this is the sound of a band waving the white flag.

Although devoted fans will welcome this straight-down-the-middle approach with open arms, those on the fringes who were intrigued by their tinkering will find it lacks some of the vibrancy of their recent artistic adventurousness.

Throughout, the music (produced almost exclusively by the group and its DJ) shines with the glint of successful experimentation. However, it never outshines the words, which is where the group has as much to offer, if not more so.

Haunted is largely a concept album. With 17 tracks, several clocking in at over five minutes a pop, it's a bit heavy to carry in its full weight. However, for listeners up for the challenge, it's a beautiful, psychological journey in audio.

The aptly titled Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea plays like an almanac of her adventures of the past few years, and reflects a newfound sense of self. Her songs once again reek of sexuality -- sometimes frustrated, sometimes satisfied -- resulting in alternating episodes of blistering, trashy, gutter guitar rock, and keyboard ballads of sheer melodic grace. She also reveals a greater command of her vocal abilities (with all the shrieks now in just the right places), and inspired new lyrical dashes.

Weaving fragmented elements of hip-hop, folk, and bossa nova, Whoa, Nelly! is one wildly entertaining multicultural jam.... Though her lyrics are a lot smarter than today's average pop offering, they do wear the more common clichés of hippy-chick wisdom a little too proudly at times. But that's OK: If she's got to get her cosmic ya-yas out, the first record's the place to do it.

Still walking that tightrope between seductive soul and fearsome BPM counts, Size and crew grab you by the earlobe and drag you along, whether you like it or not. This time, though, they've polished their sound to a liquid smoothness and brought some friends along, namely Method Man and Rage Against the Machine's Zack de la Rocha.... At a time when drum-and-bass has lost its momentum and focus, In the Mode glimmers with brilliance simply because it's everything that drum-and-bass isn't.