Purists may find Jones' stuffy-nosed tone and tics of phrasing objectionable, yet she reaches directly into the heart of each classic in intimate readings.

On one hand, Vavoom! has the same can't-sit-still energy and brilliant musicianship of the 17-piece orchestra's previous efforts... But it sometimes seems as if Vavoom! goes a little too far in its attempt to sound experimental and break new ground in updated big band music.

Williams weaves beguiling, thought-provoking melodies, and turns each track into an artfully produced scenario.

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

A good chunk of soulful melody tinged with delightful, lackadaisical vocals and reggae vibrations.

While the band's trademarked, reverb-drenched riffs remain, they're now intermingled with lots of skronks, bleeps, and clicks... After a sluggish start, most of what's here works as well as anything in the vast Man or Astro-Man? catalogue.

Certainly a talented guitar-playing songstress, she also takes her lyrical cues from Hallmark cards, a mix at once comfortable and off-putting -- and difficult to put one's finger on.

An expert balance of vintage Aerosmith and more contemporary stylings.

An album that takes a dramatic leap forward from the wafer-thin reggae he was peddling on his debut album...

Cydonia breaks little new ground.

Few bands exceed Alpha in the creation of truly encompassing and sensual chill-out tunes, and while The Impossible Thrill fails to really explore new territory, it's revisiting familiar and hallowed ground.

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.

Neither as sonically striking or politically conscious as Cornershop's well-received 1997 release, When I Was Born for the Seventh Time, Disco and the Halfway to Discontent is definitely the type of album a band can make when success provides an opportunity to experiment.

The album provides hard evidence that the dynamite punch of 1998's Devil Without a Cause album was no fluke.

Injecting the best aspects of Americana to Bragg's inherently British approach makes this one of the early contenders for folk-rock album of the year.

There are a few winners here among the brick-and-mortar alt-flak -- which the band is wholeheartedly capable of as well...

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.

Though the first two songs, "Now" and "Rabble Rouser," sound like vintage KMFDM, the rest of the album finds the group being more of a rock band with industrial leanings than an industrial band with rock leanings.

With its brand of easily accessible pop rock, the Austin, Texas-based trio presents an extremely likable musical front that's based more upon influence than innovation.

Here again, it's a maddening ping-ponging between genius and plain stupidity.

The essential internationalism that characterizes this global showcase of a disc is mind-blowing in both scope and quality.

On Faith and Courage, she returns with the blend of Celtic mysticism, commercial pop, and mature themes that moved so many listeners (and units) on 1990's I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got, while pulling out a few trip-hop stops to keep things current.

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.

On third album Survivor, the DC coming-out party, the song kind of remains the same: When the girls are on, this is the kind of surreally and subversively brilliant Top-40 music even the most jaded roll their windows up and blast; when they're not, it's a pretty bad day at the girl-band factory.

The smoothed-out international pop sound lets Beenie focus on doing what he does best -- making party music for party people.

Whatever its negligible shortcomings, Golden State at least serves to inject a depth of vision to what formerly was a rather one-dimensional musical entity.

But for all these guests and all of Silkk's versatility, My World, My Way still suffers from the same formulaic production -- all bleating synths and skittering drum programs -- that makes all No Limit productions seem indistinguishable.

Gandhi Khan is full of the dark, dirty production Van Helden has championed recently.

A dark, methodical, and ultimately beautiful album.

The album as a whole isn't quite as brilliant as it ought to be, given the ideas at play.

An eclectic and enjoyable mixture of pop, light rock, light country, and tinny, horn-happy soul, Velvet is almost compulsively cheery.

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.

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

The group has begun to grow up a bit.

Walking a thin line in a stylistic minefield, Orbit has successfully reached his goal. Classical purists may be appalled by the concept, but even they may have to admit that he's done a better job than anybody could have expected.

It's the "experimental" tracks like the humorous "Hey Sexy Lady," laced with mariachi trumpet, flamenco guitar, and castanets, and the bubbly old school reggae-country hybrid "We Are the One" that elevate Lucky Day to higher ground.

Comes with the same muscular, confrontational power that made The Sickness so infectiously exciting, but twists things just enough to make the second time sounds as fresh as the first.

Tweekend certainly isn't mind-blowing or revolutionary, but it's abundantly clear that the Crystal Method has found its sound: the hard rock and hip-hop influences that inflected Vegas move to the forefront, and the tempo comes down a few notches, thus emphasizing thunderous bass and hardcore head-bobbing.

Throughout the mix, Oakenfold follows the proven formula of prefacing more beat-heavy, climactic tracks -- such as Max Graham's "Airtight" and Tone Depth's "Majestic" -- with otherworldly vocals-only tracks by Dead Can Dance and Sabel, among others. The build-up is no doubt effective on the dance floor -- where Oakenfold excels -- but the effect sounds a bit repetitive after the first few occurrences.

Unfortunately, a couple of the early tunes are so slick as to lose all feeling, while some of the lyrics are dumber than a doormat, but as party albums go, this will keep you up for a while.

Armed with an arsenal of keyboard riffs and Merritt's impassive baritone, the resulting sound is a velvety mix of '80s-era new wave, bossa nova beats, and melancholy pop.

On Scratch, they masterfully explore breakbeat fusion, flowing smoothly from scratch to hip-hop to rock and everything in between.

Getting through this album is a challenge. While Van Helden hits the mark on a few occasions, the bulk of Puritans irritates and frustrates as annoying samples create agonizingly long intros to otherwise solid tracks.

Somewhat of a Squarepusher overview: digitally diced, partially digested, and sometimes brutally regurgitated, of course.

Beyond the music, X's sincere subject matters keep the album enticing.

On Atomic, the band unveils a sharper pop-rock sound, one that's so infectiously catchy that you'll feel like an inoculation is in order.

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.

One of the band's most colorful listens.

As the disc progresses, her caustic diatribes against men get harder to take.

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.

The album finds footing in jazzy downbeat arrangements, and its hip-hop aftertaste gives Charango (and Morcheeba as an entity) a needed one-two punch.

Innovative and gorgeous, equally recalling Dionne Warwick-era Bacharach and contemporary ambient pop.

Bon Jovi's best one-two album kickoff punch since Slippery When Wet's "Let it Rock" and "You Give Love a Bad Name." But unfortunately, it's downhill from there.

From Here On In may grab you with a slide-guitar hook here, a tiny melody or vocal quirk there, after repeated listening. But it's hard to justify the five or six hours necessary to achieve such meager nirvana.

But just as a couple of cool originals on its debut distinguished Orgy from the Antichrist Superstar cover bands current working the bar circuit, if only slightly, so too do a clutch of strong tunes on this, its second album.

Any hopes of redemption are dashed by the same bland production that plagued his first release.

Golden Lies shows that even when a good band goes bad, it can still make a great record.

Staying true to an Underworld-influenced formula of riff-punctuated house music will inspire new converts to the menagerie, as this record's grooves are simultaneously original and accessible.

It's a bit uneven, but you would be hard-pressed to find better runway music this year.

There's artistic maturation, and there's just plain old selling out. This, friends, is a prime example of the latter.

As on Hybrid Theory, there's a definite formula at work in all 19 songs, but it's flawless and effective.

Like Collective Soul, Vertical Horizon, and Matchbox Twenty before them, Train is a fairly faceless, generic rock band that writes straight-ahead, sing-along tunes. As a result, some of the songs on this, their second album, will make some people happy -- and other people just sleepy.

A throbbing pop record of schizophrenic highs and lows as hyper-kinetic as its beats.

10 is a return to form for LL, and the album finds him doing what he does best: Making relaxed, radio-friendly jams while giving the ladies a little something extra.

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."

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

Trinity is a more diverse album than their last, but there are times when the songs feel too disjointed.

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.

Her triumphant, long-awaited Righteous Love is no carbon copy of Relish, but that's because Osborne, who's always demonstrated open ears, has continued to develop as an artist and take on additional influences.

Really, it's not as bad as it sounds.

Its tight-as-a-drum musicianship and the sense of threadbare vulnerability resonating in singer-guitarist Kevin Palmer's songs elevate the band above the ever-expanding pack of like-minded acts.

Like Supernatural, the record tends to smack more of market research than the soulful expression of a rock legend at times. But in some instances, the duets pay huge dividends.

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

On such ballads as "Corner of the Earth" and "Black Crow," Odyssey seems to come up short.... But when the intention is to make you move, Odyssey shines brightly.

The Tight Connection's unfussiness would be the perfect playground soundtrack.

Spouts off on multiple tangents and never returns.

Most of the songs on 2000 Years of Human Error feature the now clichéd mix of distorted vocals, loud guitars, and electro rhythms, and, as a result, the band sounds too much like its brethren to be distinctive.

Sadly, [lead vocalist Chris] Shinn's love of drama often overshadows the band's taut and atypical rhythm section, and the somewhat left-of-center construction of Thorn's guitar parts.

Know Your Enemy is a fine -- if slightly long and somewhat fractured -- primer to the moods of one of Britain's most (self) important bands

While convincingly earnest and certainly ambitious, the result is formulaic, and lacks the free-wheelin', soulful magic of the original

Like John Mellencamp and Bruce Springsteen, Stewart has done a reasonably good job of making his music millennium-friendly without alienating aging baby boomers for whom the occasional Tom Waits cover is adventure enough.

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.

There's nothing lasting or substantive about the 12 tracks (plus one hidden one) that make up Mad Season.

Of course, despite experimentation, Revelation is bloated with ballads.

Cocky's surprises remain few and far between.

Aguilera needs more than a just crash course in Spanish -- she needs a good translator (some songwriting help wouldn't hurt, either).

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.

The album is haunted by echoes from both Marr and Sumner's past lives, which dates it a bit. But the duo shows a rare aggressive side on the album, which crackles with attitude even while indulging Sumner's moony, depressive lyrics.

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

A largely useless excuse for a bored millionaire to air out his late-night bedroom recordings at the expense of the kids.

Pedestrian? Sure. But in '01, it's doubtful you'll find a more apt soundtrack to a summer of skyrocketing gas prices and stock market tumblings.

As a pop record, Stripped is practically flawless.

This disc is that rare combination of substance (both musically and lyrically) and fun. For those who thought the Cherry Poppin' Daddies were a one-hit, one-dimensional wonder, Soul Caddy will be a pleasant surprise.

Unfortunately, Robinson too often relies on shoddy -- if not overly elemental -- lyrical passages, which ultimately prevents New Earth Mud from lodging itself into your musical memory.

Heathen Chemistry finds the quintet back in cracking mid-'90s form.

And even though Young laces plenty of signature guitar riffs throughout, Are You Passionate? is for those who appreciate his songwriting as much as if not more than the histrionic fireworks he creates with Crazy Horse.

One of the crispest and coziest (and, at 21 tracks, one of the most generous) live recordings in recent memory.

This time, their quiet storm sounds like it's lost its thunder. There are no big emotional booms on the ballad-heavy album, just a confluence of harmless little raindrops and heartstring tugs.