When they crank out catchy ditties on harmony-heavy cuts like "Drifting Apart," AAF sound like a bunch of old pros--old pros who are still having a blast.

When he gets it right, the rich grooves and soulful voices can be sublime, like early '70s Curtis Mayfield or Sly and the Family Stone.

While some of it is bitterly brilliant, too many songs veer toward being overdone or naively optimistic.

If you're not already part of the Dashboard faithful, these tortured-by-love songs get to be a bit much.

A most pleasurable guilty pleasure.

BT's attempts at rock 'n' roll lead to schizophrenic sloppiness.

Singer Jon Bunch's vocals remain powerful and dynamic, while the songs ditch most of the weighty orchestration that slowed down previous efforts.

Mya's third album should have no problem hanging with the chart-topping competition, seeing how it's stacked with hit after steamy hit.

This is carefully architected to pack arenas.

Her third album reins it all in to a more palatable place with traditional R&B production and a healthy dose of funkiness.

He does it all so proficiently, you can't help but want to have the guy hang out in your CD player for awhile.

The Los Angeles band wants to be Radiohead so bad it hurts, but too bad--they're just too good at pop.

It's awfully hard to tell if this is actually Ashanti's new album or if it's just one big infomercial for her label, Murder Inc.

While it's not as immediately user-friendly as the group's early jazz-rap infusions, this album still bubbles with head-nodding boombox pleasures.

At 23 songs... his second solo full length is as bloated as a rummy's liver. Still, it's good.

Sounds uniquely fresh.

So, it's not exactly a musical revolution in the making, but it'll sure be easier to tell her apart from Vanessa Carlton from now on.

Even if the divorcée flirts with being Sheryl Crow-y bland now, she can still let whip-smart lyrics flow with her potty mouth.

A solo album to put all solo albums to shame.

There's no reason to buy any other electronica CD this year.

You'll love it.

Most of it strikes deeply and poignantly.

If you haven't already pledged your allegiance to Radiohead, this isn't gonna turn you.

While St. Anger doesn't go back to the speedy, epic-crafting days of yesteryear, it's all balls: bad-ass rock and blistering, visceral lyrics.

Minimalist folk rock in its purest form.

Fans and Luddites will find much to treasure when dropping this platter on the Victrola.

At least they sound like they're still having a good time.

Pat Monahan and his boys have reverted back to their quasi-bohemian roots, meaning they sound like a better Counting Crows (with a dreamier frontman) and less-challenging Wallflowers.