The reactionary disc is a step up from 2003's similarly political offering, Greendale, largely because it doesn't come disguised as some community-theater production.

On bluesy new tracks such as "Stubborn Beast" and "Moonshiner," she conjures a sensual, serious confidence that suggests she's ready to depose Cat Power as the queen of indie teardrop ballads.

The whole thing seems like a guided tour through the band's different incarnations.

In a meeting of the minds, the folk hero and the electronic-music guru produce an unexpectedly listenable collection of songs that doesn't really compromise either of their styles.

The band's naked ambition would be offputting if it didn't come wrapped in such resounding choruses.

Unfortunately, Jewel... chooses to revert to the soppy musical formula of her 1995 debut, Pieces of You.

The duo's seventh album sees an invasion of unnecessary guest stars, such as Lloyd Banks and Yayo, and a disappointing lyrical turn that celebrates monotonous Detroit staples like guns, cash and bumps.

Songs like "World Wide Suicide" and "Severed Head" even come close to recreating the hard rock thrills of the band's billion-selling debut, Ten.

Sounds exactly like you would expect a Tool album to sound.

The surprising thing about this retro rock trio is that it can actually rock.

Critics called it lazy, self-indulgent and amateurish--as if its predecessors somehow resembled Dark Side of the Moon. The truth is, this sounds exactly like Skinner's last two Brit Award-winning and Mercury Prize-nominated discs.

It's quite possibly his best album since 1982's Nebraska.

As lyrically inflammatory as ever.

For a better taste of Harris' harmonizing abilities, try her recent collaborations with young'uns like Bright Eyes and Ryan Adams.

It's the kind of album that finds its own cozy place somewhere between Lynyrd Skynyrd and Leonard Cohen.

Fun and fascinating.

An album that does his low-key legacy well, mixing classic rock-influenced guitar solos and quaint folk sounds with psychedelic effects and high-pitched melodies that put Rush's Geddy Lee to shame.

Essential? Not really. Fun as hell? Definitely.

He doesn't deliver much you haven't heard before.

In the end, even LL himself seems a little lost in his efforts to find Todd Smith.

A self-titled debut album steeped in beautiful but bland lovelorn ballads that tip a wool cap to vintage Elton John.

Tak[es] on the state of global affairs in a way that is both surprisingly direct yet somehow reassuringly weird.

These tunes find him not only reconnecting with his sense of melodic urgency but with his loins, as well.

The only sign of life is that filthy mouth and cherry-vanilla hair.

The band's recovery on Vision Valley is nothing short of remarkable.

[A] thoroughly underwhelming debut, an album that merely paints within the lines already drawn by Pavement and the Pixies.

The group cuts through style in pursuit of substance, using Fever to Tell's slow-burning hit "Maps" as a jump-off point.

The disc is all over the map, moving from booming dance cuts to gangsta fare, but it satisfies with crunk-tacular gems like "What You Know."