Teeters on '80s synth cheese every now and again.

A balanced effort that mainly recalls his smooth soul-man Dru Hill days but doesn't forget the power of rump-shaking party jams.

But once those fleeting, producer-driven thrills die down, the remainder of the album takes a middle-of-the-road, midtempo stance that goes from covering her age issues on "17" to getting downright silly and insipid about looove with "Saturate Me."

This sub-par group's darker efforts to push society's hot buttons and dis others are ultimately more silly than sinister.

Cleverly mixes soft-focus hip-hop, trippy space rock and Ennio Morricone-style melodrama with Albarn's unwavering pop melodies.

And while it might be difficult to swallow yet another dose of hip-hop-lite and poor-me acoustic pop songs from chick-magnet lead singer Mark McGrath and gang, these Southern California boys make the everyman breeziness work for them.

Overflowing with sparkling riffs and rhythms punched up with the kind of self-deprecating, angst-lite lyrics the boys craft so well.

This feather-light affair simply lacks any real memorable tunes.

Fusing R&B, pop, jazz, blues, throwback soul--hell, you name it--Keys delivers grandstand ballads (like the single "Fallin' "), midtempo music, diary-worthy lyrics and feminist funk as if they were all as uncomplicated as scales.

While this sounds mostly like incomplete leftovers, there are a few tasty treats: The lonely guitar of "Knives Out," that dirty beat pulsating under "Pulk/Pull Revolving Doors" and the hypnotic body-ponging of "I Might Be Wrong."

The best stuff here eschews tradition for sonic rebellion...

The rest of the disc glides along on that same smooth, if lightweight style, with Tyrese serving as little more than a hot conduit for top-notch producers and writers like Babyface, Jermaine Dupree and Diane Warren. Luckily, Tyrese can sing.

Elliott keeps her sharp raps relatively slow-moving over the space-age production and allows room for the long list of guests like Ludacris, Busta Rhymes and Da Brat to shine.

Lateralus takes the L.A. band over the edge with elongated musical movements that simmer under heavy-duty distortion, Middle Eastern percussion and freakish guitar-and-drum time signatures that will make musical mathematicians (i.e., prog-rock dorks) as excited as the kids in the mosh pit.

Set to a backdrop that brings to mind Creed, Pearl Jam and Tool but still uniquely stands on its own, the album tackles subjects of suicide and basic alienation with relative control and directness.

It gets somewhat spotty when naughty numbers like "Bootylicious" and "Nasty Girl" swing against a praise-the-lord melody, and "DC-3" is little more than a self-referential pat on the back to friendship and success.

A packed 73-minute disc with breathy vocals, smooth R&B jams and seductive sentiments.

Deeper Bruce fans will go ga-ga over the dearth of hits on this collection and twists like "Born in the U.S.A." getting a Nebraska-esque treatment and a great version of "Jungleland." Everyone else will simply love it.

These five regular San Francisco joes know a thing or two about the kind of midtempo, acoustic-based rock that makes for a smooth, radio-ready ride.

Los fans--as well as those who just love great, spicy rhythms--will quickly learn that they Canto live without this disc.

More diverse than you might think...

Nearly missing are the charming sax and violin song augmentations. Gone are the tunes that are too long but always find their way back. And gone is some of Matthew's long-faced songwriting personality--now all gussied up in a swirl of quick hits, easy ballads and electric guitar.

She's little more than an ex-Fly Girl with a bunch of studio tricks to help kick off the party.

Beck's best when he's tweaking music he has a genuine interest in, giving new humor and affection to his nasty grooves.

Musically this is more varied and muscular than her debut ... vocally she rocks harder. And though she still ain't exactly perky, she does sound less sullen.

A leader of the old school teams up with an upstart from the new, and the classy result is the way-out antics of Handsome Boy Modeling School.

You either get the concept or you don't, but those who do will feel tingly all the way down to the base of their dance-floor spines.

Having scored a minor hit with a track that appeared on the Kids soundtrack, the group now has a big-label deal and a hip new style--still recognizably moody and tentative, but with enough down-tempo beats and electronic knob-tweaking to drift into trip-hop territory.