Reaffirms the Los Angeles-based band's strong pop sensibility.

The joyful "I Love the '80s"-style disc fans have been yearning for since she took up yoga.

The band turns each song up to 11 and lets its rabid hometown fans provide thousand-strong backing vocals. It'll make you want to yell "Woooh!" too.

The songs don't always match the brouhaha surrounding their arrival, but there's no denying the exquisite craft on display.

It's stripped down (and we're not just talking about the jumpsuits), simple and the songwriter's best work in ages.

Chesney sticks with what he knows best: drinking ("Beer in Mexico"), driving ("Somebody Take Me Home") and raising his glass to everyday heroes ("Who You'd Be Today").

Not only is Depeche Mode virtually indestructible, the pioneering British synth-pop group also keeps getting better.

The pop hooks are there, but we can't shake the feeling that the sentiments come off as phony.

Most the songs feel like they should have come out around the same time Clinton moved into the White House.

As subversive as it is weird.

She might be unplugged--but she's still electrifying.

There's a bit an identity crisis going on here, but fans of this stuff ought to fall under the Numbers' spell pretty darn fast.

Her voice has grown huskier with age, the songs are barely there, and hip-hop producer Mike Elizondo doesn't have the delicate hand that's required to bring them to life.

Simply great.

Z seems like just the beginning of a whole new phase.

Most tracks have a commercial sheen that makes the songs sound like they were custom-made to be played in the background of pivotal scenes on The O.C.

C&C's music factory comes across as a unique, modern perspective of both rock's past and present.

[Gray has] stepped up his own game with richer production, bigger arrangements and a renewed sense of purpose that makes songs like "Alibi" and "Disappearing World" sound like his most epic work yet.

Even though he didn't use Godrich's elegant landscaping to its full advantage, we'll still listen to what this man has to say.

People will be Takk-ing about this truly amazing album for years to come.

[Plans has] ginormous power-pop melodies in songs such as "Soul Meets Body" and "Marching Bands of Manhattan" and wussy-boy lyrics that'll make your heart grow a few sizes.

A couple of indiscretions taint the disc, but hey, nobody's perfect.

Songs like "Invincible" and "Do What You Want" don't disappoint and should be on the playlist for any retro dance party.

A dynamic piece of work.

With soft electronic rhythms and tape loops bubbling under, her impassive voice lays out rich lyrics as melodies build and explode around standout tracks like "Galaxies" and "Parisian Dreams."

Sessions is loose and fun and, while not blazing any trails, it doesn't sound like a bad karaoke night either.

The singer doesn't disappoint here, wringing out every strand of emotion in songs such as "Mississippi Girl," a strong return to her country roots.

The white-boy funk routine wears thin fast, but the overbearing Broadway-style ballads are even worse.

The rich pop melodies and soft psychedelic touches of songs like "Empty Room" and "Waves" remind us of Coldplay and Grandaddy.

Six albums in, Missy's recipe for success is still pretty fresh.

A set of really great songs.

Doesn't disappoint.

Even more of a musical jumble than her first album.

There are a couple snoozy and wonky moments among the hits, but Longwave is definitely worth warming up to.

Sadly, The Way It Is never quite lives up to the album it could have been.

Haunted Cities has more of a street-smarts vibe and is actually more listenable [than their debut].

The first half is instantly familiar, throwing up the same flurry of guitars and post-grunge drudge the Foos have been hammering home for years. The more laid-back stuff is... charming and warm.

[Shows] a renewed sense of purpose.

Some may call it repetitious, but with songs so beautifully crafted, everyone should agree that X&Y equals A.

A disc packed with so many surefire club-ready hits it'll be impossible to avoid these jams over the next year.

[Will] leave White Stripes' fans divided.

Tunes such as "Escondite Ingles" work in any language, mixing mad Latin percussion with big rock riffs and Carribbean rhythms.

It lacks the raw energy and tunes that made people want to hum uncontrollably in the shower. Worse yet, the brazen confidence the Gallagher brothers displayed during the early years has faded.

Get past the dark stuff and Demon Days reveals a stash of songs that are more fun than a Hong Kong Phooey marathon.

The Woods seems like a retreat into the '90s, playing up the grunge and angst of the band's Northwestern stomping grounds.

The foursome has still not found a common sound to call its own.

A sprawling, varied disc that's as laid-back as a cool summer afternoon.

Costa backs away from hip-hop beats and glossy pop melodies and instead digs into meatier classic-rock and soul influences like Sly Stone and Janis Joplin.

Merely highlights all the weak spots, like the lifeless voice, generic MOR melodies and the highly noticeable lack of Jakob being Bob.

You'll be left wondering why other bands aren't so daring.

With the macho posturing out of the way, it makes it easier to appreciate his powerful voice and million-dollar arrangements.

The disc's cool atmosphere and expansive orchestral arrangements go a long way in making a mood.

The official return of the DMB shows them in full force and stretching way Up.

The strangest sensation? It's actually all pretty good.

You can hear them struggling on Make Believe to keep fans bouncing along to the power-pop anthems but also keep it interesting for themselves so frontman Rivers Cuomo won't put the whole thing on hiatus again.

Even if it is twice as long as it needs to be (thus, a couple of dead spots), we're not arguing. We're just enjoying the music.

Unfortunately, this straightforward approach also reveals how straight-up dull Mann's country-tinged songs can be.

More in line with his tighter debut, Pretty Hate Machine, With Teeth is made up of bursts of dark, scary and paranoid gut punches.

Are you listening, Quentin Tarantino? Here's the soundtrack to your next movie.

But even if it's only half as good as it used to be, this Call sounds okay to us.

An acoustic-based, late-night journey focusing on social and political bummers and characters who've been battered by life.

Touch shows her being assertive and in charge.

The 22-20s are simply more of the same--the same clichés, the same melody-free blasts of noise, the same old garage rock that sounds positively primitive.

By getting real, Garbage has produced quite a find.

It is the sound of Interpol as reinterpreted by Tom Waits--a breathtaking album with bite.

Coldplay comparisons are instantly apparent, but you get the feeling that these guys aren't going to end up with movie-star girlfriends.

High kicks above their breakout debut by being brighter ("Dirty Mouth), wilier ("Goodnight Goodnight") and all around more pogo-inducing.

The whole affair is overly polished, strangely detached and contains a thoroughly unnecessary cover of Don Henley's "Dirty Laundry."

Beck's taken everything he's good at and made it better.

While their sound is decidedly of the moment (Bloc Party, the Killers, et al), their songs are undeniably catchy as all get-out.

Like the Streets or Dizzee Rascal, Arulpragasam's beats are minimal, but tracks such as "Pull Up the People" make use of every ounce of groove as tight, crisp synth lines backing her catchy raga delivery.

The Alternative to Love is tipped to be his big breakthrough album, and it's easy to see why. It's full of bright '70s power-pop choruses, infectious guitar riffs and the kind of laid-back breeziness that suggests most of these songs came to him in his sleep.

What sets Silent Alarm apart, however, is the presence of singer Kele Okereke, who has a dazzlingly elastic voice like the Cure's Robert Smith.

Lullabies to Paralyze explodes with tight, meaty riffs, enormous pop melodies and vocals that seem to come from outer space.

Best Little Secrets Are Kept pays homage to the fairer gender with punchy glam-rock guitars, winking double entendres and Hill's swaggering Rocky Horror Picture Show-style vocals.

Employment is thrilling from beginning to end, packing in 45-minutes of exuberant Britpop melodies, na-na-na choruses and buzzsaw guitars that make Franz Ferdinand look like a bunch of stiffs.

If imitation is the biggest form of flattery, everyone involved in the Manchester scene circa 1988 will be smiling ear to ear when they hear Kasabian.

Fortunately, Fiddy's rhymes are a riot, and Dr. Dre's production is as golden as ever.

Some Cities brims with confidence, as the band delivers a mix of Motown rhythms and windswept melodies with unblinking force.

If you've got the time to dig in, Frances the Mute proves a cohesive, intricate and expertly layered experience.

The sophisticated retro-pop sound, dreamy melodies and soft electronic beats of Ivy do more to further international relations than any George W. Bush visit could ever hope to.

There's a little reggae touch here, some mild folk there, but mostly Johnson just excels at creating gentle background music that sways like the waves and feels twice as cool.

Now the melodies are sharper, the scissor kicks are higher and the grooves are, er, groovier.

Somewhere in here, there's a lovely, compact, cohesive little album. It just takes a little too much digging to find it.

The disc's simple melodies and slightly dated alt-rock sound are unlikely to change his fortunes anytime soon.

It works brilliantly.

It's killer stuff for any frame of mind.

One man has made a beautifully subtle magic in his bedroom studio--and it will be heard on The O.C. in no time.

Amazingly solid.

Sometimes it sounds like he's trying too hard.

Suffers from many of the same problems that tripped up its predecessor: too many skits, too few ideas and a voice that is neither hard nor particularly flowery.

Some of the posturing gets a little wearisome after a few rounds, but whatever, we like where the neighborhood's headed.

Somewhere in here there's a really good album just fighting to get out.

A slower album than most, Bomb eventually reveals itself as a work of genius, wrapping religion, love and life into emotionally thrilling gifts.

This is undoubtedly the best excuse for a solo outing since Justin Timberlake's Justified.

For hard-core fans, there's a wealth of rare gems here.

His rhymes don't say much new, and the repetitive bounce of Powerballin' rattles your head after a while.

Two is his most highbrow effort yet.