Yes, the melodies are a little sillier this time around, however the electro-funk grooves are doubly irresistible.

The result is a bumpy, self-indulgent ride, sure, but Love's fuming testimony is packed with a scraggily voice screaming to be heard and a bombastic blast of rage, raw power and sarcasm.

Looks back to prehistoric U2 and Cure records for inspiration.

[Lostprophets] mine the acts of groups like Faith No More and Incubus to put a more palatable edge on the sluggish nu-metal genre.

A welcome return to the group's down-tempo beginnings.

[An] elegant mix of jazz, electronica and lush gospel choruses.

Twista still manages to steal the limelight on hot booty-busters like "Slow Jamz" and "Pimp On."

[Starsailor] sounds more confident than ever.

It's as gripping as N.W.A.'s groundbreaking Straight Outta Compton.

A mind-twisting collision of rock, techno and hip-hop.

The change may shock fans, but Phantom Planet wears the shaggy tunes well.

So cool and so good that no one will even notice Meg White has been replaced by a mandolin.

Her most far-out R&B work to date.

Taken seriously or not, Splinter holds together just fine.

Kinky, however, gets tangled up when they attempt to rock out in English, and the odd rhymes and dated '80s vibe taint their musical revolution.

Keys, however, proves to be a better singer than songwriter, as most of the latter half of the album slips into sleepy piano numbers.

If last year's Under Construction was a little weird, then This Is Not a Test! is barking mad--in the greatest way.

A euphoric mix of wild Latin rhythms, electronic surges, soothing acoustic sounds and just about every instrument imaginable.

You can't deny that these dudes are on to something great. Seriously.

She finally delivers an album that's more fun than filler.

Hearing the bare-bones "Across the Universe" or a de-orchestrated "The Long and Winding Road" is revelatory.

Even though the cast spends an inordinate amount of time treading over the subjects Fiddy already hit with his own Get Rich or Die Tryin'--dope, guns and themselves--tracks like "Poppin' Them Thangs" and "Groupie Love" have just the right mix of humor and heat to make them stand on their own.

A streamlined effort that's stylish, cool and has a sense of finality.

Kid chills out here, embracing southern jams, country music and a whole lot of heart.

Some of it sounds similar, but Pink sticks to her guns on relationship tunes ("Last to Know"), decent dance-floor jams ("Trouble," "God Is a DJ") and tougher rockers ("Try Too Hard").

Her voice is still in fine shape, but tracks like "Fallen" and "Drifting" are so mild-mannered you have to wonder if anyone will even notice she's back.

While he lags a bit in the emotional department, he nails the spirit with songs like "She's Lost Total Control" and "So Alive."

Skull Ring delivers some truly pumping generation-bridging rock moments.

Sure, the lyrics are a bit weak at times, but when a band's having this much fun, you can't help but want to join in.

Sounds like it was recorded in a tin can and constructed from leftovers off the group's debut.

Simply awesome.

Moore's voice has grown stronger, she updates the covers with some youthful enthusiasm, and, well, these songs are hard to screw up.

When all is said and done, Everything to Everyone manages to be good for many.

Any music snob who has ever fantasized about grafting Belle & Sebastian's deceptively sweet melodies onto Modest Mouse's angular rhythms and riffs needs look no further than the Shins.

So what if the clean-ish production elicits screams of "Sellout!" from longtime fans? This is good stuff. Somewhere, Courtney Love is wishing she made this album.

Jet has more fun with songs like "Cold Hard B****" than most bands do during their entire careers.

When Ludacris promised his new album would cover all bases, he wasn't kidding.

Ben Gibbard has a knack for painting scenes of such intimate detail they come off as universal.

That's not to say that it's bad--it's just that the radio-friendly chanteuse's lightweight fusion of beats and folk songs is sleepy and barely discernable from one track to the next.

More scattered than his past works, Wainwright's skills bubble to the surface here only after repeated listens.

Nickelback's so safe, so sanitized and so damn catchy that it's downright scary.

On "Hands on You,"... Trice gets to show off his incredible lyrical flow alongside an unusually subdued Eminem.

By far the best showcase for Dave Matthews' seductive, haunting and deep warble.

Double the pleasure, double the fun? Definitely, definitely.

It's a rootsy, honest album in the simple tradition of Hank Williams and Jimmie Rodgers.

Sure, it takes some time to sink in, but once it gets a hold of your heart, it won't let go.

Stone navigates her way with confidence and prowess, passion and experimentation.

The album quickly reveals itself to be a muddled effort of overproduction and drab lyrics.

Granted, Step doesn't have anything as effortlessly flawless as the classic single "Judith" from the band's last album, but it does have a number of songs ("Blue," "The Outsider") that are almost as bombastically beautiful.

This body of work will be a wonderland of hits in time.

Some Girls dishes out dirty, greasy rock 'n' roll that doesn't sacrifice mood for hooks.

Instantly engaging, and totally engrossing over time.

Pretty much the same as his head-banging debut, only louder and with more keyboards.

Sure, it has a slightly confusing air to it, but with lost gems like "Ali's Waltz" and "Beautiful World" popping up along the way, that's part of the fun.

The band's equally impressive second album grooves with both a Detroit hipster sound and some spacey atmosphere.

Their whisper-thin, doo-wop harmonies, fuzzy guitars and barely-there percussion make the Strokes seem like Led Zeppelin. But that's not a bad thing.

It's an easy listen, enjoyable on the surface with deeper meanings you're willing to dig.

This is a fine final coda that's no tearjerker but a reminder of how much he matters right now.

Indestructible feels a lot less dangerous than their previous discs.

This gem glistens with bumpin' hits by Nelly, Clipse, Snoop Dogg and others.

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.

The simpler style allows the tense commentary to come through loud and clear, as the band keeps up.

Even if you think you've heard it all before, West is a winner.

Like a crisp Xerox of the band's multiplatinum Break the Cycle, with everything sounding bigger, brighter and tighter.

Even if it all sounds pretty much the same as their last few, you'd be unwise to turn a deaf ear to this release.

He comes across like a smarter, gentler sidekick to Badly Drawn Boy.

If you aren't down with Manson, this won't change you one bit. But for Manson fans, Grotesque is beautiful.

A semi-charming collection of catchy hooks, decent pop rock and just enough shades of darkness to keep you interested.

The slick production will scare off longtime fans quicker than a cross repels a vampire, but for the rest of us, it's an easy introduction to a crew of weird guys who deserve to be heard.

It's sweet and kind of sexy and all that, but clearly designed for those who find John Mayer too challenging.

Give it a couple of spins, and you'll find it's completely mind-blowing.