He has created a record that fully embraces the inclinations we all sometimes have to find a tune with strong enough melody to hum through the day.

God Bless The Blake Babies is more refined, more textured, and more produced than anything from the band's heyday.

Survivor is the type of record R&B and pop have been missing since the fade out of such modern predecessors En Vogue.

There are times when a few rough edges might make these songs more compelling.

Much of the time, Amnesiac ends up sounding more like a work in progress than the band's crowning opus.

Even as they approach epic length, the songs remain beautiful, dramatic, and above all else simple.

It's not a bad record, by any stretch.... but The Crystal Method are still falling shy of the bar set by the Fatboy Slims and the Chemical Brothers of the world.

Yes, they tried something different, but they kept it accessible. Just as with the last album's guitar-rock-on-tranquilizers, if Kid A's mood music changes the world it will be precisely because it is mainstream, not because it is revolutionary.

Their album is little more than thirty minutes and eleven versions of the same song. But damn if that one song isn't a good one.

Emotionally generous to the point of near biography, the Red House Painters win over listeners with their ability to dress even the most depressing song in lyrical warmth...

The weaknesses of this ten song collection come in the occasional over orchestration found on some tracks that would do well in succumbing to the subtlety that Lynne and her producer Bill Bottrell have mastered in other spots.

If a weak link exists it's only that the surprises are few, but in reality it's for that very reason that Cole's music is so comfortable.

Restless isn't about explicitly depicting the good, bad, and ugly of street life. It's more like a hip-hop carnival, with Xzibit acting as both ringmaster and main attraction.

It's the lighthearted nature of it all that makes it work so well...

The compositions are sharp enough to cleanly burrow themselves into the subconscious; only to rise up at the most unexpected moments and potentially leave you wondering where you heard that funky little beat.

As the tracks shift from smooth R&B to frantic, drum machine driven beats, Outkast prove able to pull from a big enough bag of tricks as rappers to remain unpredictable. The problem is that they come out of it all without having left any defining mark on the songs. It's almost as if Stankonia would be more memorable if the duo stuck to one sound, one rhythm, and one train of lyrical thought.

What it all boils down to is songs. Just as overproduction provides the perfect mask for some bands' mediocrity, the utter simplicity of this recording is the ideal way to reveal Semisonic's renewed inspiration.

The result of all this glorious epiphany is a record that remains on par with the last few DMB albums, filled with laid back grooves that beg for volume.

Bringing some rock into swing is clearly Setzer's forte, and he blurs the lines between swing, rockabilly, and surf with ease.

Shortcomings like the aimless ambience of "Nightvision" don't seem like total failures simply because the duo's attitude remains intact even when their songs fall short.

What this album lacks in a standout track it makes up for in consistency.

Smith makes a valiant effort to match the austere beauty of XO... Still, he falls short on the most important element of his songs, the vocal melodies.

The good thing with Mascis is that, even without straying in the least from his recognizable sound, he can maintain some degree of unpredictability in his songs.

If there is one drawback to this album, it is its somewhat overproduced nature. A little too clean and a little too short, Milk Cow Blues shows glimpses of what could have been, an all-star cast jamming to Willie classics and traditional blues like "The Thrill Is Gone" and "Ain't Nobody's Business."

Furtado occasionally comes off sounding like a modern day Billie Holiday with her crisp, yet subtle vibrato filtering through a slick production that holds the record together. But while one can easily detect a smattering of her worldly intentions, it's the big one eyed pop monster that seems to win out in almost every instance.

Teddy Thompson is able to distinguish himself from the crowd on his self-titled debut. Not all the way through, mind you: he has his moments of tedium like any other. But when he has his mojo working, it's not to be missed.

Holy Wood is strictly derivative, but done with enough skill to stay entertaining. Even when the borrowing is more blatant (the guitars of "The Fight Song," for example, sound like a cross between Hole's "Plump" and Blur's "Song 2"), the album doesn't suffer noticeably.... As hard rock albums go, this one's a keeper. The problem is, Marilyn Manson aspires to something greater than that. He's plenty articulate next to the competition, and plenty adept at selling his message with powerful imagery and catch phrases. But strip away those ornaments, and what he's saying seems a bit too obvious.

In The Mode is far from an innovative lyrical masterpiece. But then, it's not supposed to be. The rapping, singing, and general noisemaking of vocalists Dynamite MC, Onallee, and guests Method Man and Rahzel serve a far more critical purpose than merely adding hollow words. Unspectacular in their own right, the vocals here are what bind together the bursts of musical thought into a fluid whole.