The pair simply revert to the beats and concerns that made them an institution in hip-hop's golden age; except for the occasional cameo (Snoop Dogg, Jadakiss), The Ownerz could have hit the streets a decade ago without raising eyebrows.

Combining the two discs might have insured an unbeatable follow-up; however, the flawed, fascinating separation reveals what makes this partnership so special.

Sounds like one long song of wheezing harmonium and heavily echoed, slightly out-of-tune vocals.

At the risk of once again alienating fans--as well as purists who may consider this treading on sacred ground--Moby has taken another set of disparate influences and "translated" them into a futuristic language that's all his own.

Hill may get slammed by critics from both sides for delving this far into pop but, not only is her performance more passionate than the majority of pop recordings, it's a direction that seems to fit both musically and emotionally.

Even when the songs aren't particularly gripping, the breezy hopelessness of the music makes you feel gloriously bad, self-pitying, and just plain worthless.

Their strongest effort since their strong run in the mid/late-'80s.

The songs are extremely accessible and instantly compelling.

Brilliantly combining Spanish dialogue and hauntingly serene vocals with conga, timbales, accordion, cheesy organ, and funky guitar, Kinky intertwines it all with coiling bass, mad samples, and sexy synthetic grooves.

It's the addition of producer Steve Jordan's bass guitar (an instrument JSBE has wrongly assumed unnecessary) that makes this a complete listening experience.

Full of juicy hip-pop hooks in the grand P. Diddy tradition.

A beautiful excursion of weird cross-genres slices.

Lost In Space is packed with Mann's seductively droll delivery that spikes up the melody while it goes down hard on love.

Audioslave is the best of both bands.

By far the best album from the New Orleans rapper.

Arling & Cameron continue to cook up a unique and effervescent blend of European electro pop and future/retro lounge exotica all sprinkled with a computer-calculated dose of kitsch.

Wade through a couple of outtake-sounding openers that consist mainly of mechanical strumming on an acoustic 12-string and Kozelek's duo-toned vocals and you'll be rewarded with some of the his most fully realized songs to date.

Underworld's grooves pump with less impact now, but they make them work harder and with more diversity.

The band’s most energetic record since 1993’s Get A Grip.

Unlike artists who "discover" the idea during songwriting droughts, Ferry is one of the few "rock" singers to embrace (and master) the underrated art of "song stylist."

The vitality of these ditties is such that you'll be swept up in the excitement without much time or inclination for deep lyrical dissections, or fretting about Rancid's originality.

One of the best commercial rock albums of the year so far, and the sort of quality work that should dispel any skepticism about Crow's current hyper exposure.

Oasis is back, and in top form.

Not quite jazz, not quite electronica, and not quite indie rock, Tortoise continues to define and evolve their own compelling cosmology.

The Soft Bulletin is sparse and enchanted, like the band has awoken from a long dream spent spinning in outer space.

Grace includes lots of atmospheric touches that are two steps beyond country and miles too ethereal to call pop.

With years of added wisdom and maturity, Silverchair has learned how to do much more.

Permission To Land is actually good enough to motivate more than a few curious, intrepid listeners to give their dusty old Dokken albums another spin.