The album forsakes Doe's past rockabilily, country, and punk leanings for a fairly morose, maudlin mood.

Night Works proclaims the victory of brains over booty-call, mind over matter, craft over cash.

Adamson lives in a dream and his music is a delicious trip through time.

Both her songs, mature and articulate, and the quality of her voice, airy and haunting a la Nico (but not as dark), are of uncommon quality.

Haven's one weakness is their failure to ever pick up the pace or well, y'know, really rock; like Coldplay's two agreeable, unhurried albums, there's a sort of same-y-ness throughout Between The Senses' 12 lullabies.

This is one of the most accomplished, powerful, and entertaining hard rock albums ever made.

Most of Eve's third album won't come as much surprise to those who bought the first two--and that's nothing to complain about.

A very tastefully crafted, tuneful, and affecting piece of work with a band that is still just beginning to tap its enormous potential.

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

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

Daylight ups the electricity and the songs cleverly find their way into your immediate recall.

Liars got the punk wave thing down, but what makes them more interesting than their peers is their willingness to explore beyond the edges of the new-wave box.

With harmonies that could have been stolen from Pet Sounds altered by Aphex Twin or Squarepusher, Zoomer is the perfect way to introduce pre-school tots to techno-pop pleasures.

Don't discount the reggae portion of the program; with island impresario Tony Kelly involved in much of the album, songs like "Party Hard" and "Pure Pretty Gal" strongly affirm the tropical origins of this storm.

This is simple music, driving music, perfect music for getting a good bath from the asinine perils of nu-metal and modern rock.

There's also a heady melodicism that suggests the theatrical firepower of Roxy Music, a droning tonality where big ambiance sets up.

Nothing matches the artists' very best work--but, excepting a ghastly appearance by Linda Perry, it's still mostly fun.

Trinity drags from track to heavily blunted track like a doped-up Tribe Called Quest, vainly searching for the group's warm and soulful vibe of yesteryear.

The production can be a little too clinical and antiseptic in spots.

Genre-wise, it's a schizophrenic shambles, yet somehow it all hangs together wonderfully as a solid, satisfying album.

Listen beyond the surface and you'll hear an old school folkie who could just as easily curl up with her acoustic guitar and sing you to heavenly sleep.

The remixes are extremely liberal, cutting and pasting with little regard for the originals in question.

Anyone hoping that this reunion with his old band would mean Springsteen's found his focus and was ready to rededicate himself to the freewheelin' spunk of his "classic" period will surely be disappointed with The Rising.

It's a shame that an album so impossible to dislike is equally impossible to remember later.

The grooves here prove Chuck D and Flavor Flav can bring the noise of old.

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.

Duritz isn't the soul singer he'd like to be.

Daring and inventive, it takes the kind of stylistic chances and creative leaps that were once the property of the heavies of '60s rock and pop.