You'd be hard-pressed to ask much more from a record.

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

This powerful set restates Springsteen's great showmanship and generosity of spirit, and the sheer force of his magnificent band. Simply one of the best live albums imaginable.

The sheer melodic gorgeousness of the finest songs here make Alice the pick of Waits's new matched set.

The group's innate intelligence and almost shocking ability to forge something new and thrilling out of typical garage-rock influences always shines brightly through the thick Guinness fog.

Just when you figure he's down for the count, he comes back with an album as majestic and epic as this one.

This is one striking album from start to finish.

This Is Not A Test isn't perfect.... But it's plenty close enough.

The production, lyrics, and hooks make this an impressive sophomore effort from Ms. Badu.

God Says No brings the New Jersey quintet into the millennium with the same sharp approach of their other four records--it's loud, it's brash.

This is 33 minutes of pure pop bliss; there isn't a bad song or a missed opportunity anywhere here.

At first listen a morose rumination on the many shapes of love, the album slowly unfurls as a grand, almost gothic epic of vast proportion and luxurious significance.

A shoo-in as one of this year's "best of's."

Illumination is heartfelt, lost-in-the-'60s songcraft, so perfect in style and sound you might think you’re in the cavernous halls of London’s BBC studios, home to a zillion performances of the Beatles, the Stones, the Faces, and yes, the Jam. When the past sounds this good, why not revel in it?

Celebrating nonsense and good sense, Beta Band make music from junk and found sounds, their quirky combo of serendipity and sample skills paying off in spades.

It's unquestionably one of the best rock albums of 2002.

Essence is the album Roni Size's Breakbeat Era hoped to be, a song-based, drum 'n' bass epic that works on many levels.

One of the most extraordinary indie sets since the Olivia Tremor Control's Dusk At Cubist Castle.

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.

Offers 12 diamonds that aren't quite total pop or total rock--but fall in a wonderful zone somewhere in between.

Further indulges his penchant for meticulously-crafted songs, exquisite production, and (sometimes painstaking) personal and spiritual introspection.

Point is in another zone altogether, establishing Cornelius as one of the most creative pop musicians around.

Zwan is Billy Corgan's triumph, an unrepentant glam-rock/prog-pop bacchanalia, an album of stadium happy singles and up-with-people wonder anthems.

This is an astounding body of work--and definitely one of the year’s best.

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

Exhibiting a lyrical prowess which has made him a fan and critical favorite over his relatively short career, Xzibit holds his own...

Offering musical redemption for the New South's old hang-ups, Deliverance delivers.

The music gets gorgeously bizarre, but there is always a sleepy dog and a piece of apple pie waiting at night's end.

Sonic Youth sound like their cover band in comparison.

Costa is a potent force with all the ballsy punch of a power rocker and the brazen belt of a sharp-tongued R&B survivor.

The best work of his inventively mad career.

Highly recommended.

Finally, a near-perfect pop disc from Minneapolis's Semisonic. While the band has always hinted it had the right stuff to deliver a truly great record, Chemistry is the first of the band's three releases to make good on the promise.

When you get over Everyday's new look, you still have the best Dave Matthews Band record ever.

There are better storytellers, there are better battle rappers, there are undoubtedly rhymers with more on their minds. But there isn't a better MC around, if you're talking about the art of sheer mic domination.

Full of the obscure and deranged moods that made Security alternately delightful and demented, this album revels in craggy vocals, thumping beats, esoteric instrumental sounds and a general feeling of beautiful dread.

Like Dylan going electric, Frank Sinatra going disco, and Kojak going bald, this is a watershed work for Nick Currie...

It rocks less but parties harder than 1997's Tellin' Stories.

Oozing confidence, clarity and common sense, the group's four MCs tackle their topics like the greats of old, distilling complex thoughts into simple, powerful rhymes.

Basement Jaxx do this so much better than anyone else, including Daft Punk, that you root for their mad programed sounds and unknown cast of determined singers. It's totally daft disco, sexy and sweaty, stupid and stupendous. This is pop.

Built To Spill relies on old-school verses/ choruses that demand humming just like that old-time rock 'n' roll...

Some may find the Aluminum Group's love-on-ice songs too slick, too lacking in visceral emotion. But like a cool breeze in summer, the Navins make melancholy a delicious treat.

World Without Tears... is the singer-songwriter's rawest album to date -- it's often closer to all-out rock than it is to either alt-country or the singer-songwriter tradition -- and it's also her best release so far.

Another sterling and fearless entry in the Earle discography.

Throughout there is a warm, unguarded, generous spirit.

At the very least, it's the best album of Paul Westerberg's spotty solo career.

Weightlifting is stellar TCS, expressing everything great about the band.

A very clear sounding Sexsmith singing in his Tim Hardin-quaver about the art of song, the loss of love and other intense philosophical insights that only a softspoken guy would concern himself with.

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.

Once again, Hefner has delivered what is sure to be one of the most original releases of the year.

Tricky's most upbeat and accessible album ever, occasionally hinting at his noirish trip hop masterpiece, Maxinquaye.

Surreal and disquieting, yet comforting, Drawn From Life chills your bones while it lulls you to sleep.

Gorgeous melancholy is what these folks do best, and on tunes such as "The Mirror Phase," "Judah And The Maccabees," and a lullaby-like cover of "Blue Moon" from Big Star III, they outdo themselves, producing produce their finest collection since More Sad Hits in 1997.

It's that rare record that both thinks and rocks.

Using sparse arrangements, usually just a few programmed instruments and her feathery voice, Minekawa succeeds in creating lush songs rife with detail, melody, and mystery.

Yet another bombshell of an album, blowing the lid off with majestic melodies, muscular pop-metal, and lyrics that detail singer Scott Weiland's battle with life and inner demons.

The bleakness at the core of Blood Money won't make it a first choice for a late-night spin, but it's manna for the artist's fans.

Taking a large step in expanding its lexicon, the group, singer Gaz Coombes in particular, has tightened up its songwriting and come up with tunes that rival the band’s first hit "Caught By The Fuzz."

An artist this gifted uses his skills to make music, not cling to style. While the familiar 808s and 909s of techno are rife on Unreasonable Behaviour, the music covers breakbeat, jazz, techno, beat noir, and even hints at Brazilian rhythms.

While some of the complexities of their precursors have been beveled off by MM&W, dancefloor maniacs and couch boppers alike will find something to admire in rhythmically compulsive entries like the title track.

Gibbons is a charismatic presence, her golden howl and misery-inflected tone recalling a cross between Billie Holiday and a demented Edith Piaf.

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

Whether you're an experienced fan or a newbie, the easy and honest appeal of their high melodicism should be readily apparent.

In austere style and apolitical theme, it's similar to Ndegocello's 1996 outing Bitter, but this is the work of an older, wiser woman who can view that album's romantic failures within a bigger picture.

An elegant masterpiece of unabashed Anglophilia, all slow-motion shoegazer guitars chiming like beautiful bells of doom and icy, disaffected vocals that sound like the Psych Furs' Richard Butler minus the three-packs-a-day larynx damage.

By muting Tool's over-the-top attack, Keenan has more time to devote to deepening the textures throughout.

A funky good time from two house music smarty pants with a future.

Albarn is the melodious voice of western pop tradition throughout; at first you might think his are the barmy brains behind this band, but it's just not so. His loose-kneed vocals are like pop tarts in this bumbling hip-hop parade, but it's the bumble that makes the rumble.

Always undervalued as a songwriter, Franti reassembles his familiar building blocks of rock, reggae, and vintage R&B into the funkiest, most inviting neighborhoods he's yet created.

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.

Her taste in cover material is slightly idiosyncratic, but that does nothing but add luster to the program...

Though the steaming electro missives of 604 can sound a bit uniform at times, Ladytron's buzzing bin of automaton female vocals and retro machine accompaniment intoxicates with illicit ease.

You remember Bee Thousand, Alien Lanes, Mag Earwhig! ? Well, those days are here again.

Along with her partner David Rawlings, Welch pulls together quiet unassuming tunes that straddle the line between country and folk and have finally found a home in the public consciousness via the Coen Bros.' O Brother Where Art Thou soundtrack.

Dead Man Shake is a kick in the pants that shouldn't be missed.

No one--and I mean, no one, not even people paid to say such things--is going to confuse this with Highway 61 Revisited or even Nashville Skyline, but when the official Bob Dylan bubblegum card is issued, Love And Theft will certainly rank ahead of Knocked Out Loaded and Saved.

Weighted with tunes that approach middle age with tension and caution.

It strikes a balance between the buzzy pop of their first album and the heavier thud of their second.

With songs full of piss and vinegar, Soft Cell's return is triumphant and toxic.

This is still an excellent band composed of three excellent musicians who can produce one hell of a noise.

These dozen songs, which swing with the organic, old-school funk Prince began embracing in the late-’80s, also avoid his ‘90s excesses, combining rock and soul as effortlessly and succinctly as he ever has.

Recalling Come Away With Me only for Jones’s sultry voice, the album has its share of pleasant throwaways, but those are balanced by a handful of starkly beautiful and excellently arranged songs.

The band attempts to continue to deliver the hits on its seventh album, Splinter, while retaining its punk roots, and the Offspring succeeds on both counts.

This may be the Steve Earle album for people who've never been Steve Earle fans before.

Even at his least inspired he's got these funk-rap-metal boys beat.

About as far removed from Dire Straits as it can be.

What Clones proves, beyond its certain hits, is that the Neptunes have to be considered alongside the handful of great artists (Bowie, Prince, et al) who kept pushing boundaries as they pushed up the charts.

The album makes clear that these men really like music. They like singing it; they like playing it. And there’s enough fun being had here to convince you that you might like hearing it as well.

It's a strong effort, probably the kid's best thus far, and Dad should be proud.

West is at his best the higher the lyrical stakes get, and the more they contradict hip-hop orthodoxy.

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.