School of the Flower is as pretty as its titular place of higher learning intimates and as substantive as bongsmoke.

Yes, there's a fair amount of filler here... But District packs a number of bouncy, accessible car-radio stocking-stuffers.

Atomic Bomb is a reduction of U2's most definable characteristics into a very basic formula: impassioned vocals lent extra gravity by Bono's wavering voice; guitars that chime like bells; thick, meaty rhythm section workouts; slowly seductive hooks that build to triumphant, emotional, endorphin-releasing choruses. And on that level, it succeeds admirably.

It's not simply the weakest album of his otherwise impressive career; it's one of the poorest performances from such a high-profile talent in recent memory.

It's his most consistently rewarding effort in recent memory.

They capably cover everything from noisy freakouts ("Turn It Out") to electroclash chillouts ("Sexy Results"), and manage to hold it all together better than bands armed with triple the sonic arsenal.

Unsurprisingly, Cave's overriding thematic goal of reconciling morality with desire on Abattoir Blues / The Lyre of Orpheus falls short of its mark. But with such a complex and difficult target, that's to be expected.

The group's edgy, fast-paced New Wave 2K brand of rock recalls the sharp, nerdy delivery of XTC, the impassioned focus of the Jam and ping-ponging hooks reminiscent of the Vapors.

Razorlight is more than The Strokes, London Bureau -- all nervous guitar lines and neither-here-nor-there bar-hopping energy -- but what's left of the mucho-hyped UK outfit's identity feels second-hand borrowed, as well.

Easily Leo's best album since The Tyranny of Distance.

Hill feels more like a retrospective than a steady gallop toward the next stage in Smith's artistic advancement.

Crimes is guilty of nothing save exhibiting the sound of a band that clearly isn't finished evolving.

Its sporadic pockets of accessibility aside, it's difficult to listen to Around the Sun without hearing it as a holding pattern, or worse, a piece of product released simply to keep the R.E.M. brand out among the public.

If Spooked isn't Hitchcock's most visceral effort, its spare acoustics make it nonetheless a diverting and likeable listen.

A noisy, stamping, querulous assault on the senses that could have certainly benefited from more than a little editing.

It's that sobering confessional quality that gives the album an unexpected dose of depth and grace.

This most confident debut presents Hope of the States as a band for the future -- a place it'll most likely find very comfortable.

The Grind Date is the sound of a rejuvenated heavyweight who may have lost his belt but has in no way has conceded the fight.

Other than the minor quibble that there's not as many immediately bracing hooks as on past efforts, Universal Audio has very little to apologize for.

Is Antics superior to Interpol's highly regarded debut, Turn On The Bright Lights? Well, yes, providing your criteria involve a tighter, less fussy sound and gimmick-free production.

While it may not be the ultimate symphonic confection nearly four decades of hyperbole have all but guaranteed, Smile is nonetheless an arresting, audacious, unabashedly whimsical slice of junk-drawer Americana and can-do pop craftsmanship.

Last Exit is noteworthy for taking on a sound that's easy to screw up (emoting over synthetic beats) and actually making it work.

It convincingly exhibits the breadth of affection Costello has for homegrown American musical forms, but lacks a tight-enough center to stand among his sturdier, more disciplined works.

An energetic, musically ambitious pop-rock record that employs its expanded vistas in the service of animating punk's well-worn thematic underpinnings.

Nino Rojo may not appeal to the "freak-folk" crowd that so heartily embraced Rejoicing and its shambling predecessor Oh Me Oh My..., but Banhart effectively displays a willingness to broaden his musical horizons that will undoubtedly serve him well on subsequent releases.

The cumulative effect of Trust Not is a wearying one.

Fans of So Much for the City's warm, Beach Boys-esque charms may be disappointed with The Thrills' musical progression, but most should enjoy Bohemia's varied charms.

Whereas Boy In Da Corner was the sound of a young man expressing the fear and frustration of growing up in a dangerous and bleak environment, Showtime reflects the confidence and ebullience of a maturing artist optimistically embracing a bright and hopeful future.